I sit in bed, wondering
how life is quite bittersweet.
Yet we always keep wanting
to live a little longer,
despite of it all.

I sit in bed, thinking
how in every millisecond
we decide to still take
a deep breath,
despite of it all

I sit in bed, contemplating
why we have this desire
to live, to exist, to experience,
despite of it all.

I sit in bed, writing
on my laptop
haphazardly positioned
between two pillows,
legs crossed,
that i still decide
to let the words flow.

I look far beyond the distance of my room,
contemplating, then realizing,
how life should not be always perfect,
(just like this poem)
but I am still here, typing,
for the hope of it all.

I've always been soothed
By the sound of the sea
You both arrived with waves of pain
And crashing of water
Perhaps that's why I'm soothed
By the two of you

The steady blink of a lighthouse
Anchored to the bed
Until you had to come out
A knife to the sand dune of my belly
I couldn't feel my legs
But I could feel you

A tiny hand, a star fish over my heart
Holding on as we were cast adrift
To navigate unchartered waters
Sometimes it felt like we were going under
But you were always there on my chest
The swell of the waves
Up, down, up, down

It seems a life time ago
Those stormy nights, milk drunk, lost
We've built castles, moats and skimmed stones
I have always been soothed by the sound of the sea
And I hope that the two of you
Will always be soothed
By me

I don’t think they heard me
When I said I’m not okay
No one moved to comfort me
Or light my birthday cake

I don’t think they heard me
When I said “I’m feeling blue”
I was told to “ just cheer up”
“It’s completely up to you”

I don’t think they heard me
My tear-filled wails of pain
Cuz they were soon cut short
By the angry sound
Of my first and middle name

I don’t think they saw me
When i began to disappear
I don’t think they really cared
They said
“Shes never, ever here”

I don’t think they saw me
My withered, cracking shell
“She never eats or sleeps or drinks,
Shes putting us through hell.”

I don’t think they saw me
Standing right before their face
They told me“we’re sick of the lies and
all your tears are fake”

I met a girl
On the Highway To Hell.
She looked just like me.
Her skin was porcelain,
Her eyes were sunken deep.
Alibi Alibi...
Why don't you become my alibi?
You look just like me,
You can wear that fake smile better than me.
Take my place,
Let me breathe.
You make me feel safe.
So you can be the perfect girl,
For them, I don't mind.
Even though you are not real love,
As in you are totally fake.
Your laugh is so hollow,
Your lips are blue.
You are hanging to the last thread of life
just like me.
But you can wear that fake smile better
than me.
You saved my life,
You kept me warm.
You took my name,
When it was too heavy to carry my pain.
Alibi Alibi.....
Why have you become my Alibi?
Now I can't throw you off my love.
You are a copycat,
Just give my old self back.
Even though she was sick,
And you were her partner in crime.
Alibi Alibi....
Why did you take my life?
I guess I just wanted to be someone,
But I don't wanna be you.
I don't wanna be you.
You are so miserable,
And so am I.

I met a woman in the psych ward and something felt like that should have been me.
She had gauze wrapped around her wrist like I had felt so many times before, but these wounds had kept her here.
I had been sent home.
I never needed stitches, but I couldn't have a needle,
so I was always left with the common thread of being sent home.
I was never taken seriously until one day I was,
but I'd forgotten how to take it any way at all.
The woman in the ward would wander the halls,
hauling her hidden distress in the dressing.
I wondered if she'd also been told 'it wasn't that bad,'
but if she was, she might have been home by now.
Something keeps asking why she hadn't been me.
I was so confused about where they said I should be and didn't know how to prove if I knew where that was.
Dismissed from all urgency by nurses with certainty, but implored by all others who glanced at my wrist;
each party so confident I'd be in hands that were better as long as those hands weren't theirs.
I was scrubbed from this place of belonging while being too stable for the people in scrubs.
Maybe that's why I stay as close as I can to the psych ward while still holding the key card to leave:
I had lingered in limbo too long to know which direction to go. What do I believe? Which loss do I grieve?
I had proved myself too healthy; I had proved myself too sick.
I was a revolving door patient who never got admitted.

silent and reserved
a learnt behaviour

to speak into a void,
would be more fruitful than another soul.

