When you’ve got
your trust broken
by someone who
you counted on
there is no glue
in the universe
sticky enough
to put the pieces
back together.

I always say I want
to die before I’m old
but our hands will
be forever intertwined.
Promise me infinity.

You tasted me
thinking I was going to
become your favorite meal
but as soon as the
plate was served to you
you said it was insipid.

I’ve never loved myself enough
to love another human being.
Love is practice and I’ve
only practiced hate.
I’m a mixture of
fear and boredom.
Never understood what
could make other people
happy.
My favorite hobby
has always been guessing
what could hurt me
the most.
And then do it.
How am I supposed to know
joy and gift it?

The best part of being alive
is that you got to decide.
Never settle for less
than what you can aspire.
Don’t listen to people
who determine your worth
by what they see on
the outside.
You have a thoughtful mind
and know exactly the value
of your heart.
Your happiness is in your hands.
Don’t you dare let it
slip through your fingers.
The hate must not
influence your mindset.
You are you.
Think like you.

A death is sometimes
more bearable than another.
When a building is in flames
people choose to throw
themselves out of the window.
The fear of height
can’t compete with
that of fire.
We do that everytime
we meet someone new.
We choose to
leap into the void
hoping to be caught in time.
But at the end
we fall.
And we burn.

I’m playing with
the little globe
at my writing desk.
I let it spin
and spin
and spin
and...
I pause.
I suddenly feel too
small.
How many places
have not been discovered
yet?
How many lands?
I keep telling myself
how pointless and
worthless my existence
must be
in a universe
like this.
In the silence,
the beating of my heart
can almost exceed
the noise of my thoughts.
Each pulse is stronger
than ever.
We are told that
the heart is the same
size as the fist.
My hands are not that
big and so
neither is my heart.
I keep forgetting
its value, though.
Isn’t the heart also
an undiscovered land?
Sure, the doctors
could tell me all
its functions one by one.
They could illustrate me
its structure to a tee.
But they don’t know
the reasons why a heart
keeps beating even
when it’s tired.
Or why it doesn’t break
when it cracks.
Tell me about the way it
loves me even when I don’t,
even when I’ve hurt it.
I want to know why
it doesn’t explode
when it is so full of passion.
Isn’t it grand?
Isn’t this enough?
I am the universe.