You can hurt someone while loving them.
Just like you can crinkle sheets by hugging them.
You can apologize, yet never change.
Like washing sheets to crinkle them again.

- p. winter

I know I'm slowly killing it,
But I will display it's drowning corpse, along with those of its brethren, as a sign of my appreciation of it's beauty,
And feel robbed when it dares to wither.
A selfish murderer am I
To kill something so beautiful and full of life
And present it's remains as a present
To my beloved.
I must be insane to do such a thing.
I must be insane
To pick flowers.


Is it true?
that our mother is dying with blue
making her weak without any clue
destroying her body until its due

Our mother is sleeping for generations
while we kill her softly with excitation's
inches of her body were destroyed by expansions
taking her for granted for our situations

Her long deciduous hair that gives life for us
suddenly gone missing for our lust
shaving it all is a must
not knowing for her kindness to us

Now we shall proudly say
that we viciously rape her everyday
making her look bad until we may
ending her life, so to us I shall say

guide me to your arms, i'm homesick i reckon

home is no more a volume space between packed bricks, it's a ribcage that carries breathing lungs and a beating heart

Words are all that I have now.
My possessions.
Somehow just melded into the backdrop.
Almost to tease at how I can not touch them anymore.
Connections and romances that sputtered and died out.
Seem less painful now.
But its hard to say when this numbing reality takes hold.
Things used to be..
And With each year under the belt.
The world becomes less enticing.
Shrinking the grand dream into a childish fairytale.
One that doesn't end with Happily Ever After.
But with Fin.
Its almost Ironic.
Spending ever waking moment trying to please people.
Doesn't equal a happy soul.
But making the self happy that isn't diluted with every single alteration society provides.
I have yet to see what peace is and I don't believe it takes bombs to prove a point.
In conversations or otherwise.
A slap in the face can turn heads and fracture minds.
Maybe I need to revisit myself.
Sadly there are doors even I can not open.
Nor perceive.
When all that I am.
and will be.
Is wasted on words.

Afiqah 4h

every drop of rain seems to etch
a wild, shivery thing to my flawed soul
every time
they hit our battle land head-on
there’s just something about
their comeback
that somehow seems to beget another
sort of a new, irresistible aura
it’s like holding onto a new weapon
that has a certain smell
which I think
you’ll enjoy
the same kind of keenness too


She said in raspy voice: "I don't deserve the way you look at me, the words you whisper, the strength of your embrace. I have done nothing good enough to be worthy of your time."

And he replied: "There is none more worthy of love than she who believes she isn't. My dear, you deserve no less than the world."

So she: "You are my world."

So he: "Then we are worthy."

- p. winter

To those who loved,
For those who lived,
For those who sought,
A greater purpose,
A higher meaning,
And shed a thought,
And had a care,
For those of you,
I offer this.

To those who looked beyond,
To see the good,
To welcome light,
To grace the dark,
To tread a path,
And gave a chance,
And listened well,
Without their mask.
– Dedication, Virapo Vol. I

My short collection of poems is available on Amazon @

there's a type of bug
called a hoverfly
that's completely harmless
but looks to the eye
like a bully that's yelling
'cause this lucky li'l fly
looks just like a wasp!
no stinger to sting with
no nest to protect
but at a quick glance
you'd think it correct
to squash the poor fellow
with swatter or shoe
even though the li'l bugger
meant no harm to you!
and maybe while reading
you identify
with the harmless (but mean-looking)
poor hoverfly.
because maybe you look
and maybe you act
like someone that's yelling
and maybe these walls
you built against strafe
are causing more harm
than keeping you safe.
so drop your defenses
and wasp-like disguise,
and don't be ashamed
to fly like the flies!

- p. winter

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