I see you have someone else now
Does this one make you want to continue to live?
Is this one brave enough to embrace your storms and  waves?
Is comfort found in their arms, their calm
and home in their clouded thunders?
Is this someone worth the dive?
Can they escape your love?
If they can, don't let them read this.
Don't tell them know our secrets.

Eager as they are,
let them walk alone with your angry jagged pieces
Make them want to go back in time
just to experience you over and over
This one maybe better than the last
Have you told yet?

Have you told why you fall so easily
Why at the breath of your favourite words you cave in
Why being told beautiful you easily feel like a treasure
Once hidden, now unlost
Taken cared of and practically important
Why you’ve always mistaken good words with promises
And staying for one night meant forever
And crying meant dying inside
And that falling apart is part of life
Inevitable and just meant for you
(6 times in a row, wow)
Why you’ve always thought of the clichés as pieces of precious art
Only meant for you, to feel, to realize, and to kiss goodbye
Why you’ve always settled with the good enough
Thinking you’re not capable of having more
Not worthy, to be precise

**You're just standing there, staring at me with your dead eyes. You haven't, have you?

I see you have someone else now
You are so used to leaving, and finding the first person eager to be there
Now you're resting your head on another soulmate
Thinking, begging that this particular one stays

I have always seen worth along with time and sincerity
Seeing a new face makes me question again and as always
Have you told yet

Have you told why you’re afraid
Of blood – because the first time your dad laid hands on you, he never thought twice about hurting you, and how this scarred you
Of heights – because falling meant breaking, and you were not brought up to be one of the fallen
Of roller coasters – because the first time you rode one, you felt nauseated with the fast changes in pace, and no one was there to hold your hand
Of butterflies – because killing the caterpillars was a childhood favorite, and letting them live meant having something to let go of
Of the dark – because it is where home is, where no one dared peek, no one dared experience, and letting someone in would give them power to destroy the walls
Of tight spaces – because one night you were suffocated by your own pillow while you were sleeping, and trust never came knocking ever again
Of clocks – because time was always an enemy, you were never good at timing, sometimes too soon, most of the time you were too late
Of testing the waters – because you have gotten used to drowning that experiencing it will only allow yourself to feel, and that’s something you don’t have the luxury to do
Of love letters – because the first ones you got were cards bought, leaving you thinking you were never meant for the handwritten love notes
Of words – because you’re good at them and you know how words can manipulate souls into believing of all the good things while leaving out the bad ones


**You’re crying. I guess you haven’t, have you?

Why are my eyes empty
No hidden messages, no blinks made for tears
Why is my right hand empty
Where is my pen, where is the drive to write - the only thing right, all gone
Why is my left hand empty
Where is the hand that used to hold me still and tight - reassurance
Why is my throat empty
No words to even describe the littlest detail of this hollow feeling
I may be bad with words but this time it's worse
Why is my chest empty
No trace of heavy breathing, no extra push, no nothing
I hear the echoes of the things I used to say, they're all just echoes now
Where is the heart that used to pump for something
I am left with a piece of it - broken, jagged, ugly, with no use

Why did I let myself be emptied of all the things that kept me alive before?
What has happened to the girl that made everyone feel better?
What has become of the only person who understood - myself?
Where did I start misplacing my soul?
Even my passion is dying, I'm struggling to let it live, thin thread, thin thread
What has happened to hoping for and always choosing to see the better?
Why do I feel so empty?

Don't ever try to get close
You'll be with a person with a broken heart of a 12-year-old girl

Some days I get up just to get by
I get up, get through another day with nothing in my heart
I look at the streets, the leftovers from last night's wasted decisions
What I would do to have another night feeling everything at once
The drunk and sober thoughts clashing
All the bad decisions after every tequila shot
Lately I have to pinch myself to feel something
To feel like I still exist, I hate that
I know in my heart I need to get my **** together
But honestly, how does anyone get to do that
I am actually losing grip on my self
It's like drowning in all these thoughts
But never wanting to gasp, never wanting to catch my breath
Maybe it's because I'm self-destructive, or self-loathing
Whatever it is, please tell me, I'll take it
I would take anything
Just tell me what this is

Feeling nothing is like getting slapped
in all your parts you never knew existed
Like drinking medicine for a friend's fever
Like taking a bullet for a stranger in another country
Like drinking cold coffee on a freezing day
Like being exposed to the sun and still wanting the scars
Like watching someone fall for you, and you, fall for yourself
Like actually liking being forgotten and left behind
Feeling nothing is like clashing, crashing, burning
and never wanting to be fixed by hands that shake
*It just does not make sense

I hope I do not live to see the day
When I could be genuinely
Intensely happy
(Without your approval,
Without your hands ticking my clock,
Without you)
And bump into your sad, empty eyes
Hands waiting for the warmth
Talk to you again
Like we used to

You know I'll be back
Running, breathless
With all your memories in my hand

Late at night I think about this
But then,
I don't want you back
Do not come back.