I hold my breath
anticipating-

waiting to be asked something
anything.

my voice, opinions, feelings
hold no value

all I ask of you is to
                       listen.
listen to me

Flowers are what keep me together
They keep me sane
They make me feel safe when alone
I draw Flowers for comfort
But eventually they die
Eventually I'm alone
The flowers are gone
Flowers made me feel safe
They were my comfort.

You talk to everyone, everyone in your heart,
But you’re not a god,
You’re just a woman sitting in a subway car, talking to herself.
You talk to Dionysus, asking him for a drink.
You go to the tobacco field, smoking a hookah there,
Because you like the smell of tobacco leaves.

You walk down the street, feeling the scent of lilacs,
Though it’s not spring.
People look at you, and you think you know them all.
You feel somatic touches,
It seems like the one you love has come to you and touched you.

You listen to the music, The Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony.”
You feel an extreme, your taste receptors sharpen.
You feel love, elevated.

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
i’m cold,
and my shaking fingers are
shooting missiles toward you from
fifteen miles away.
texting is the worst form of communication.

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
can’t you ever answer the
******* phone when i call you?
do you even love me? do you
care that i’m in pain?
do you care that i’m waiting here,
alone, cold,
while you have your car and
some other ***** snuggled up under your arm?

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
what am i supposed to do,
leave you when you say you don’t care about me?
others have told me that i’m resilient
and i don’t want to make liars out of my friends.
i can take this. i can take this.
i’m not afraid of pain.
keep hurting me. tell me to **** myself
and i’ll kiss your calloused fingers
and worship you like nothing else.
i am on my knees
and the lentils you had me kneel on
are beginning to cut through my skin.
baby? do we still call each other,
baby?

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
do you remember that morning
when you called me a fat ******* *****
because i spilled coffee all over the kitchen floor?
do you? because i do.
and i would crawl through the coffee and the
scattered glass like a dead man does through hell,
trying to get to something better
but knowing they never will.

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
i am not crazy.
well, i am crazy.
but i’m not crazy here.
here, i need you to hear me.
don’t just say you do-
actually do it.
pull my heart out and look how it
pulsates with love.
every beat was made for you
and you just won’t look.
you won’t listen.

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
i have put my hands
through blazing fire to
soothe your enormous ego
and you can’t pick me up
from the ******* bus stop.
****! what’s a girl got to do
to find a man that will
lick her wounds and devour
her fears? am i not worthy of love?
should i just **** myself?

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
i’m a mistake. i am unlovable.
i am a ruined being left alone by God to
suffer in this hell we call life.
everything he says about me is right.
i’m difficult. i cry too much. i’m too depressed.
i’m crazy. i’m crazy. i’m crazy.

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
what was i thinking?
i don’t need a man. i don’t need anyone!
i am more godly than anything up in the sky
or beneath the earth!
i am the vacuum of space
and i’ll suffocate those who think
i’m anything less than perfect.
why won’t he pick up
the ******* phone?

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
i check my phone.
it’s 7:11pm.
the bus isn’t coming.
i don’t think it ever was.

