There're endless ways to write
give vent to a joy or to pain
heavy stuff or childly light
sunshine or broken sky's rain.

It depends on the day the mood
good times or bad on the way
shapes the words your attitude
color them the way you want to say.

Endless are the ways to fill the page
rhythm and structure and rhyme
clear as daylight or a maze
depends how you're treated by the time.

You choose from the collage endless
words that may sadden entertain
when broken you may choose to show a face
that by lighting smiles lessens your pain.

There's a poem on your window
one on the door
another in the wind's blow
welling up more.

There's a poem in your heartbreak
one on your tears
another on a long trek
walking for years.

There's a poem on the girl's eye
one on her skin
another in her silent cry
wearing out thin.

There's a poem in the hope's hue
one in your whim
another on the morning dew
waiting light's gleam.

There's a poem in the mirrored face
one in the season
another in your happiness
without a reason.

I was always warned
About the monsters below the bed
But no one ever told me
About the demons in my head

I used to always run
From the creatures in the night
But the true evils I can't run from
For it's my mind I have to fight

I thought the monsters were real
And they scared me, so I'd hide
But now I know, the evils I can't see
Are a much much bigger deal

01:52 am
have you ever asked yourself like why you so lonely?*

01:53 am
or empty?

that maybe you give too much of your essence to people and never leave any of you for yourself

01:55 am
i know i do

02:05 am
and like that's maybe why i get so attached to humans

because in them,
i find myself

02:07 am
i need to change, because things shouldn't be this way

02:10 am
but it's hard sometimes you know, when most days you don't leave the house because you feel unworthy of the space you take up

02:16 am
so you'd much rather disintegrate into soil because you've become all too familiar with people stepping over you and admiring the outcome of your beauty but never the roots of your pain

02:19 am
i spend so much effort watering people in order for them to grow and hardly get enough sun shine to feed my own soul

02:25 am*
because i don't know how to do anything else but care for everyone but myself

Listen, it's a beautiful thing
when distilled to its essence;
reduced to its purest form.
A paradox and a paradigm;
a paragon of perfection.
Epic in its arythmetic
progression; poetic.
Like Chinese arithmetic,
so hard it hurts. Yet soft
and exquisite, like a bubble
of love caught in a beating heart.
That place where poetry starts.