My words; my words are my paintbrush.
My words; my words are my voice.  
My words are my expression, my thoughts, my way of life.
What I write are my words.
What you write are your words.
Like a painter what I write is a masterpiece. To me.
My words have meaning, my words have life.
My life, is my words.

Dreams,
they're my own
worst enemy.
They won't
let me
let you
Go.

And when I
awake
from dreaming,
suddenly
I know
all I've ever needed
to know..

If you remember how it felt
to dream of her at night, then you remember me -
The love you lost and couldn't keep.
The first time you looked into her eyes
and realized you were happy;
to the girl you thought you would marry.

Do you remember how it felt
to have her near, not yours to touch
Do you remember feeling everything so much?
Because first love is always an only.

If you remember how it felt to cry at night,
then you remember me.
You thought nothing could ever hurt you
that deeply. Your heart so brave and clumsy,
so sorry for itself. You belonged to someone else.

And yet look back and remember,
that girl made you less scared. You took risks
and you learned, and you grew,
and it hurt; it was the first -
the love you lost and couldn't forget.

The girl who went and changed
everything, the light of your world,
the love that made you believe
in heaven, 'cause she was an angel on earth

Though in the end she saw you
as nothing more than a friend,
you loved once, and you will love again.

As the cold crept under my skin
so did your kisses
as you planted them softly
on the carpet of goosebumps
that covered my body

As the wind slapped my face
with chills
so did your hands
as they cupped my red cheeks
holding it still
marveling at the beauty
that has bewitched you

As the rain damped my hair
curling them with winter surprises
so did you fingers
as they hypnotized me to sleep
uncurling all the disadvantages of the day

As the flakes rested on my lashes
so did yours against mine
as you got close to me
synching your breath with mine

As January embraced me
with layers upon layers of wool
so did your arms
as I roll under
my sheets
feeling my skin
against
yours

My lips stay closed
Words do not leave my mouth...
My tongue stays in place...
But my mind creates the phrases
From the words I dare not to speak of...
My pen goes on a frenzy... writing down every single thought...

Writer they call me...
crazy say some...
emotionless and quiet preach others...
they do not understand...
my hands do the talking
my eyes can tell you so...
if you listen to my heart closely
you might be able to hear it screaming...

The silence,
my worse enemy and my best companion.
My fingers... callused, tired... covered in ink...
They speak for me...

Writer they call me...
mysterious some say,
with eyes made of fire
and a mind that could ****.

(I am sick of writing love poems for you, so here’s another)*


Do not fall in love with me, I am a poet.

I’ll scrawl down your every word,

Your most innate gestures,

Your bent and whims;

That you will grow conscious of your natural being,

About how your skin breathes,

You’ll run your fingers down your face wondering if you are even normal.


Do not fall in love with me, you’ll hate me.

I’ll write about you incessantly and obsessively.

When I’ll hold your face to kiss you,

I’ll leave ink stains on your aerial lips.

I’ll write till my fingers weep and lungs rip apart.


Do not fall in love with me, you’ll feel empty.

Because I’ll kiss this crooked stick between my fingers more than your lips;

This pale paper brighter than your smile.

I won’t smell of perfumes and lilies,

But ink and *** and cigarettes.


Do not fall in love with me, I am a greedy scribbler.

I’ll make your every colloquy an artwork (against your will)

That you’ll crave normalcy.

I’ll stay awake to watch you sleep at night

For my words, for my penniless art.

I’ll feed on you like a parasite,

I’ll script your existence in my veins,

You’ll have nothing of your own.


Do not fall in love with me,

There will be days when you’ll be talking to me in a fine-looking coffee shop

But I won’t be listening,

Because I’d be writing in my head, nodding along, smiling mindlessly

And your soul will ache.


Do not fall in love with me because more than anything

I want to be an obsessive writer.

I’ll forget your name,

Thinking if I should call my character Kurt or Keith.

You will feel trivial and ignored.


Do not fall in love with me,

I won’t love you like an ordinary girl,

I will be self-absorbed and oblivious.

But oh my darling, my flame, do love me, else I’ll have nothing to live for.

