If Love Is Pain Then Darling, Let’s Hurt Tonight 

She holds my heart in her hands and we sit to talk. I need to feel warm and she needs to feel safe. We are quiet at the moment but stars speak. Her eyes glisten like emeralds as she flips and turns my heart in her hands carefully examining it. And I’m surprised how there isn’t even one moment of fear that crosses my mind that she might drop it. Because I know with surety she won’t.

I have never been as sure about anything in my life as I am about her. I am actually glad she has my heart in her hands because I fear it’s her touch that keeps it beating. Without her love, there will be just colourless voids and a heart that keeps forgetting to beat.

So we sat to talk. We should have talked. We could have talked. But we didn’t. Instead we just lay together staring into infinite space that looked nothing less than pure magic. I wanted her to tell me things, anything. Lot of things. Everything. Just hear her speak. But her eyes were too loud for me to hear anything else at that moment. So I stared at her while she stared at the stars.

I didn’t want us to be mere accident like something that just happens one day unexpectedly. I wanted us to be on purpose- that just has to be for a reason. I wanted to love her on purpose and not like an accident.

She was a calm whisper in a world that was too loud. And although she was a chaos herself, I knew she could calm the storm within me.

She broke her eye contact with the stars and looked at me. And all it took was flash of a second, for me to know; I’d be a fool to let her go. Because she needed me as much as I needed her. And together, we were going to heal and glue back together our broken pieces.

It has always been her and me.

All those empty cervixes inside us that echoed with scars that still bled and thunders that still ripped us apart from time to time. It has always been her and me. And we, together, were going to heal.

Hence, she holds my heart in her hands to keep it beating, while I hold her close so she can breathe easy. I’m never leaving her side nor she needs to fall because she’s already safe in my arms. She doesn’t need to break herself anymore to prove anything.

I’m sure now, it has always been; her and me. And there is no way I’d rather have it be.

(Daily post: Corner, magnetic, homage, rhyme, critical )

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To Be Loved Like A Poet Loves its Poem.

She will touch you with fingers so cold you will wonder why ice wasn’t named after her yet she will set your skin ablaze. She will look at you like art piece. Analyze every crease on your face when you laugh and every grimace when something displeases you.

She will look at you like a path that keeps unfolding and she’s treading blind. Oblivious of what’s to come but woefully expectant of what’s ahead. She will explore you. She will show you what’s its like to be loved as a poet loves its poem.
And believe me, she will love you like a poem.
She’s the type to turn you into poetry.

She will see into your eyes and imagine a thousand stars bursting; into dreams that are made up of all that you are, all that you were and all that you are suppose to be. She will consider you a galaxy with shooting stars and meteor showers.

You will tell her things and she will listen to you. And she will stare at you until you tell her how her gaze is so unnerving. But she’s only looking at you like words that are left unsaid because nobody has been courageous enough to write them down on paper yet. Because those are the words not everybody can imagine writing every day.

So she will love you like a poet but you will have to love her back like a poem; gently, kindly and courageously. For a broken heart might shoot ink into her veins but it will kill a part of her, that she will never be able to recover again.

People like her lose their pieces one by one until one day they find themselves empty. After all there is a reason, why poets die young.

(Daily post: Texture, Shimmer, Amble, )

Let’s Make A Change

(WPC: The SunShine )

“Let me tell you something: no one is going to look at you, broken and shattered 
and think -
damn, you are beautiful.
No one is going to come pick up your broken pieces off the floor and
 assemble them into a beautiful whole.

Hell,
 you won’t even look at yourself and think – 
I made broken look beautiful.

You know why?

Because all those writers lied to you.

Yes, 
all those with their poems of scraped knuckles and 
blood dripping down chins, 
pomegranate songs and loves that ripped through you like 
hurricanes.

Liars.

So you and I, 
we are going to make a plan.

You are not going to romanticize days when your brain tells you to smash that mirror,
You are not going to romanticize the lover who doesn’t understand you 
but still writes about you.

Here is what you are going to romanticize instead:
You are going to romanticize the first day of spring,
Its gentle hands all over your body,
Lifting you up until you are as light as a feather.

You are going to romanticize the tea and honey kind of love,
No hurricanes, 
but sunshine that builds you up from within,
That helps you make it through the worst days.

You are going to romanticize gentle hands of a friend 
in yours,
Telling you that it is going to be okay.

Because it is.

And don’t trust poets, 
we’re no good,
 we love pretending that our jagged edges tantamount to a beautiful disaster, but in reality – 
there isn’t nothing beautiful about shaky hands holding a cigarette and 
empty eyes staring at the cracks in the walls.

You know what is beautiful, instead?

The days when you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile, 
scars and all.
Music that makes your soul flow like a river, 
books that offer comfort, 
families flocking together like overgrown birds to keep you safe and warm,
 friends that give you strength when you can find none, 
lovers who make you laugh through tears.

