I want you to choose me
choose me every time.
I want you to love me like I love me
And see me how I want to be seen
I want to stop picking up the pieces
and putting me back together again.
I don't understand why it can't be you.
Or why I can't stop shattering
Why I can't just feel until it feels wrong and turn back around.
I want to stop getting ready for flight
I want to stop looking for the green light
saying "run already tiara"
I am tired
the type of tired that sleep wont help.
the type of tired that wants a nap soon after waking
the type of tired that wakes depression
the type of anxiety that gives way to exhaustion.
I want to focus on me without having to constantly hold the pieces together when the sun comes up
just to drown myself in river come night.
I want to stop being scared when I feel happy with him...
like his heart is going to leave
I want to stop being scared of love
because you gave yours to me and that's not something I'd ever want again ...
because it brought me back here
cleaning up this mess again
words running through my head again
almost lovers to let go of
almost tuths that I can't hold onto.
all those whispers leaving cracks within something that I built strength into.
I am so tired of shattering.
And trying to stay strong so that no one knows that I want you to hold me.
it wasn’t until that very night,
my wounds and scars finally learned
how to sit in comfort,
pressed against your skin
like dry, cold petals
and just watching the chaosity
from the melancholic stars,
passing through the dead of night
to such euphonious melody
has swept our hearts completely
to settle for more of nights like this
I feel like I've been here on this planet since eternity.
All the living beings on this earth are my fraternity.
We are all different and independent is how you tend to think. But in reality,
we are all different manifestations of the same energy that resides within.
You will be gone forever after your death is what you believe.
But the truth is you can't repeal the law of conservation of energy.
Albeit, sometimes, it might appear that you are truly free,
you will always be bound by the forces that you can't see.
I beseech the universe to reveal the secrets of its mystery
and all the broken links of our forgotten, immense history.
In my million lifetimes, I could not find out my real identity.
What's the true meaning to my existence? Answer, please.
/In fainting voice/Answer me. Answer me. Answer me.
we picked out certain ill truths
that we could never speak enough of
we looked for better ways
to undo what we are not
we sort of became
the sick, godawful version of ourselves amidst
all other demons that,
more often than not
the same trigger they try to pull from us
made our waking constantly seems
a little dead
I remember the first time we went to a museum. It was Sunday and the sun was a little brighter than usual. As we enter the building, we noticed that there were only a few people inside. I thought it was a good thing, for we can adore the art treasures and enjoy the serenity of the place ourselves.
The museum's walls were full of history and untold stories. We wandered around while admiring the beauty of each painting and sculpture we encounter.
There was this one particular work of art that captured your attention. The artist called it, "My Secret Place". It was a painting of a sunset in a field of lush, green grass and sunflowers.
We both agreed that the painting is beyond beautiful. But despite its vibrant and calming colors, it also gave me a feeling of sadness, loss, and hope. I thought that maybe the artist was longing for something distant-- that maybe he turned the sunset into a hand of a broken clock.
You were deeply immersed in the painting. Your eyes were gleaming and I can tell with one glance that you would like to be nowhere else.
Afterward, I was a little taken aback when you reached out and gently squeezed my hand. You didn't look in my direction, though. You just held me as if I were the last artwork in the room. I don't know what you were thinking back then. But, I liked how your palm met mine, how your hand was slowly dancing and finding its way in between the gaps of my fingers.
At that moment, I felt something tugged at my heart strings. It was your name knocking the walls of my rib cage. I let it climbed and carved its way in my soul.
You made me your home. You turned my body into a blanket that kept you warm at night.
I have loved you. Even if I have seen the knife in your hands, the darkness in your sleeves, and that lost look in your eyes.
I didn't mind.
Every corner of the museum was full of history and untold stories. And if you were to ask me what was my favorite artwork back then, it would be you.
You're a collection of metaphors. An exhibition of love, happiness, and loneliness. A masterpiece that can touch the heart and soul of every aesthete. You're a raw and unfinished canvas. You're never perfect, but you will always be worthy enough to be in a museum.
It has been two years since I have loved you and your mess. After you left that night, you created a big, empty space in my heart. A museum that's full of distant memories and unfulfilled promises. It's an art cathedral where no one else can set foot in, except you.
Most days, my body doesn't feel like moving. I'm not sad or anything, I'm just restless. Nothing has been working right inside my heart since you left. I haven't let anyone in there, either.
“you were put on this planet to feel
every feeling you could”,
so please stay,
the past has probably taken
the finest or bitter part of your becoming
could still be your next closet full of enemies,
triggering past your shadows
but the future, God,
even the future begs nobody
to question the look of heaven
so, inhale this gift, they call life
and strike those
who dare disturb your universe
with absolute nerves,
fully drawing all their weapons in
then create them into your favorite kind of warfare
It was 6:00 PM
when you tear your way out of my rib cage,
and the night sky was bleeding cherry red.
I wanted to ask you to stay, but I didn't.
I was afraid that your skin will no longer recognize my touch,
that your body, your mind, and your heart were no longer mine to claim.
You vomited "sorrys".
You tried to kiss away the pain,
but the war had already left me broken before
it even started.
It was 6:00 PM
when time decided to stop breathing
and the universe conspired
to break the world into fragments
in order to keep us forever apart.
Since then, every day feels like
I've been living in our memory lane--
a different dimension
My mind has been shredding love letters
But there were times when my hands are missing
the warmth of your skin
so I just write and hide you in my poetry.
It was 6:00 PM
when I realized that gravity anchored my body
to the same ground
where you left me.
And I feel empty