my words say today

sometimes i write stuff so ya.

Love died, if you were wondering. Love died a long long time ago.

Wait for love. Sit patiently, silently on the steps of her front porch and admire her majesty. Be careful not to occupy too much space wondering how long it will take to leave its house, to suddenly drop in onto your life and bless you with the most wonderful feelings. Wait some more; meet new people that are born on this porch and don’t you ever say no when they ask to stroke your beard. Remind them that this is what love grows. Love is patience, tell them that. Love is not the anger that is stirring up inside you at the loneliness. Love is not the disappointment that no one ever said would come. Love is definitely not hatred of the lovers. Tell the children that it will come. Then die. But hey, you died waiting for love, so you are as honourable as they come.

[Insert Your Name Here, You Heartless Cunt]

everything has went from bad
to worse.
some days i swim in saltwater
others i bathe in restless repetitions,
and on the rest, i seal my eyes
in hopes of permanency.

things have went from bad
to worse
and the nausea has escalated into
disgust of food.
sometimes i think that i should not
be thinking as much as i am,
but then i am reminded
that the only voice that has never
strayed away from my side,
is mine.
so i still sit by myself,
sometimes screaming sometimes
whispering,
sometimes weeping sometimes
giggling,
at my existence.
my breathing has went from routine to
irregular.
i dont blame you, most of the time.
it wasnt your fault, was it?
i never told you
why that week was so cold,
i never fucking told you
why we talked so little
for the last two weeks.
i promised i would, later on, maybe
now
because i am crying again and cant
bear the thought
of keeping it in.
my life went from blessed and sort of okay
to a wreck with way too many shards exposed.
i made up my mind, now,
i hate you.

it made me laugh,
the way things fell down
at my feet,
after weeks of crying
and begging, and losses of sleep.
i found the promise you wanted me
to blurt out hilarious.
not only because you actually had the
audacity to
speak so much shit while you were leaving,
but also because you could never
leave me the fuck alone,
even when you were leaving.

you ripped off the branches that i spent weeks
growing around you,
with the little stories about my head,
and the big stories about you,
and now mother nature has helped
mould me into my favourite plant,
to keep all out. the good and the bad.

im sure i hate you,
i just havent come up with a right
metaphor yet.
things have gone stale.
i hate you.
i want to sleep.

I don’t know, still.

Because sometimes it’s more of
a violent vulture in all of its starvation
clawing at the door
than a sweet trickle of knocks
and a ‘I’m here again!’

I guess it was never meant to be
something that tasted like
your favourite dessert,
with marshmallows warm and spongy
and your tastebuds aroused,
but I was never given an
‘In case your heart breaks so bad you cannot breathe for 31 days straight’
package at school along with
my apple a day.
This bitterness mixed with unwanted feelings I could never get rid of by digesting my tears.

Perhaps it makes no sense to swallow
your fears when they remain
obviously,
the only thing that reminds you of
being alive.
The possibilities are endless and
your brain will never succumb to
weariness
when it comes to frightening your
soul.
Maybe our head shouldn’t always be
in control.

It has been a little over
3 days since you have come back home,
and every time I pass by ‘our spot’
I am elevated to tears.
Hey, at least that’ll get me to close my eyes, right?
(instead of mentally stabbing myself)

my last plea

my mum asked me about
you today.
she said i wouldnt stop
begging for someone
to stay,
someone with your name.
someone, you.
just you.

my mum asked me about
you today.
it wasn’t direct,
more of a
“whats been going on
with you lately?”
and a straightforward
“are you okay?”
that i learnt to respond to
with a polite nod and smile.

because i cannot tell my mother
that the only person i ever wished
to stay with me, has left me to be.
i cannot tell the woman that gave me
my life, after nine months of pregnancy
and 2 years of breastfeeding,
and the rest of my years of life of care
that i now wish i was never conceived.

because i cannot tell anyone
of how much you meant to me,
in fear that you will lose your worth
in my head, if i attempt to verbalise
all the fucking waves that you caused.
your waxing and waning is what matters;
i swear i wouldnt mind a tsunami if you came back.
tell me you love me again i fucking beg you.