Ink blots,
Words blur...
I can still
see the
pieces
of your own
person-
written between
the lines I've
penned when
I still have
the heart to love.

Torn pages,
erasures here and there-
I have tried to
write you off,
but it seems
I cannot ****
what's immortal.
More so, I cannot
erase what I
have written.

Tear stained,
scratched papers-
I have bled
enough blood
to tamper
the words I've
written...
But you...
You, I cannot
replace.
and I, I was
the only one
at fault...
It was my own
words
that made
you immortal.

*When a writer falls in love with you, YOU CAN NEVER DIE.

By now, you have probably read a handful of warnings about falling in love with writers. About how they can take you to the brightest moons or bury you to the core of the earth just by spilling their ink. About how they can forget about mundane things such as your anniversary or what time they should pick you up at work. But they remember the most intricate details such as how your freckles align on your nose or how you stir your coffee when you’re too nervous to start the day. You must have an idea about how they can build a pedestal for you to step on as if you were born to be glorified. Yet the moment you break their hearts they will write you so cruel, the history will remember your name as synonymous to tragedy. Don’t fall in love with writers, they always say. As if your life depends on it.

By the time you meet me, you will know right away that words are my way of becoming. You will sense it by the way I phrase my thoughts or how my eyes light up when talking about strange but fascinating ideas such as alternate universes or the other side. I will reference quotations from the books which pages I rummaged on every single night that I couldn’t sleep and share to you my theories about the lives of my favorite characters as if they are real. I will hold your hands and take you to bookstores and coffee shops and look at you as if you are the loveliest view. I will watch the sunset with you and listen to the sound of the waves crashing to the shore and I will stargaze with you as I confess all the wishes that I only whisper to every constellation. And I will write to you. My text messages will be like love letters that are meant to translate my heartbeats. I will whisper poetry in between our calls. And I will write for you, write about you, write like you are the destination to my unending journey.

By the moment you feel like maybe, just maybe, you are falling for me, will you run away? Will you recall every warning that you have ever read and cringe by the thought of becoming a poem? Will you struggle to break free from my embrace for you are afraid that I will strangle you when the time comes that you decide you don’t want me anymore? Will you look at my love as a hurricane and run for shelter elsewhere because you are terrified of drowning? Or will you welcome my kisses and surrender to my every touch because you don’t want to let go of this feeling? Will you hold me like you will never drop me? Will you put your arms around me and protect the world that I created for myself from the harsh bits of reality? Will you read my words over and over again, memorize every line, embed every sentence in your mind and bury them in your heart like precious treasures that others don’t have the right to get hold of?

If you are going to fall for me, fall not for the flowery meadow that I grow using my proses but for the way I caress your skin just to ease your tiredness. If you are going to stay, stay not because of how I paint you with the most vibrant words but because of how I understand you and accept you beyond all your flaws and imperfections. If you are going to hold me, hold me not because of the warmth that the blanket of my sonnets that can give you but because of the comfort that my presence can cause you even if we are surrounded by silence.

Forget all the warnings that you have ever read about not falling in love with a writer and love me. Love me not because of how words anchor me to myself but because I am human who deserves to receive love and who was born yearning to give it away just like everyone else. Love me as I love you and make me realize that the reality of you and I is so much greater than all the universes that I have penned down, combined. Love me without words. And we will be enough. We will be enough.

You blow my rationale
like the angry wind
stripping me
from logic

You step into my garden
of innocence
coloring my dull being
with every footprint

You awaken my dormant nature
blossoming every flower
sprinkling spring
everywhere

You kiss my hibernating heart
warming it from the crisp
cold winter outside

You ripple emotions
across my vast body
triggering a field
of goosebumps

You walk your fingers
untangling my curls
as they stroll from my nape
upwards

You trace paths
along my face
drawing a perfect picture
of beauty
your
beauty

the people around me
don't understand what it's like
to be stuck living in
what seems like the smallest town in
the world
with a mind and dreams bigger
than the whole galaxy.
it feels like suffocating.
like each day passing I'm going
deeper into the water.
only hoping to one day
be set free.