Time will only tell
When I will be okay
Time will only tell
When I will be able to forget you?

It took me time to understand why we have to let each other go
It took me time to move on, it took me time to let you go
It took me time to hold on, it took me time to forgive you,
It took me time to accept the fact that you’re no longer mine to keep
It might take me a lot of sleepless nights counting sheep
It took me time to be happy

It took me time to accept and move forward
It took me time to stay in one location
It took me time to slow down
It took me time to resent you

It took me time to think it through
It took me time to ignore you
It took me time to decide
It took me time to let things go

It took me time to master everything
It took me time to rest on love
It took me time to smile
Until it was now my turn to smile
To laugh, to be happy and everything

It took me time to socialize
It took me time to adjust
It took me time to smile back at you
Until I learned to smile back at me too

It always took me time to love myself first
And never entertain any suitors yet
Before forgetting you
It took me time to talk to you
And ask for closure

It took me time to heal, it took me time to feel
All the pain first before moving forward
No more walking backwards

I’m not going that way, I’m moving forward this way

You’ve been so unavailable lately
Why’d you just took me for granted
You just said it yourself
That I am all that you wanted

You can’t catch my drift lately
So, am I making a fool out of myself?
Am I too much to be handled?
Is what I’m making you do

Hard for you to do?
So, am I just going to love with abandon?
The words I can’t say to you
Are the words you would hear in my song

Baby, I wrote this song for you
But still my feelings for you were this strong

Sorry if I overthink a lot
If I have been so emotional
If I mess up a lot
If I’m too sentimental

I just want you to know
I will never let go
I promise to hold on
Cause I don’t to go back to one

I’m sorry if I expect a lot of things from you
If I felt too jealous or disappointed
If I felt like I have trust issues
I just don’t want to feel like I’m avoided

I just need your time and attention
Ooh, I just need your love and affection

Maybe I just need a little bit of space
And keep myself busy all the time
Whatever it takes
I just don’t want to waste my time

I tried being so considerate and understanding
I want to give up already
Cause I’m super tired already
It felt like I’m the only one fighting

We’re going round in circles again and again
The pain always remains
But I don’t want to let you go
Cause I just want to stay with you

“So, Why Am I Happy?”— A monologue of distance, survival, and self-love.

You ask why I’m happy?

Funny how the question only comes now—
now that I’ve stopped explaining myself,
now that I’ve stopped showing up for people
who never noticed I was crumbling.

I’m happy not because life suddenly became kind,
but because I walked away from the rot I once called “home.”
I forgave them—not for their sake, never for them.
But for me.
To unshackle my wrists from the rusted chains
they wrapped in apologies.

I repainted my ruins.
I rebuilt my walls with bare hands and blistered hope.
I whispered into the wind
and let it carry my pain where it could no longer echo back.

I was there.
Every time.
When they were bleeding,
I tore parts of myself just to patch them up.

But when I was the one unraveling?
Silence.
They spared me reasons.
Not support. Not love.
Just cold, neat, well-explained reasons.

They laughed at the sacrifices I never mentioned,
mocked my distance when I finally drew a line.
No one asked,
“What happened to her?”
No.
They only asked,
“Why did she stop serving us?”

They made me feel guilty for healing,
for reclaiming the space they once drained.
They confused my boundaries for betrayal,
my silence for arrogance,
my peace for punishment.

But here's the truth:
I gave my best to people who were never meant to stay.
I became the rescuer, the bandage, the therapist,
until I was the one bleeding out on the floor.
And when I stopped showing up,
they called me bitter.
They never asked why I changed—
they just judged the version of me that finally chose herself.

So yes, I walk away now—
but not with regret.
I carry lessons,
not leftover pain.

They burned the bridges?
Good.
I grew wings.

They kept talking,
but I stopped explaining.
Because silence, for me,
became the sharpest, cleanest form of goodbye.

I used to scream.
Now I just leave.

I used to explain my worth.
Now I live it—loud in spirit,
quiet in execution.

I dream again.
Not caged, not pitied.
Not waiting to be rescued.
I’m my own sanctuary now.

They said I was “too much”?
No.
They were just not enough.

They called me cold?
I call it calm.
They called me selfish?
I call it survival.

They don’t get to pity me anymore.
They don’t get to tell my story.
Because I wrote it in fire.
And I walk with it inked into every step I take.

I no longer carry the weight of pleasing people who left me empty.
I stopped bleeding for those who wouldn’t offer me a bandage.
And now that I’m glowing in the dark,
they say I’ve changed?

**** right, I did.

Because this joy—
this stillness, this freedom—
was earned.

I am happy.
And no one gets to steal that from me again.

I do have a talent—my voice is normal when speaking, but sometimes I never recognize my voice anymore. Since it pitches high and low, based on its wavelength and pain.

My man also has his abilities—he knows how to be a gentleman but like a light switch, oh ****! He forgot how to be gentle with me.

