But have you ever wondered that maybe the ******* moon is just waiting for the day the sky/gravity lets it free so it can float away to another sky where it is not so scarred and where it does not have to be the witness of all the lovers' sighs. Maybe moon hopes to be the sun in another horizon.

But have you ever wondered that maybe the ******* sun is tired of never having a loving gaze upon itself when it's shining so happily, brighter than ever . Maybe it goes and comes just to get the attention it never could when he is happiest. Why does one need to lose its shine just to blend in? Maybe the sun envies the lovers' longing gaze on the moon. Maybe the sun sets daily wishing it was the moon.

But have you ever wondered that maybe the stars are so **** tired of being left out. Like most of the people can't even differentiate between them and there they rest, looking warily upon us, trying to be content with being mentioned In plurals. Always as a part of the group, not as a distinct identity. They watch wistfully as the sun and moon long to be each other, but not them. Never them. Because who would want to give up who they're just to be the fading background for others to outshine them.

Don't tell a rose how to grow,
And The birds how to chirp.
Don't tell your daughter to be soft,
Don't tell your son how to hurt.

Don't tell the sky what color to bleed,
And a person, the right way to grieve.
Don't try to tame your daughter's tongue,
Don't tell your son the manly ways to love.

Don't tell the wind which way to blow
Or the clouds how hard to rain.  
Don't teach your daughter how to soak,
Don't show your son how to easily reject.

Don't tell the sun to adjust its light
Or the truth how to show itself.
Don't tell your daughter it's feminine to shy,
Don't teach your son how to reign with fists held high.


Don't tell a heart how to beat
Or the mind how not to soar.
Don't clip off your daughter's  wings,
To make them a foundation for your son to grow.

Don't tell a rose how to grow,
Lest it decides to turn its petal into thorns.
Don't tell the birds how to chirp
And have their voices turn into rebellious growls.

It wasn't love at first sight. It was the opposite. It was slowly and beautiful. Like a sun rising in between two mountains or a flower slowly opening itself to the world.

I don't know when it happened, but with every tired sighs, blinking of eyes, and all the moments in between, I let the waves take me further to where you were. Suddenly, being alone was something I could not remember. Oh and my hands? They have always held a book or a pen, but they now crave for your hands instead. And I don't know why, but whenever you're not here, I can still smell your perfume and I can't help but look for you in the room. Whenever people ask me what my favorite color was, I would say "Pink", but when I saw your eyes, it has been my favorite ever since.

It wasn't love at first sight. It was something I witnessed unravel before me. It was you. And like slow sunsets and blooming flowers, my heart swelled at the onrush of the scenery.

there must be a place where broken words go
the ones without a limb
not fully formed
not spoken right
not heard

there must be a place where broken words go
the sentences left uncompleted
the trailing words that never left the lips
the "but" and the "and"
that were always left hanging

somewhere between silence and speech
there must be a place where broken words go
full of stutters and writers block sufferers
somewhere between the "i love"
and the "you" that never followed
or the "wait"
that was whispered into the air
the "please come back"
that made peace with dying
on the corners of a turning mouth

there must be a place where broken words go
the words spoken but never heard
the letters written but never posted
the train of thought that crashed into the clouds
the words in the bottle that traveled the sea
but sunk to the bottom before it could ever reach

there must be a place where my broken words go
the stains on my diary that didn't come from a pen
and the letters on my thighs that don't make sense
the things i could never say
and the things i said that came out all wrong
all the broken alphabets in my song
that cry for salvation
for one more chance

there must be a place where broken words go
there must be a place i can call home.