Please fucking come back
i cant contain anything anymore.
my buckles broke the day you left
and projectile vomit has become my last name.
fucking help.
please come back.

i still classify as a li(e/ar)

i am burning up
in the air that i breathe
i am drinking gasoline
and thinking about you.
i am burning up
and my fears have come back.
they speak in bangs
from the back of my head.
nonexistent dreams arise
and float in the midst
of all the glaring eyes.
Non-existence is such a terrifying thing
that i wish to deserve,
but there is so much more left
to learn:
from the way you let me hold you
and the way i say i love you
and the time i didnt want it to end
and the way you deny our flare.
it is the fear of existing that strikes at times
like these, darling. it is the fear
of a sunny day of a plant that is never
watered. it is the fear of the lines
that bound what is supposed to
and what has been gone.
you can always be the book
that no one forgets, the inspiration
of aspiration of a generation.
You can always be the giggle you recall
from sixth grade at the mall.
you can be the incision made on a cancer patient,
and you are the wind that carries the leaves
i pray for life.
Delusions have never existed.
are we true?
these hands still beg-
forever for you.

but maybe i’m wrong.

love is like being born with fully functioning lungs and only learning
to hold your breath your whole life
up until the moment when your feet are
blue and your fingers tingle then
realising that your lungs were meant
to stretch and expand.
love is like learning about a star
when you were six
and packing your hopes and dreams
in your school bag
with plans to chase it-
only to find out that it has disappeared.
Then at sixteen figuring out
that it was an aeroplane.
Love is the smell of a new car
that your mother has been anticipating
in addition to the excitement of being driven everywhere
to end up in the hospital with broken bones and 14 stitches.
(Not denying that the treats were yummy)
But love is also the tree that you imagined
your dream treehouse to someday be built on
being chopped down for expansion.

You find other trees. And planes. And stars. And your bones harden and you breathe again.

For breakfast today:

Breakfast is served.
On the table we have:
One serving of the crave in your eyes,
Two steps to prevent heat loss,
three glances of pleasure
and your lips with a side of
the tingling of cold coffee
that you forgot about.

For breakfast today
i had your lips, ever so luscious
and a seasoning of stale coffee
to satisfy my addiction.
For breakfast today
you had my skin, slowly bringing out
my true colours beneath
to show me that i am alive.
For breakfast today
there were moans and squirms
and pleading whispers.
For breakfast today
there was skin against skin
no longer aroused,
just innocently enveloped
to weld down the walls of two
and make an alloy of one.
For breakfast today
i swear i fell in love
with you
and you
and you
and you.

maybe this one’s to unbore you when youre bored on the internet.

There is this blankness, this certain emptiness that everyone has grown accustomed to, or so i presume because it happens to me, when the lights have been turned off. You sit in a room with the lights off, let it be packed with people or serenading your loneliness, and everything becomes clear. As if the lights that are on block your vision of what truly is happening in your head. This darkness allows you to dissect your own mind-
sometimes it gets extremely messy, everything starts to slip and your worst thoughts become seeds that fall into the soil you’ve fertilised so diligently for the good ones, ending up as trees that branch out and produce fruit too. Somehow that isn’t the worst-case scenario. Maybe the worst times are when you are in the sunlight with your skin shining and your eyes squinted; are you allowed to sigh at the beach? When you carry out your dissection with organisation, does it put you at ease or frustrate you? You are not a machine that is supposed to shelve all of it’s emotions, problems, ridiculous ideas and useless blabber into groups of five, are you? Good God there are so many people in this world do you ever think you may be an identical copy of someone else? Let the darkness be. Let it expose you, you need it every once in a while. Learn how to let the darkness inside you leak out in the sun. You can sigh on a roller-coaster. You can also scream. Realise you can feel and god damn it you will be able to walk alone without grudges. Your friends are right all the time (even when they’re wrong) and they think so too. Tell them you love them. Tell everyone you love them. Tell people when they’re nice and how that makes you feel. Tell them that they’ve made the little bubbles of vibrant colours inside you explode with positivity. Tell yourself too sometimes. Don’t see. Your soul gets lonely, and the only time the creation can talk to you is when the lights are off. Would you let your life come in, now that you hear knocking on your window?

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i was a beekeeper and a patient and a gardener and an architect and starving, and seashells and the night and the truth and my own good.

because i miss you in the way
the bees sting and you ache and ache
and forget everything around you
and focus on the pain.
There is a routine i was prescribed
by the greatest doctor of all time
he told me to stop thinking about it,
and it would vanish like the smoke you exhaled.
Remind yourself to forget, he said.
He never thought how much fault he had caused.

i miss you in the way you tear
leaves off of trees,
sometimes flowers too. Not for their beauty,
that never fascinated you.
You rip it all down for the good sake of
passing the time,
and that is how i miss you so.

i miss you in the way buildings fall apart
with their architect watching, and the workers
at home. i miss you in the way you step on grass
and how i never did. i miss you in the way
the child threw out what they had left of their
lunch, like that food is some worthless
material of unimportant whatever.

but i miss him in the way waves crash on the sand.
They tango with the moon
and caress the bed of land. The flow of the sea,
has always been my favourite,
impure as it is, not ever not sincere.

and i miss him in the way that
my eyes light up, and my heart flutters
and my toes tap along to the strums of his
music.

i miss him knowing that he is still there,
how come my eyes crave how you feel?

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