Caught in a ripple effect,
My plans unravel before my eyes.
I might break, or I might smirk—like a diamond,
Priceless, unyielding.

Honey, I shine with my own originality.
You? A moissanite—just imitation,
A hollow mimic of what’s truly real.

From mourning, I rise reborn,
A black snake coiled around a katana,
Fading to a blood-red hue.

Side-eyed, venomous chic, with short, trimmed hair,
Rebelled like a sin, a tattooed bloodstain on my neck.

Bruised patch on my wrist—slash me with your best shot.

I am the one who walks through your hellish home
That when you see me, I will make your life a living hell
That will make you shiver
Slicker than a snake now, are we?
What if your silver tongue will perish first then you crawl.

Cornered your eyesight but can't look at me in my **** eyes
You side-eyed *****, one-sided, snitch

I don't know what defines you when you suddenly saw me — flustered, hysterical, guilty, sheepish, frozen, defensive, or avoidant

But what if I stitch your mouth
For you not to make a sound
Or what if i cut your tongue and take a piece of your mind
Make up your mind

Stitch the snitch, *****
Or I'll make you flinch, in a glitched flints.

I met you in 2014,
Always glued to a screen,
Lost in computer games at the internet café
Where we used to hang out.

We chatted for a while,
Became friends, nothing more—
Or so I thought.

Fast forward to 2015,
Fate crossed our paths again.
You got my number,
And just like that, we started texting.

As far as I can remember,
It was July 9, 2015.
By July 10, 2015—
I was no longer the same.

Let me take you down my memory lane—
Back to July 9, 2015, at 8 PM.

You texted me out of the blue,
Asking if I had ever experienced a kiss.
I said no—
It had never crossed my mind.

And just like that,
We made a plan.
To meet at 4 AM,
On July 10, 2015.

It was my first time—
My first kiss,
My first taste of what I thought was love.

But I was wrong.

He never truly loved me.
I was just another distraction,
One of his passing flings.

Worse, he preyed on a Grade 9 student,
A girl battling depression.
And in the end,
His own actions caught up to him—
Because I pressed charges.

We stayed hidden from each other for five years,
Until fate brought us back together in 2019—
When I settled the case.

Smirk to the left side of my face,
                                                            Smir­k to the right side of my face.
                                        Now, it's symmetrical.
                      Grin some more.
                            You thought pain breaks me, no.
                                                      You thought that would **** me, nah.
                                             It only makes me stronger.

Laughing my *** off for your assuming talent. Believe me I tried, but when I heard it, it sounded out quite hilarious.

Harder =)
Better ;)
Faster :)
Stronger • • •

You think… if you explain enough,
if you lay your heart bare enough,
if you open every page of your soul and let them read—
maybe they’ll understand.
Maybe they’ll see the nights you didn’t sleep,
the weight you’ve been carrying,
the reasons behind every choice you made.

But no.
Some people don’t want to understand.
They don’t want truth—
they want agreement.
They want you to bend,
to nod,
to shrink yourself so your thoughts fit neatly in the small box they’ve built for their comfort.

You could bleed in front of them,
and they’d call it theatrics.
You could hand them your truth, trembling in your palms,
and they’d call it an excuse.
Because in their minds,
they’ve already judged you—
and judgement rarely listens.

And that’s the part that hurts.
Not that they disagree,
but that they refuse to even try to see you.
It’s like talking to a wall…
except walls don’t look you in the eye while pretending to care.
They nod while loading their next argument.
They smile while sharpening the knife.
They ask questions,
but only to find the gaps where they can twist the blade deeper.

And so you start to see the truth:
It doesn’t matter how lengthy your reason is,
how honest, how raw,
how much it costs you to speak—
to a closed mind, your words are already worthless.

Matthew 13:15 says it best:
“For this people’s heart has grown dull,
and with their ears they can barely hear,
and their eyes they have closed,
lest they should see with their eyes
and hear with their ears
and understand with their heart
and turn, and I would heal them.”

That’s it, isn’t it?
They’ve closed their eyes,
shut their ears,
sealed their hearts.
Not because your truth is wrong—
but because understanding you
would require them to change.
And change…
is something their pride will never allow.

And you know what’s worse?
Sometimes you catch yourself still trying.
Still hoping—
that maybe this time…
maybe this one last explanation will break through the cracks.
You tell yourself,
"If I just choose the right words,
if I just speak softer,
if I make them see my humanity…"

But every attempt feels like throwing pearls into a pit.
They don’t see value—
they see something to trample on.
And the more you speak,
the more they turn your reasons into ammunition,
until even your honesty is used against you.

They’ll twist your intentions.
They’ll retell your story like they were the victim.
And soon, you’ll watch strangers believe their version of you—
a stranger painted in lies—
while you stand there, screaming silently behind the glass.

