Its been a month when I start not talking to you,
I always tell myself,
I will forget you, yes, I can.
Yes I forgot my feelings for you.
But then, I saw that picture again with that person,
I start hating myself,
Why did I still had this feeling?
I feel jealous.
Seeing that picture,
I don't know what to do anymore.
I think my feeling for you will be forever.

Because of you,
I write
And if only you knew
You're there
In every piece of the poems
I write

It's raining again
& I'm writing poetry again
fresh coffee in my cup

what to write, what to write
about childhood, love or human rights
the rain is falling outside

& I've done all that before
so I'm searching for the poet
inside myself & looking for

odd lines that may take my fancy
meanwhile, the rain is falling outside
& the sky can't be seen for clouds

' I'm just another poet
on a rainy day'
I whisper

the sky doesn't answer

What makes us love?
Can it be reduced just to chemical reactions?
What makes us decide we want to spend the rest of our lives with another person?
Will there ever be an answer?
Does there need to be an answer?

We go to Ikea having taken
the road through the allotments
& the Park which dates back

to Victorian times.
Inside the store
we grab at rugs & bowls

lie on the beds
until someone frowns
at us & we leave to

sit in the restaurant
with Swedish apple cake
& coffee, reminiscing

of the road we used to take
on the M48 bus to the store
which was near Spandau

one of the earliest settlements of Berlin
where the first Slavs
settled & lived

& how we had
back then a family card
to give us free coffee


before it all fell apart

Let's become strangers again love ~
I will stare into your blue eyes for the first time as you will gaze into mine ~
I will swim in their depths as if I've never dipped my toes into the sea ~
We will hold hands as if we've never felt the warmth of each others skin ~
We will look at sunsets as if the day will never fade again ~
We'll become strangers love ~
And start this journey all over again ~

Copyright Tia Jane Fajardo

As a young swallow learns to
frolic between the clouds and verdant fields,
so learns my heart to wanton
in the rosy scented air.
No matter time flowed by,
or places left behind,
my past fades into obscurity
as the light you bring floods my life,
and carries my heart out upon uncharted seas.

SWEETHEART,

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE CURE.

AND

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE DISEASE.

why, what's wrong?*

sometimes everything, sometimes nothing, sometimes i don't even know.  

depression shows up uninvited and makes a home in my chest.