"How can you love him like that?"*

At 5, they taught me
how to color shapes
and I would color them
beyond the lines.

At 10, they told me
to make a 500-word essay
and I did a 1000-word
for it and got an F.

At 16, they apprised me
to wear a cocktail dress in a party
and I wore a long dress;
they bullied me for weeks.

At 20, my professor instructed me
to place up to 5 decimal places
and I wrote 7 for assurance;
I failed his class.

At 23, he asked me to love him
with everything that I can
and I gave him beyond everything;
he broke my heart.

We are the lost lovers who wander
the great walls of this world;
in pursuit of the love that only navigators
can have in their very own hands.

And we go in endless circles while
endlessly hoping of being home
to someone we'll ever know but
our fate only does.

The roads have turned to deserts
and the life is starting to wither;
you are her oasis--her savior from dispair;
though you are nowhere to be found in the middle of the death fair.

You are one of the likes of her --
young, tired, lost, and long gone
from the lovers' lane you once belonged;
and you're alone, wandering to wonder.

May you both find your ways
through this garden of all-or-nothing;
and may you find dandelions
than a rose in a field of thorns.

Leave her
like how you would end
your favorite book.

All the markings you made
will be her ever after
on the pages you took.

Scan her down with those eyes
that once showed interest but are now
excited to read her very last word.

You would barely remember the details,
the marks, her errors, and lines
and will soon forget her.

And by then, you'll leave her
with pages mangled and folded
and befouled on the edges.

She's just one of your many books
piled in dusty shelves;
waiting in line to be forgotten.

She is her words --
        the letters in the lines;
        the art tattooed on pages.

She is mystery --
        the secrets and signs;
        the lies and her guise.

She is astonishment --
        the curved pathways in pages;
        the plot twists on the edges.

She is sadness --
        the tracing downfall from a cliff;
        like how she fell for you.

She is madness --
        the explosion of everything;
        the collision of all universe.

She is beauty --
        the art on gritty surfaces;
        convergence of different abstractions.

She is death --
        the poison to your heart;
        the knife before your eyes.

She is life --
        the birth of vivid events;
        the breath of memories.

She is love --
        the beating of each stroke;
        the thing you have from her.

She is her words --
        the black and blue on papers;
        the prisoner of her book.

Love is like
your favorite
superhero --
it brings salvation
along with
its destruction.

Love is like
the air we breathe --
felt by our senses
except for the eyes.

Love is like
a sincere prayer --
where our hopes
and dreams
are being kept.

Love is like
a faithful devotion --
the act of being loyal,
of being truthful,
and committed.

Love is like
a memory --
lives through the years;
immortal when
scripted on pages.

Love is like
the promises --
uttered from
many years ago;
by a lover, to
a wishing well,
or to a falling star.

Because love
is something
you can never
hold on to;
but can only
believe in.

I am your poet --
I write your name on my heart
and our memories on my pages.

I write about my doubts,
my maybe's, what if's
and whereabouts
of you; and only you.

I write about my mistakes and yours --
our past, present, supposed future;
and how I love you the most.

I write about our debates --
the shouting and crying like
a wildfire sprawled across the bed.

I write about our first date --
when we dress up so nicely
and danced all night.

I write about our first kiss --
the push and pull of our lips;
and the warmth of our breathing.

I write about the way we talk --
the sweetest and most painful sound
uttered against the wind by the heart.

I write about your heartbeat --
the way it speaks to me,
and how it says my name joyfully.

I write about your face, your body,
the sound, noise, and joy;
and how we make love endlessly.

I am your poet --
I write about our unending love
that ends on my pages.