Baby, 
from now on 
you are going to romanticize healing;
Honey dripping down your fingertips,
August nights that stick to your skin, the day you find your purpose, 
long car rides and singing so loud that no one can shut you up now.

Bad news: 
no one is coming to save you.

Good news: 
you can save yourself.”
– Lana Rafaela (via wnq-writers.tumblr.com)

( Daily Prompt: Millions )

You There

It’s in the way she moves,
Softly, firmly, quietly,
Like she doesn’t wish to be spotted.
Slipping through cracks,
And disappearing into the crowd.

It’s in the way she laughs,
So ordinary, so familiar,
Yet a contradiction to her eyes.

Her eyes, so profound-
Seemingly an abysmal nothingness,
Yet containing everything.
Everything that needs to be known about her.

(Daily Prompt: Flattery Radical Authenticity )

October Is Here.

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Wow, I can’t believe it’s been an year! I wrote this following poem last October but never got around to sharing it. So I thought it’s only appropriate now that another October is here, to post this as an Ode to this month of dying beauty. It’s also a testament to how far I’ve come as a writer and most importantly feeling comfortable enough to share my work with the world. It brings back all kind of nostalgia to think I couldn’t share this last year but now I’m ready to own my writings and the writer in me. So without further due here it is.
_________________________

October is here and September is gone,
while November is soon to come.

The days turn to nights and nights into days,
While I wait for your return.

Standing on the threshold of our dreams,
I stand gazing upon the autumn trees.

The crisp air swooshes by me,
And leaves filled with color fall upon my feet.

I melt into the October sky,
I reflect how so many months have since passed by,
while I wait with my tears all dried,
And coffee turned cold.

The morning sun peeks through the autumn trees,
Solemn air mourns and weeps.
I need your warmth to save me,
From the cold dark nights that are soon to embrace me.

October is here, but not you.
Not yet.

Maybe November, maybe December.
Or maybe in January February.
Someday you will return,
Whether it’s March, April, June or July.

I will wait for you forever,
Even through August and September.

And then October will come again,
Bringing back memories of the day you left.
Leaving behind a flesh of heaving weeping mess,
Stranded on the doorway tracing your footsteps.

October is here again, but not you.
Not yet.

( Nostalgia )

A Quest Of You

(WPC: Quest )
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Let me crawl into you like a tunnel to an abandoned city.
I’ll walk down the deserted road to your heart,
with caution and measured steps.

I’ll explore the wilderness under your chest.
My footsteps echo in the empty auditorium of your rib cage,
Whispering stories of ruins and remains.

Those wild dandelions smell of cigarettes and smoke,
You are poison and beauty,
A realistic illusion to behold.

You are a little more darkness than light at the moment.
As I walk through your city of broken hearts,
Some pieces hang from the non existent sky,
While some lay scattered on the dirt path.
I step on few by mistake,
I see you wither in pain.

I apologize for the inconvenience I’ve caused,
But there is something so extraordinary,
About treading uncharted territories,
To explore places that have never been touched before.

Let me walk through forsaken forgotten relics of your soul.
I promise I’ll not leave you emptier like the ones that came before.

I’ll rebuild you from ashes,
I’ll show you how beautiful your ruins are.
I’ll graze my knees on your asphalt heart.
I’ll stand on the boulevard of your shattered dreams and lost hope,
To rebuild them from scratch.
I’ll caress your skin until you come back to life.

Edge For You

(Edge: WPC)

There are days when even the earth spins with more sorrow and even the sky bleeds. I see it in your eyes, the anguish. You look away, trying to save me from it cuz you know I can always tell and that I will come running to share it with you.

I know there are nights, cold December wind chilling to your core adding to your suffering. I will be warm for you, I will cover you up. I will color your bleakness with what little shades of me I have left. I’ll cuddle you in and envelop you in my love.

There will be days and there will be nights. The one in between your smile and frown, in between your sadness and happiness. There will be lots of days and nights. But through it, I’ll stay with you. I’ll breathe with you and I’ll cry with you. In silence if that’s what you need. Because it’s a chance for me to be more than me, just for you.

It’s You.

She tasted of gunpowder and roses, just as beautiful and just as dangerous. She was smokes and mirrors. A reflection within a reflection, a forbidden act. She was ferociousness and tenderness in the same breath.

In the moment as we sat on that bench, my body ached for her. She was too much and too little at the same time. Much more than what she thought and much less than what I was making her out to be. She was untamed, unchained and unhinged.

Her pain was fueling the fire in her belly. I knew I could get burned. I knew I had to tread with caution but damn she was worth the burns.
And so I jumped.
To fall into her.

(In response to Weekly Discover Challenge: Designed for You )