i picked the scabs off my wounds
and made them bleed anew,
never allowing them to heal so easily.
i watched in amazement as new blood
drips and smears my skin.
i watched abrasions,
particularly the deep ones,
fascinated at how they can hurt.
i loved the pain that comes
with the cut.
i never cried at my gashes.
i still have scars from all the carelessness
of my life,
and i wear them proud,
like a veteran
who survived the war.
i come home to my waiting bed,
my mother’s pillow
my comfort through all the tears,
as i hide the pain in gauze of bravery.
i have been courageous.
i have never chosen my battles,
because i have always believed
that every single one of them is worth the ache.
here i am now, choosing yet again
the ecstasy of pain.
here i am, choosing the beautiful agony
of choosing to love you.

for j.e.
*111614

i have always fancied the decrepit,
the abandoned,
the unsightly,
the imperfect,
the rough,
the dull.
i have always found refuge
in desolate places
and found company
in the derelict.
the unwanted,
the forsaken,
the forlorn,
have always held my interest.

there is something unbelievably beautiful
in sadness
that draws me,
that calls me to it.
perhaps this is the same appeal
that holds me to you.
i look at you
and touch you
and i draw back in pain,
but i desire to embrace you still,
you
and your undesirable past,
your confused present,
and your uncertain future.

i am there
touching every scar
and wanting to peer
through every crack and crevice.
i want every tear
for myself.
i shall keep every drop
in a jar inside my heart
until i, too, overflow
with every ache.

it takes one to know one,
my brother always said.
i guess he’s right.
my own weaknesses,
my blemishes,
my defects
make it easy for me
to look at you
and see that you are one
of incomparable value.

those are battle scars,
i'd always say.
nobody has a right
to disrespect
the wars
others have fought
and the losses
others have suffered.
yours are some
of the most interesting
wounds i've ever seen.

your imperfections are priceless, baby,
and i’d gladly give what’s left unscarred in me
for the benefit
of embracing
all that you are.

for j.e.
*111614

there must be an infinite space beside you,
because in my unboundedness,
i found my place at your side.
right there in the crook of your arm,
i fit perfectly,
as if a spoon
that is firmly held in place
at the corner of a bowl,
as if the very hollow
around you
was meant exactly for me.

i never believed in destiny,
for i am a firm advocate
of choice, of free will.
but somehow,
with me snuggled
close to your heart,
i can somehow believe
i am fated to choose you.

they would ask
where my decisiveness comes from,
where my certainty about you
is rooted on,
and i would look up
and ask the stars the same question.

perhaps it’s in the curls of your mane
that i loved to rustle
with my fingers,
or your hands
that can engulf mine so easily,
or your arms
that can envelope my being,
or your eyes
that know what i need,
or your lips
that whisper endearments so sweet.

i really can’t say,
except that i know.
i know in my heart
that i chose you,
that i value the choices i make,
and i value you
as amongst my most prized decisions.

for j.e.
*111114

I will never stop scratching
through your rough edges
until I get in.

I’m breaking nails, baby,
and I don’t mind.

for j.e.
*110614

the world tilted
and i find
that i am exactly
at the opposite end
of where i was yesterday.

there was silence
between us
and spaces
and gaps
and infinities
yet to be realized.

now,
i am here somersaulting
with the sound
of your voice
as i drift off to sleep,
and again waking up
to the sweet sound
of promises unspoken.

when yesterday
i cannot find
where my spot is
in the map
of your heart,
here i am
at the x
marking exactly
where your whole being
is held together.

you have brought me
to various peaks and depths
of euphoria and melancholy,
and i am sure
i can only be called crazy
for wanting to be where i am.

when you come home,
remember:
x marks this spot, baby.
i am here,
exactly where i
have chosen to be.

for j.e.
*102514

my thoughts are always best expressed in verses,
and you are the lines
that make them up.

your name is never scribbled across the page,
but you are there in the kerning,
the sensible spaces in between.

you are the punctuation marks,
the pauses and the stops,
the stresses in my ideas.

don’t you ever get frustrated
that i have exploited your memories
into fragments of ellipsied affection?

i am guilty of making you my poetry,
of enveloping you in metaphors
and keeping you close to my heart.

out of the trickles of us,
i have spawned an infinite stream
of feels pooling into poems.

i have always wondered
if you have ever read me
and guessed that i was about you.

tell me if you have,
because if you haven’t guessed yet,
i’ll phrase my poems in equations instead.

for j.e.
*081214

you and me, mem’ries
i can’t even begin to
decipher. i sigh.

for j,e.
*081514