I don't know what to call it
unrequited love , maybe
One sided  for sure,
You occupied a space in my heart ,
A drug i couldn't resist ,
A habit forming one.

I longed for your smile ,
Those ocean eyes
Glittering with mischief ,
your stare gave me butterflies
And awoke an extinct part of me

Small details,
like acknowledging my name ,
Made me feel seen ,
Like i mattered .
You opened a gate
Between imagery and realism

I had long nights
Creating our world ,
Where we dominated
And no one else mattered
Yet you had another world -
One i wasn't included in

Still i let you occupy me ,
Even when my mind whispered .
My heart was busy resisting,
And now i doubt
If you even noticed me .

But no_
I will never regret meeting you .
You will always be apart of me ,
Just like a book
I will always refer to .

So this is goodbye ,
From a girl who once felt seen,
Who was ready to give her all ,
Yet was let down .

Sometimes
some people aren't meant to stay .
They are stories left unfinished ,
Those with no final chapters.
Maybe that's what you were

Maybe it's time i choose me
Over us
My dreams over him _
Because i deserve great things .
I always did .

Messages are read, all their ticks are blue –
an "I love you," comes double-ticked…
maybe it’s not you.

Love’s built for two, their reasons too –
a fake kind of love still tries to play true…
maybe it wasn’t you.

No, I won’t cry, still stuck up without glue –
a sympathetic protagonist, antagonised by
their own heart, and yes… this much is true:

Perhaps I was never meant
to fall in love with you.

Concrete coffee grounds — stapled receipts;
messages from exes you’re not ready to delete.
It’s quiet now, filled with dead conversations —
a well-kept cemetery.
Ceremonies in eyeballed crowds, proclaiming
falsehoods of love in soft languages.
Meets and greets, all speaking the lies we
feed ourselves; sandwich boards worn like identity.

Some days, bored with myself, as I draw away
from a good time like a thin sketchbook filled
with half-drawn, abandoned things.
Pulling my heart from my chest like a drawer.
An artist, talking to his shadows —learning from
my old self like it’s shadow.

Avoiding those who tease with wet mouths of lies,
but kiss with dry tongues. Parched —
but maybe just too thirsty for love.
Being caught in a drought: a crumb of eye crust,
tinted with dry grass.
Still, I’d set myself on fire just to be noticed —
willing to be her wild campfire.
But even those fires need feeding.
You can’t give it all until you’re ash —
and watch them move on to another flame.

Making you feel not wild enough.
Staring at the ugly person in the mirror —
and what’s left after the smoke clears?
It's no longer a game of smoke & mirrors

I keep watering a dead grave, hoping something will grow.
Nothing ever does.
And still, I keep trying.
I keep trying, day and night.
Weeks on end.

Because deep down,
I know that if I stop,
Someone else will water the grave.
And something will grow.

Maybe flowers will bloom.
Maybe weeds will sprout.
It could be something wild, untamed.
Something exciting.
Something that grows without needing to be loved.

But it won’t be from me.
It wasn’t my love that helped the grave grow.
It wasn’t mine.
And that kills me.

I wonder to myself.
Why won’t the grave give me something exciting?
Why won’t it grow beautiful plants for me?

Why do all my efforts of trying to make something memorable always go unnoticed?

Maybe I’m not watering a grave anymore.
Maybe I’m burying myself.
And maybe I won’t ever get out.

I know it’s time to let go.
But I can’t.

So instead,
I wait everyday.
Hoping.
Believing something will grow.

And just like that I'm
love struck and empty.
He ran off with my heart
and pieces of me.
Fantasies of an "us"
mixed with cosmic energy.
Like adventures of Poseidon and Aphrodite
Majestic and powerful together taming
the wild sea.
Oh Sweetie, don't be silly.
Get a grip please.
Today he ran off with my heart
and pieces of me.
Here I am love struck
and empty.

“What is not to be had in haste, may yet echo on the grieving wind.”
— Su ****

The pallor of the desolate plain —
a wound torn by void.
Those great swathes of barren earth,
laid bare —
are my chest,
yellowed and cracked with thirst.

She holds her head high,
nonchalant —
dragging behind her a hem
as lucid and dark as eyes
that have seen through dreams.

The snowy lace, pure as accumulated frost,
stirs up dust —
like the tender light at the horizon’s edge,
trembling into dawn.

I thought it was the sweet, silken whisper
of a love just waking,
mist-drenched and dizzying…
I wandered deep into it,
entranced,
never to return.

Her steps —
mysterious as the sea’s dense murmurs
when dusk is full.

Each footfall
layered with gentle unrest,
floated
toward the dimples of innocent laughter,
ever deeper,
until freedom itself
seemed just a breath away…

And my fevered imagination
scrambled and stumbled blindly,
thrashing with futile longing.

But oh — the great ironclad of love!
Launching its voyage!
And with cannons that shattered the sky
proclaimed:

Heaven, red with blood, is boiling!
Let the burning Utopia blaze in delight!

But her steps —
her steps are also
so firm,
so forward…
As if from the unreachable gleam ahead
some force of fate
pulls her onward,
irresistible,
unmatched.

And I —
I am helpless.

Forward…
A paltry mayfly,
daring to stop
the eternal rise of the sun
with one trembling day of life.

My proud, resounding cries
were silenced,
crushed into a choking hush,
into shattered bone…

She paid them no mind.

With unbearable grace
she brushed aside the clamor —
brushed away the storms —
and moved forward.

Her heels,
cold as the blade of an axe,
hacked into my flesh.

And the rustling of her skirt
drifted farther, farther still —
until only the groans
of withered grass remained.

The moon, pale and ravenous,
devoured every ember of warmth,
and night,
black and intimate,
caressed my spine like death’s quiet hand…

I was calm —
calmer than I have ever been,
like the pulse
of the already-dead.

In vain I turned again and again
to lick the bitterness
from every grain of this earth —
each one once soaked
in the sweet sweat of youth.

And her scent, receding,
took with it
my last ray
of sunlight.