It breaks you in ways you can’t put into words.
Not just because they refuse to understand,
but because you realize—
you’ve been trying to convince people
who never had the decency to see you as a person in the first place.

Proverbs 18:2 cuts deep:
“A fool takes no pleasure in understanding,
but only in expressing his opinion.”

And suddenly, it clicks—
They were never listening.
They were only waiting for their turn to speak.

So I stop.
Not because I’ve run out of truth,
but because I’ve run out of energy to waste on the deaf.
I do not need to explain myself to you.
I will let my silence speak for itself.
Sometimes, I believe the best silence heard
is loud enough and clear enough to be heard.

So let them think what they want.
Let them keep their tiny world,
their locked doors,
their dim lights.

Because I’ve learned—
you don’t beg blind eyes to see,
and you don’t plead with deaf ears to hear.
The truth doesn’t shrink just because someone refuses to hold it.
And my worth?
It doesn’t depend on the size of their understanding.

I will not waste another breath
trying to explain myself to people
who have already decided
what I am in their story.

I’m not here to fit in their narrative.
I’m here to write my own.

Tell me before I find out. Do not parade whispers in front of others as though they are secrets meant for me. Do not think you can bypass me with subtleties or half-truths. I am not deaf. I am not blind.

I may look naive. I may appear innocent. That, my dear, is a rare defense mechanism. A shield disguised as vulnerability. A mask worn to measure the world before I choose to reveal my own teeth.

Fool me once, and I remember. Fool me twice, and I remember even more. Betrayal leaves marks—on memory, on trust, on the way I let the light of my soul shine. And once those marks are made, they do not fade.

I am patient. I am careful. I watch, I listen, I sense. And yet, people persist as if appearances matter more than truth. They whisper, they manipulate, they scheme—forgetting that I am always the observer.

I am not naive. I am not helpless. I am not the child you can mislead with sweet lies and false assurances. I am a storm contained, a quiet power, and a heart that remembers every detail.

Tell me first. Let me measure your intentions, let me see your hand. Do not allow your words to reach the ears of others before they reach mine. I will not be blind-sided. I will not be toyed with.

Once I see the deception, I withdraw. Once I sense the betrayal, the door closes. The trust you sought to exploit is gone, locked away, guarded like treasure in a vault that no key can touch.

I forgive, rarely. I forget, never. There is elegance in the patience of my judgment. I sip quietly, I wait, I watch as your illusions unravel, knowing fully that the truth always arrives, even when you think it hides.

Do not underestimate the simplicity of my innocence. It is not weakness. It is strategy. It is armor. It is the lens through which I filter the world and the people who attempt to manipulate it.

I notice. I catalog. I understand. The games you play, the whispers you spread—they are as transparent as glass. And when the mirror finally turns toward you, you will see yourself as I always have.

Tell me first. Respect me enough to offer truth before rumors reach my ears. Because once the deception passes my threshold, once it touches my senses before your confession, your credibility is gone forever.

Do not mistake my quiet for ignorance. My stillness for naivety. My gaze for passivity. I am neither idle nor naive. I am deliberate, and I act when the time is right, with precision and inevitability.

I forgive when it is genuine, not when it is convenient. I trust when it is earned, not when it is demanded. I invest only in those who choose honesty over theatrics, integrity over ego.

And you, who thinks you can bypass me, who thinks your whispers or manipulations can sway me—you miscalculate. Every lie, every half-truth, every omission is recorded in the ledger of my mind.

I do not need to act immediately. I do not need to confront. I wait, I observe, I allow your actions to speak louder than your words. And when the moment arrives, the consequences are absolute.

I may appear soft, innocent, untouchable—but do not mistake it for weakness. It is the stillness before a storm, the calm that precedes the unyielding wave. And waves are relentless.

Tell me first. Give me the courtesy of truth, even when it is inconvenient. Because once the veil is torn, once the betrayal is unveiled, the trust you squandered cannot be restored.

I am careful. I am observant. I am unyielding. I hold space for those who are worthy, but the unworthy find only closed doors and impenetrable walls.

So speak, reveal, confess, before I find out. Do not let others carry your story to me first, for once that threshold is crossed, the game changes. And I do not play games twice.

I am vigilant. I am patient. I am exacting. I am not naive. I am not defenseless. I am the storm you never saw coming, the wall you could never scale, the judgment you cannot escape.

Tell me first. Or do not speak at all. Because once the truth reaches me without your guidance, the door closes forever—and it will not open again.