I walked into a Mel’s diner on Santa Monica and Lincoln Blvd one time.
It was a rainy Sunday afternoon.
The gray clouds surround the diner.
Loud raindrops clashing the glass windows.
The lights of the cars and buildings shine a warm yellow bright light in the dark skies.
The cold breeze sends chills down my spine through my sweater.
As I entered into the diner with a warm air, welcoming my face and skin.
A smell of greasy burgers and fries being cooked by a chef,
who looks to be in his 40’s or older.
I hear groups of families talking and laughing.
A couple in their teens kissing and cuddling together against the window of the booth.
A Jukebox is playing a song called “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac in the back.
And there I see an old friend, Allan, sitting in one of the booths, drinking his coffee.
He was excited to talk to me since we haven’t seen each other in ages.
I met him, gave him a hug and sat down.
It’s been a while and something has reminded me of the things that hurts me.
But I try to smile through the ghosts of the past.
The ghosts of pain and sorrow.
“Rainy, isn’t it?” Allan replied.
“Yea…” I sighed, dripping wet.
We sat there for a bit and talked for what felt like hours.
Tried to catch up with our own lives.
The atmosphere however felt a bit awkward.
I started to lose myself in the distance.
His words becoming blurred in the back of my head.
My breath becoming heavy.
“You ok?” Allan worried.
“Yea…sorry-I didn’t mean to like…fade away.”
I said as my right hand is really shaking.
Sweating too.
He noticed and said
“It’s ok. What’s on your mind?”
Just then a waiter walks over
And refills my coffee but left Allan’s cup Empty.
“You good?” The waiter asked.
“Sorry but why didn’t you refill my friend’s cup of coffee?” I questioned.
The waiter looked confused and just stared at me for a solid minute.
Then walked away.
“What’s wrong?” Allan asked,
looking confused and concerned.
So…
I grab a pocket knife from my pocket
And gently put it on the sticky table of the diner.
“Please tell me why you have a pocket knife?” Allan asked.
His dark brown eyes looked down at the knife for a minute.
Then looks back at me.
“I don’t know.” I replied.
“Oh come on! Tell me!”
“Ok, fine…I keep it in case…if I ever wanted to go…”
“Go where?” Allan questioned with a look in his eyes.
“In case if I decide to wanna die, okay?”
The diner felt silent.
The coffee felt really cold but the room felt really hot.
Allan looks really worried and scared. As if he saw a ghost.
“Having the knife here helps show me that there’s a way out…”
“Why?” Allan asked once more.
“I DON’T KNOW, ALLAN! I DON’T KNOW!
I felt like I’ve lost hope in my life!
The bitter memories of you and me…
hurts me everyday.
I’ve cried every time but I try to hide it in the inside so you won’t see it.
After I’ve failed to be a great friend, I’ve hated myself…
I felt like every time I talk to you,
Or see you, I’d always think of those moments.
Then I start to sink through…
Life is just too **** hard and
you’re gone…
So it helps to know that there’s a way out…”
Tears start to flow down.
I felt like I’ve drowned in an ocean full of lost emotions.
I’ve gotten up and ran into the bathroom.
The light was grimy and dark.
My right hand is shaking in the worst way possible.
I look into the cracked mirror. I see myself, broken…
Then I see Allan behind me, worried.
“Hey…” Allan spoke, trying to comfort me.
We then sat on the bathroom floor.
I can see the crooked man in the mirror.
“I’d wished life has gotten better, but it has gotten bitter each time I’m alone.”
He then hugs me close as I began to cry.
“I know…and I’m sorry.
I’d wish it didn’t turned out how it happened.
Sometimes we feel vulnerable.
We struggle with the problems that occurs
out of nowhere and we crumble.
Hell, makes you feel uncomfortable because
you think of the painful regrets in your head that plays over and over.
Then it leads you into this.
This hateful self you feel because of what you can’t control.
But I want you to know this…
You are loved. You will always be.
And being alive today is the most strongest thing you can ever do!
Don’t let that crooked man **** you.”
He then grabs the pocket knife from his jacket.
“Can I keep this?” Allan requested.
“Y-yea…you can…It was yours anyways…”
I spoke quietly, trying to pull myself together.
“It’s ok, I will always be here.”
He said softly as he points at my shattered heart.
A few minutes later, I walked out and sat down.
“You okay?” A waiter asked.
“Yea..sorry” I said and handed $20 dollars
To the waiter and left Mel’s Diner.
I went outside across the street in the rain.
I saw Allan one more time in the yellow warm light of the window.
Then a truck passes by and I don’t see him anymore.
I hope he’s doing ok high up there.
I’m glad I get to say “hi” for the final time.