I wana be like poetry
but you don't even like to read

timing is truly as fickle as they say
you can't turn back the clock
you can't take back what you forgot to do,
or take back what you did do.
.
.
often when you're ready, the opportunity has passed,
and the window has closed
and the time that was so fickle, is no longer in your favour.

So soft
more soft
too soft
shouldn't be soft
but couldn't be anything more than soft
perhaps couldn't be anything less than soft
beneath soft
not as soft
couldn't be strong without being soft.

so be soft, as soft as a moon in cancer

I mourn for your lips

So much that I feel aches that send speckles of darkness sinking into the pit of my stomach
and your smile alludes the impression that you are satisfied by this
and I discern the notion  of my lips having been touched but never really kissed

yet still, I mourn for your lips

lips that I have kissed, that never kissed me.

the walls are transparent, yet so thick.
Let. me .
free.

I am muted,
and subdued.
Let me be
unruly.

I was red,
green,
yellow,
purple,
gold,
now I am grey

Let. me.
shine.

its as easy as pretending it never happened,
and
very well feeling as though its all thats happened.

I ached to feel the comfort of someone turning my pages
eager to read, cover to cover
agreeing in contentment
because I was enough
maybe even more than enough.

Leave me with nothing;
nothing but nostalgia that'll hurt so good
it'll pinch my chest
and send whirl winds through my stomach
yet I'll love it,
just like I loved you.

love is habituating
as are broken hearts

Fell slowly out of love with he
and gently into love with me

You must have kissed me a million times before , I thought to myself
but today you kissed me and it was as if  our lips did not recognize each other,
and I couldn't even recall the last time you had kissed me.
as I moved my lips and swirled my tongue,
I realized our love was no longer young
and we had grown apart without saying a word

I was angry at my father for abandoning me
I was angry at my brother for not guiding me
I was angry at my mother for not protecting me
I was angry at him for not loving all the pieces of me
Every moment of every dayI was enraged
I wept and wept in the name love
but truly I was brimmed with grief
the grief I felt
from the love I did not give myself.

Repeatedly she dies, all just in one life time;
it seems she dies religiously
she hopes each time, death would lead her to nirvana
but instead she wakes up
just to realize she is exhausted and still stuck, alive.

love & anxiety;
they might as well be synonymous .

i hear you in my head
but i do not see you
are you in my head?
or is there no real you

my muse is my sorrow,
if it did not exist i would not find beauty in the rain nor solace in my pain.
it'll always find different ways to manifest,
but at least it is safe to say
it is no longer my unwelcome guest.

Easy on the eyes
Easy on the soul

I sat by the rocks on top of the cliff over the beach that was conveniently  placed behind my school.
Or rather my school conveniently placed in front of it.
I felt alone as I sifted through my notes and waited for him to come. I hoped he would come but I did not know if he would. I was used to expecting the worst, and I convinced myself this time would be no different.

Beyond the overhang of the cliff I sat, there was a man fishing, wearing a bright pink hat and yellow shoes. He stood on a rock all alone as he intricately moved his hands along  his fishing line. I could not make out the movements but I could tell he was well rehearsed.

I kept peaking over my shoulder to see if I would see him coming to join me but he was no where in sight. As I sat there watching the fisherman, I realized I was not at all alone. A contentness  fell over me as I realized that I was never really alone. Or perhaps that being alone wasn't really being alone when you can make peace with it.

In that moment I realized what I had always realized but was never able to make peace with:
We would probably wander much of our lives alone but we ultimately get to chose if we want to be lonely or not.
Some days I will feel lonely, and other days I'd find my fisherman in the distance to find comfort in.

the way u say my name
i know its going to rain
cause when ever you say my name,
there is always impending rain

erode you away, like a pebble in the river
your edges become smooth to the touch
a sight for sore eyes, touch for sore hands

so comfortable in pain
that I'm uncomfortable in its absence.

i know you want to let go but you don't have to,
i know you been letting go, so now I  have to.

Turning over new leaves,
in the wind of fall

Many times I am the best version of myself when
I am just me,
Alone.
I'm not sure what this says about me,
but I do know I am cursed with a lifetime of loneliness

Paralyzed by sadness,
lack of motivation coupled with an unquenchable thirst.
I am sad, yet happy
I am a walking paradox

We diffuse ink into our bodies with needles, withstanding the pain, waiting patiently through the healing process of aching, scabbing and itching. We anticipate it, and marvel at its beauty upon healing. We call this an expression; body art. Then why don’t we treat scars and aches the same? Why should we hide those away as if it were something to be ashamed of? Let me stand beaming, strong and proud of my scars

I am not a carefully prepared bouquet of flowers
arranged to please anyone
to create comfort
I am the raw uncomfortable, that they want to pretend doesn't exist.
I am a bowl of wild flowers

I am the moon,
no perception or projection of shine or shadow
can change me,
discern me or not, it does not change that I am full no matter.

My moonlight knight, was just an intangible, empty  projection.
Thats the thing about poets, their words drip of rich nectar, but it only alludes the sweetness of honey

I wrote my name in the sand and waited for your waves
to carry the sound of my name away
I did not realize I would be waiting an eternity,
Your supposed love in all its breivity
because your waves are weak, and your tides run low
and a love like mine, someone like you could never really know.
That you lack depth, and could never dive into the sea of my constellations,
That your soul reeked of rancid  soul ******* desperation.
That you could never love a love like me,
So let me write my own name in the sand,
and let me leave it there engraved in the earth
My name to keep.

His thread weaving through my silk cloth
Agonizing at first I had thought,
he punctured exhaustively through my sheath.
I felt broken and torn from deep beneath
I then came to the realization; I was sewn up tighter and tougher than ever before
so

Thank you.

If I dare hear you
I will feel you like the sun
A sound so ever profound
In your direction then, shall I grow forth?

Delicate blossoms, they wither away,
with each passing night she withstands her days.
Her branches are barren, her beauty forgotten,
now down to her core, she looks weak and unwanted.

Despair not, for she will bloom again
despite the anguish and despite any pain.
Resilient by nature, her season will come,
Heavy hearted but rooted, she'll never forget where she is from.

Such beautiful masks may conceal the most rancid souls,
but in due time, those masks fall off.
Remember, the use-to-be's, they no longer count,
And in due time, time does heals all.

You claimed to be my knight
       delivering me from demons
             But it was you, I needed saving from
                             It was you all along.

You forgot to love me in the places I am broken
Like the cracks of a frozen lake,
Inevitably I fell through to the cold water
you, out of my reach.