I will tell the whole world about him
He feels like singing endless hymns
He has been so good to me
He is all I ever wanna see

He has sparkling madness, brown eyes
As if time flies
He was anxious and traumatized, like his dark unforgettable past
He wishes it never last

In the back of his mind
Why was he left behind?
He sings ballads and praises
All his days, he never fazes

He was rejected by many
Since others’ motives are too shady
Out of all the people, only one girl favors you
She is the only one simping you

Loving him is too crucial to hate
Seems like having him is really my fate
I admit it, he is the man she loves
He was indeed God’s gift from up above

don't make me hate or love you
or don't make me make or break you
forgiven or not, explained your issues or not
forgotten or not, I don't care

don't make me count the times you made me want to sue you
for all of the baseless accusations you tell me now
hearsays are not enough proof for me to be accused of something i never did.

how hypocrite! you're impure but you acted all innocent
ungodly believer, let's see which fits you most
heaven or hell? I am not one to judge where you deserve to go
but karma needs no address for someone wicked like you

i get what i deserve and success is the best revenge for you, you'll see.

I dug my own grave
Bloodstains on my shirt, wounds on my face—
Yet, I clawed my way out alive.
I want to run, to disappear,
But I can’t help it—I need saving.

I plead for revenge,
Justice is what I seek,
Sanity rejects me,
No wonder this pain burns deeper than a third-degree wound.

They call this heaven compared to where I came from—
No, you’re wrong. I’ll prove you wrong.
This is hell compared to what you did to me.

No matter how much perfume you drown yourself in,
Your rotten soul reeks—exposing your lies.
Hypocrite. Insolent *****.
When will you ever learn?
You carry your own cross,
Yet you crucify everyone else.

What you show is just a mask,
A bitter facade wrapped in silk.
Your kiss—nothing but a sweetened lie.
I remember your voice,
That same chilling thrill to ****—
But no, you weren’t worth the bullet.

I traded good bread for unforgettable scars,
Spilled too many tears for a drunken past.

From the Chao Phraya to the London Bridge,
I vanished without a goodbye.
Yet, you chased me—like I was the predator.

I found solace in an abandoned place,
More shelter than a mansion ever was.
Locking eyes with my enemy,
I’d **** for that moment—
When the time is right.

Turned the yard into my office,
Planted trees to cloak my schemes.
Now we stand face to face—
I am that same woman,
Born twice.

Black and red can end well—
Like smoke in the rain.
Bodies six feet under make the finest fertilizer.

I was never the one to start trouble,
But a feisty ***** sure loves to talk.
Face to face,
I don’t flinch—
You do.

I lived with what I had,
You built your empire off the backs of others.

I wasted years for fleeting moments,
Only to break free from the chains of your embrace.
A silent witness—trapped in your office,
Waiting for the next thrill.

Snuck in when the world was asleep,
Found comfort in a bottle of pills—
The only thing worth dying for.

But that green gown you wear suits you well,
Wrapped in the very venom you spew.

Poison now flows through your veins,
Vomiting blood—feels like déjà vu, doesn’t it?
Look at me.
Look at what you did.

Shattered glass in expired red wine,
Burned identities, buried pasts.
****** is an underrated art—
And my patience has run thin.

This girl is rare, This girl is one of a kind
This girl only has you on her mind
This girl is still under your care
Oh, but this girl is hurt
And has no more time to flirt

This girl’s already all alone
She’s no longer in your zone
This girl has already cried enough
But this girl’s heart’s too tough

This girl no longer owns you
This girl is no longer your priority
This girl’s decision is never made easy
This girl will never listen to your lies anymore
Cause this girl can’t hold it any longer
This girl still loves you so
But you see, this girl has to let you go

This girl no longer believes in you
This girl no longer misses you
This girl no longer trusts you
This girl is no longer coming back to you
This girl already gave you the freedom you deserve
This girl has a lot to observe

From your words of wisdom to lies
She can’t see it in your eyes
But she feels it inside her
You never deserve to keep her

This girl loves you more than you ever know
She’s just too shy to let it show
But she needs to love herself first
This girl already found you
But you let her go
She chose you for a reason
But this love is already not it’s season
But she needs to find herself first
This girl misses you like crazy
But she misses herself more every day
This girl gave time to you
But she needs to spare herself some time

This girl already forgave you
And hopes to forget what has been said and done
This girl  will still treat you as her only one
But she needs to give you the freedom you deserve
I hope one day we meet again
Where this pain no longer remained
I hope you find the happiness you deserve

One day, this girl will look at you
Like I no longer have feelings for you
One day, I will find time to see you
But I’m no longer coming back to you.

father, are you scared of your own kind?
maybe you forgot about it, perhaps.
let me refresh your memory for you...
I thought I was your favorite, your little innocent girl
but I was sexually abused, took advantage by a guy
after that, you disgust me
I thought you accepted me for who I was
but I was misunderstood.
are you afraid of me? you created the monster out of me,
and I am that monster you created
fear not. I am not a weapon.
I am not a murderer.
I am a child, seeking for attention and love. once.
who needs a gun when I can turn my pain into words,
I hope they bleed you, rip your heart apart
you left me in pain for a year and a half in a prison
because you cannot control me. not anymore.
you cannot brainwash me. no more.
you asked me, "how did this sweet girl grew up to be a heartless horrid creature?"
but I was never born, I was created. I was a monster by painful experiences.
"Go to hell" oh bruh, where did you think I came from.
"There is a devil among us" fear not. do not be afraid by your kind, you mirror me for I am not a devil, but a monster.
Alas! I am everything you cannot control. remember that.
because I was once a child, an unwanted child. begging for her parents a time, a dime and attention.
woe! a second child I was, the path I walk on is all bumpy and steep
never straight and easier to walk on
I remember all of them. I remember the ***** they said, the ***** they do. If I spoke too soon, I'd be in a mental hospital by now.
sane or not. this is the old me from years ago.