In my years of practice, I have known how to deal with losing
How to cope with the pain, the hurt, and all the baggages
It usually takes me 7 bottles of beers, a shot of tequila,
and a drunk call every night for 3 months
I have known how to deal with the questions, asked to me everyday
by every person who has come to know my story
I have mastered how it is to struggle with the memories
the pictures, clothes on the closet, writings on my walls
the letters, the texts messages, the whispers behind my ear
I have known how to deal with people leaving
I am not the person everyone remembers first when they say forever
I am not the person anyone remembers
I am always the person they try to forget
scrub away from their skin, the poison in their blood stream
I have come in peace with the art of leaving

You came and all that crashed, all down the drain
All my preparations for the storm, gone
You came and all my heart could do was try
not to explode every time I steal glances your way
I tried not to take our conversations
as something you looked forward to everyday
I tried to stay away but my soul gets tired of pulling away
It knows what it wants, and you know I won't give up without a fight
I know you're not going to stay but **** it
My ******* soul recognizes yours
It has gone all out to make you see how much they know each other
Why do you have to set camp here, where it's a mess and nothing is good enough for your hands, your fingers, your touch
Why did you let me in, where all I could do is stay in awe of how enough I am for your late night random phone calls
Why do you have to tell me you have feelings for me but let me stay in places where no one recognizes me -
your heart still silently wishes it wasn't me
your soul still searching, something that does not resemble me

I have always told you to never settle
But now I am telling you I am willing to be the purple bruise,
the reckless bump on the wrong side of the table
the turn that leads to places only we know of
the stubborn decision over bottles of beer, breaths of poison
the speed dial # 2, the drunk dial, the **** dial, as long as you call me
the bad poetry, the rhymes that do not add up to a beautiful piece
the last drop of ink on your teal pen
the favorite shirt but is too short, too used to still use
the photo, kept in the dustiest part of your closet
the secret, the well-thought off outsider
the painting you never get the time to finish
the almost

I have always been the person who leaves
*I'm going to stay

I have always wondered what it would feel like to have someone who chooses to see the good and bad, see them as complementary, eventually making you the greatest person anyone can ever see.

Someone who will see the hidden secrets on your skin and turn them into answers; the life long questions you begged for answers when you were still young and free. Someone who never gets tired of your random thoughts, loves them, and keeps them safe. Someone who will cradle your mind as if it was her own, your demons are her comfort, hers are your partners-in-crime.

Someone who will see your passion as her own, and will always see to it that she supports you every step of the way - every open mic night, every art gallery, every indie band, every book you read, every dream, every heartbreak, every moment of silence.

Someone who will see past your weaknesses, draw on them with purple and teal pens so they turn from your fears to breathtaking laughters. Someone who is not afraid to step on your toes, guides you through surviving, and lets you be your own galaxy of perfection.

Someone who will eagerly find a way back to you, even when it's raining, even when it's way past your bedtime, even when you just got out of bed, even when you are all messed up, even when you're just thinking you **** things up every time you get a chance to, even when you're empty and numb inside. Someone who will make you feel something.

Someone who will make you see the calm, the pure, the truth, the reality in all the things her hands touched. Someone who will leave you with bruises from her poetry, the pain piercing through every vein you thought stopped pumping.

Someone who will be there during the drowning, the claustrophobia, the bubble of your self-destruction. Someone who will hold your shaking hands, kiss them, and let them do what they do best: turn everything into art, including yourself.

With all your flaws, you need someone who will remind you that they are her puzzle, her late-at-night-how-do-I-understand-this puzzle. Someone who will spend nights trying to come up with answers, and tells you honestly when she can't. Someone who will burn your hands when you hold them, and treat them with utmost care.

You deserve someone who will always see you in your best form, even if you are raining on her parade every day of your lives together. You deserve home-cooked meals, couch-cuddling, late night walks and conversations on places you would think as weird, constant reminders and the genuine reassurance that you are worth it.