You make me feel brand new
Let us just enjoy the view
Sipping champagne, sitting by the porch
Watching the sun sets

Let us make up and mend the pain
And let us light up some torch
I just wanted to do this with you
I can’t forget

325,000 and 600 minutes
365 days, 1 minute
24 hours a day, 12 hours a day
I’m so glad I found you, and make love to you

At exactly three in the morning
I still reminisce the old times
At exactly three in the morning
My midnight thoughts came by this time

Just a blur, in the blink of an eye
Everything fades, you and me, we’re done
It was already gone
Inside of me, I will die, I have died

Every time I cry, my eyes were already dried
Oh, just like a smoke, you were gone
Just like a smoke, what we had is done
Yeah, I will try to bury it in oblivion

This love is not a competition
Whoever gets the most attention
Or lacks affection
Will get an elimination from my life

What a bitter strife
Oh, at exactly three in the morning
I cry myself to sleep
I already am falling into deep


I have to forget this feeling
What has happened to me at three in the morning
Will remain a history
Until now, it became a history.

“A tin can, when empty, babbles the loudest.”

Have you ever met someone with a tin can mouth?
Oh, I have.
And it’s exhausting.

They rattle in every room they enter,
throwing words around like coins in a jar—
hoping the noise will convince you it’s worth something.
But it’s not.
It’s just hollow metal screaming for attention.

The emptier the vessel,
the louder the sound.
It’s physics.
And it’s also human nature—
the loudest people are often the ones
with the least to say.

They mistake volume for wisdom,
mistake talking over people for having authority,
mistake constant noise for proving a point.
But the only point they prove is this:
they’re desperate for someone—anyone—
to confuse their clatter for clarity.

Proverbs 15:2 hits hard here:
“The tongue of the wise adorns knowledge,
but the mouth of the fool gushes folly.”
And gush it does—
endlessly, thoughtlessly,
like a faucet with a broken handle.

The thing is…
you can spot a tin can mouth quickly.
Their sentences sound rehearsed,
like they’ve been reciting them to a mirror for years.
They speak with the confidence of someone
who’s never been challenged
and the fragility of someone
who couldn’t survive it if they were.

Proverbs 17:28 gives them the cure they’ll never take:
“Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise;
when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent.”
But silence?
That’s something they fear.
Because silence exposes emptiness.
Silence would make people notice
there’s nothing beneath the shine of their noise.

So they keep talking.
And talking.
And talking.
They’ll interrupt you mid-thought,
argue points they don’t even understand,
twist your words until they’re unrecognizable.
They build arguments not to seek truth,
but to win—
and winning, to them,
isn’t about being right—
it’s about being the last one still making noise.

And when they finally walk away,
you’re left with that echo in your head—
the metallic, grating sound
of emptiness pretending to be full.

But here’s the savage truth:
When the clatter stops,
when their echo fades,
you realize that all along,
you weren’t talking to a person with depth.
You were talking to an empty can—
and kicking it was just giving it more noise.

So let them babble.
Let them be the loudest in the room.
Because at the end of the day,
the weight of wisdom will always outlast
the noise of the hollow.

And me?
I don’t argue with tin cans anymore.
I just stop kicking them.

Loving someone who has no time for you? Wow. How incredible.

To be a voice, or to be an echo. The world loves echoes. They are safe, predictable, pleasant to the ear. They repeat what others say, mimic what others believe, and vanish quietly when the storm of opinion changes course. The world applauds them, nurtures them, even depends on them—but they are not you.

A voice, however, is dangerous. A voice carries weight. A voice is carved from the marrow of thought, of conviction, of experience. A voice insists on being heard, even when it trembles, even when it whispers. And it is okay—more than okay—to be a voice. Even a still voice. Even a soft, trembling, unassuming voice.

Some voices roar. Some voices burn. Some voices are like winter sunlight—quiet, sharp, penetrating—but always present. And some voices exist only for certain ears, only for certain hearts, only for those willing to listen. They do not demand the world’s attention. They simply claim their space.

And the echo? Perhaps it is not worthless. Perhaps there is a place for echoes—those moments of repetition that remind us of the familiar, the safe, the comfort of known truths. But an echo should never be mistaken for your voice. An echo should never stand in for your conviction, your insight, your soul.

You may be quiet. You may not always shout or roar. But your voice is yours, and that is enough. The world may try to drown it, may try to ignore it, may try to insist that it blend into the chorus—but a voice, even a small one, cannot be entirely silenced.

And perhaps the beauty is here: that an echo, when it is only meant for you, is not weakness. It is intimacy. It is resonance. It is proof that even in repetition, even in mimicry, there is understanding, reflection, connection. But never let an echo convince you that you do not have your own song.

Be a voice. Speak truth, even softly. Speak courage, even hesitantly. Speak love, even if it trembles. Speak, because the act of speaking—of existing as a voice—is a rebellion against silence, against conformity, against the comfortable tyranny of expectation.

And if the world ignores you? Let it. Even the most subtle voice can ripple across stone, can awaken thought in those willing to hear. Even the smallest murmur can carve space in the hearts of listeners. The world’s applause is not the measure of your voice. Your existence is.

To be or not to be… echoes endlessly, but the choice to be a voice is yours alone. And in being a voice, you honor yourself, your mind, your spirit. You claim the right to speak, the right to think, the right to resonate. You claim yourself.

And remember, it is okay if your voice is only heard by one. It is okay if your roar is quiet. It is okay if your echo is reserved for your own ears. What matters is that it exists. What matters is that it is yours.

Be a voice. Always. Even if still, even if soft, even if unrecognized. Be a voice. And let the echoes follow, or not. They are not yours to command. But your voice—your voice—is eternal.

You lift me up the way I lift you
Together we help each other out
Figuring our way out
Into this problematic world of ours

You know I always care for you
What we had, what we own was ours
No one else would ever come in between
Here we are, through thick and thin

You always had me at our best and worst
I have always found you when you’re lost
Baby, don’t worry, I will always be here
Loving you, even if I’m far or near

You will always have my heart
To have and to hold
Your worth for me was gold
Your worth is more than a 24 karat

I would always want to hold your hand
Never want to let it go
This love may be sweet, salty, bitter or bland
I would always love to have you

This is the best love I have so far
It got me wishing on a shooting star
I may never have anything
But I can give you everything.

I hope my karma for you—is when you meet someone and he will slap you in the face for that same trauma and hurt you made me feel and experience

Know when to leave the table. That’s the first rule they never teach you. Sometimes, the people around you don’t deserve your time, your voice, your presence. You linger too long, hoping for gratitude that will never come. And in the process, you lose pieces of yourself.

When respect is no longer served, when loyalty is shallow, when intentions are crooked, you owe it to yourself to walk away. You do not negotiate with indifference. You do not barter with someone who cannot see your value.

Remember the night of the Last Supper. Jesus sat at the table, breaking bread with His disciples. He knew one would betray Him. Judas was there, smiling, nodding, pretending. Yet Jesus did not chase him. He did not plead. He merely acknowledged the truth. “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me” (Matthew 26:21). That awareness did not weaken Him—it prepared Him.

Sometimes you must prepare yourself the same way. Recognize the betrayal before it fully lands. Know the people around you who will stab in silence, who will take advantage of your generosity, your kindness, your patience.

You do not need to fight for crumbs while others feast. You do not need to shrink yourself, dim your light, or silence your voice so others can feel comfortable. Your dignity is not negotiable. Your value is not up for debate.

Some will act as if your patience is weakness. They will test you, **** you, see how far they can push before you snap. But you are not a toy. You are not a placeholder. You are not an option.

Sometimes the bravest act is silence. Sometimes the strongest act is leaving without looking back. Let them wonder why you’re gone. Let them feel the absence they never valued. Let them sit with the emptiness they created.

Jesus knew betrayal would happen, but He didn’t stop living. He didn’t let Judas’s intentions define Him. And neither should you. Let the ones who betray you reveal themselves fully, so you know exactly what you’re walking away from.

Walking away is not cowardice. Walking away is clarity. Walking away is strength disguised as silence. It is the quiet assertion of your worth, a refusal to settle for less than you deserve.

Some people will accuse you of abandoning them. Some will claim you’re too proud or too sensitive. They will try to guilt you back into the chaos. But the truth is simple: you have merely chosen survival over drama, self-respect over manipulation.

Do not linger for explanations that will never come. Do not wait for apologies that will never be offered. Respect is not granted by words—it is earned, and when it is absent, it is no longer yours to negotiate.

Sit at tables that recognize your value. Sit where your voice matters. Sit with people who understand that your presence is not a given, but a gift. And if those tables do not exist yet, stand anyway. Walk anyway. You will find them eventually.

Some betrayals hurt deeply because you believed in someone who didn’t deserve belief. That pain is proof that you are human, that you care, that you love. But it is also proof that you are wise enough to recognize when the table is poisoned.

Do not be afraid to leave quietly. Do not feel guilty for stepping away. Sometimes, walking out is the only way to preserve your integrity, your sanity, your heart.

When you step away, walk tall. Walk unshaken. Let the absence of your presence speak louder than anything you could ever say. People notice when respect is gone, even if they never admit it.

You cannot force loyalty. You cannot manufacture gratitude. You cannot demand kindness. All you can do is honor yourself, and sometimes, that requires walking away.

Remember, even Jesus knew when to face the betrayal and when to accept it. Even He knew that some would never recognize His value until it was too late. There is power in that knowledge. There is peace in that clarity.

So leave the table. Leave the arguments, the manipulation, the empty apologies, and the hollow smiles. You do not belong there anymore. You never did, not really.

And when you walk away, carry your head high. Carry your heart intact. Carry the lesson that some people never deserved a seat at your table, and that is not your failing—it is theirs.

Know your worth. Protect your soul. Walk away from those who do not see your light. And when they finally realize, it will be too late. Because you have already chosen yourself.

What we had was a rush
We started off as strangers
Then next up is being each other’s crush
And thrilled to see us being together

Too many times I let myself fall on the ground
But then, protected myself
From the people that surrounds me
I let myself down
And people started judging me

But you held my hand
My worth was nothing grand
Yet I never let you fixed me
Healed me

But you did fix and heal me
You repaired my broken heart
And caught me when I fell apart
And wanted to protect me

Am I playing with words… or merely playing with my tongue?
Because I can be poetic when I choose, when the rhythm of thought aligns with the rhythm of breath… and I can be careless when I do not. I can cloak the truth in velvet or let it cut, jagged and raw, leaving no trace of softness behind.

Some say we become less of what we are when we give more than what we deserve.
Perhaps. Perhaps that is only true if we hand ourselves over to those incapable of seeing us, incapable of bearing the weight of our fire. But I ask—who determines what is “deserved”? Who measures the value of a pulse, the resonance of a word, the depth of what is felt? I have given freely, and I have withheld freely, and in both, I have remained entire.

I can pretend, yes—I can pretend I care… or I can pretend I do not. I can mask my longing, cloak my indifference, tilt my smile just so, and the world would not know the difference. And yet, beneath the surface, something lingers—insistent, untamed—a reminder that even in pretense, even in withholding, I remain fiercely, irrevocably myself.

I have learned that words can be weapons or they can be wings. They can ignite or they can suffocate. They can draw someone close or push them away, and I am both the artist and the arsonist in this delicate dance. I choose when to strike, when to soothe, when to speak and when to remain silent.

And still, I wonder: am I too much, or am I enough? Am I giving too much, or simply giving what is mine to give? There are those who cannot hold the intensity of a soul unbound, who fear the reflection of their own limitations in the fire of another. To them, I am a threat. To them, my words are too sharp, my silences too heavy, my presence too complete.

I do not apologize. I do not soften for convenience, for approval, for comfort. I will not make myself small to fit the narrow shadows of another’s expectation. I am wide, I am dark, I am luminous in ways you may never see but that do not require your recognition.

So, yes—I can be poetic when I want, careless when I do not. I can pretend, with elegance or with cruelty, I can withhold or I can give. But always, in every line, every glance, every breath, I remain wholly, unmistakably myself.

And perhaps that is the most dangerous, the most exquisite thing of all.

You think you know me?

You only know the version of me I let you see.

To some, I’m kind—gentle even. Someone who listens, who understands, who holds space.
To others, I’m cold. Distant. Maybe even cruel. And maybe I am. Depends on what part of me you’ve earned—or what part I had to become to survive you.

Some say I’m talented. They see sparks, passion, something that moves.
But most? They don’t see anything.
To them, I’m just noise. Background. Disposable.

I can be the warmth in the room or the one who snuffs out the light.
I don’t always choose—sometimes I just shift.

To a few, I’m artistic. Strange, but intriguing. They say I’m original. Unfiltered. A little chaotic in a beautiful way.
To others, I’m just “trying too hard.” Pretentious. A performance waiting to fail.

Some call me creative. A mind that breathes in color and bleeds it into form.
But there are also eyes—watching me like predators.
Picking apart my work. Measuring me with crooked rulers.
Waiting for the day I collapse under the weight of it all.

There are people proud of me. Quietly so. They don’t always say it, but I feel it.
And then there are those who mock me.
Turn my struggles into punchlines.
Celebrate my silence.
Wait for me to trip—just so they can say, “I knew it.”

Some are rooting for my downfall.
Not because I wronged them—
but because my rise threatens something in them they refuse to confront.

Still… there are the rare few who wait with hope.
They’re not loud. They don’t demand my attention.
But they’re there—watching with patience, believing in the version of me even I haven’t met yet.
Waiting for me to grow into myself. To rise.

And maybe that’s enough.

Because I’m not here to prove myself to everyone.
I’m not a performance. I’m not your projection.
I’m not a failure for not being who you expected.
I am a storm. A contradiction. A work in progress.

So whether you cheer for me, mock me, love me, hate me,
Whether you’re waiting for me to fly or to fall—
At least you’re watching.

And I’ll keep becoming.

You hurt me in places only God could restore.
In wounds too deep for apologies,
in spaces where words could never reach.
You took from me pieces I thought I could never get back,
and left me with scars I didn’t ask for.

But what you broke, my God is mending.
What you stole, He is restoring.
What you meant for harm, He is turning into strength.
Because no matter how deep the cut,
God’s healing always runs deeper.

I am walking on sunshine
She walks on eggshells
But let me know,
We will cross that bridge when we get there
Just like this poem, you are a nonsense— a nuisance.

palpitations. hyperventilation.
heart beats faster than a horse
should I be worried? yes.

Venomous velvetous viper, everything is violet venom.
Lavender lady, little liar
Curly careless crying child
I am one strong, mean, brat
I say nonsense things I did not mean
I am so mad at myself, that I was even mad you
Pretty please, Patty is a people pleaser
Tell me, Miss Temptress.
I am not one to please
You are barking up the wrong tree.

🐍 To the Favoritism Queen (Grandma)

Hi, Grandma. I know you can’t read this.
That’s fine—your silence always screamed the loudest.
You only missed me when I vanished,
But never enough to look twice when I was near.
Still, I held your hand. Still, I stayed.
You gave me scraps, I served you care.
You played favorites—I played nurse.
And though I bore the wound,
I never let the poison touch my tongue.


🎭 To the Storyteller (Manang)

Hi, Manang.
Thanks for the respect… in our absence, at least.
What a talent—to act kind when the audience is gone.
Keep performing. Applause is overrated anyway.
Your storylines are fiction dressed in guilt,
But don’t worry—
We know the truth behind the curtain call.


🐀 To the Emotional Parasite

Hi, *****. That’s you.
Rich—yes. Rich in overthinking.
Rich in words you never learned how to use right.
But money? Nah. You only invest in drama.
You unveiled yourself without warning.
Didn’t even let us hold the masks longer.
So thank you—for exposing the betrayal
We suspected all along.
God saw it all.
And me? I won’t forgive you.
But I’ll let time wear the crown for justice.


👀 To the Human CCTV (Cousin)

Hi, cousin.
I blocked you—digitally and emotionally.
You’ve always had sharp eyes and dull morals.
Broadcasting my life to your mom
Like a live episode on channel gossip.
I see now…
You wanted to look clean, so you painted us *****.
Newsflash:
Everyone’s already seen your reruns.
And you’re not the hero in them.


🙄 To the College Dropout ****

Hi, ****.
Yes, I said it—with the elegance of a truth bomb.
So when you sold grandma’s table,
Was that a bargain… or a betrayal?
Funny, you worked in Customer Service—
But lacked the grace to serve without insults.
No, I never hurt you.
You mistook my curiosity for interrogation
Because you’ve only known relationships made of daggers.
You cling to that aunt abroad like she’s an exit plan.
But be careful, darling—
She’s molding you into her mirror.
And mirrors crack too.

Hinding-hindi ko ipagpapalit ngiti mo sa mundo.

Some people’s insecurity has nothing to do with you personally — it’s about the reflection they see in you. You’re a living reminder of the roads they were too afraid to take, the risks they refused to embrace, and the dreams they quietly buried under excuses. Your courage to try makes them uneasy because it exposes their choice not to. Your progress stirs something in them — not admiration, but frustration — because it reminds them of how far they could have gone if they had only moved.

They’ll say you were “lucky” just to downplay the years you’ve worked. They’ll try to pick apart your flaws just to distract themselves from their own regrets. They’ll whisper about you, twist stories, and turn people against you — because in their mind, if they can make you look smaller, their own lack of action won’t feel so big.

But here’s the truth: you are not responsible for their unfulfilled potential. You do not have to dim your light to make their darkness more comfortable. You are allowed to succeed, even if it makes others uncomfortable. Their insecurity is not your burden to carry.

In the end, people will either be inspired by your growth or be threatened by it. And the ones who are threatened? They were never rooting for you in the first place. So let them watch from the sidelines while you keep moving forward. You’re not here to relive their missed chances — you’re here to live your own destiny.

What I learned during my internship for Education is that:

You need to have a thick face
You have to wear a lot of masks to hide your feelings, the pain or problems at home
It should not be brought to school.

Until today, I was able to wear a lot of masks. Even at home. I wore a facade to hide my true feelings. To hide the pain.

Sometimes, when no one is around. I cry. Life is tough. But it made you stronger, not weaker.

no matter how lengthy your reason is, other people are still too close-minded to not understand your reasons