Love

You would think that Love would make you happy all the time.

Love would shower you with faith, trust and pixie dust and help you fly up

Up

Up into the sky.

You would think Love is all fun and games.

You would think Love is someone so totally expected when in truth…

Love is not.

Love is not expected at all.

Love is not that person with a charming aura and fancy cars.

Love is that person with a not so prominent aura there at the backseat of your car on a road trip with friends and friends’ friends.

Love is not fun, it could be. But not all the time.

Love is a game of truth or dare.

Because you always have to say the truth to Love and make yourself a dare for Love

Love is not tinkerbell.

Nor is Love Peter Pan.

Love is the Stars; you don’t see them but you know they are there.

You trust them not to fall on you.

And stardust, as we all know, doesn’t make you fly.

 

However, Love is real.

And reality is better than Neverland

In Neverland, nothing grows.

Not the people, Not the Trees, Not the Mountains, Not the sea.

In reality, everything grows.

The trees, The ocean, The People,

Even Love itself, grows.

Love grows more and more in love with you each day.

 

Yes, Love makes mistakes,

Yes, Love is unstable,

Yes, You may be hurt by Love and You will hurt Love back.

But.

Love wont leave. Love won’t give up.

And You won’t give up too.

 

Love is worth it.

Make sure Love knows that.

Because sometimes Love forgets its meaning.

So it is our job to make sure Love knows.

Love knows that it is worth it.

Love is worth anything.

Worth going to jail,

Worth sneaking around,

Worth all the pain

Worth all the waiting

Love is worth it.

 

 

 

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To My Best Friend in High School

I understand why you had to go.
We were toxic to one another already.
We couldnt stand each other,
We were just breaking each other.
But what i dont understand is why you thought i was drama.
Why am i drama?
Because i am a burden?
Do you know how many times a day im reminded by how much of a burden i am?
The sirens of my mind have already done that.
But you.
You tried to silence them once before.
Telling me im not a burden, that i never will be.
Then when you said you didnt need drama in your life so we called it quits is just pure bullshit.
Tell me.
What made you change your mind?
My neediness?
My sensitivity?
My clinginess?
My absolute longing for someone to reassure me that there are still good things in the world?
My constant deppressive and anxiety attacks?
Tell me.
Is it the latter?
Because i will not fucking say sorry for having attacks.
I will not say sorry for what i have and what i have to deal with.
I will not say sorry for my demons and how much they inconvienced you.

You never loved me.
Im sure of that now.
You never loved me.
Never.
Dont you dare say that you did.
Because you’ll be bulshitting yourself and me.
Not that you care about me.

Dont use the “i changed” card too.
Fuck you i changed and i still love you.
Yes. Until now.
Until now even if i am cursing you.
I still love you.
And you left me broken.
While you go frolick with the friends you used to tell me were plastic.
“I remember that it hurt. Looking at her hurt”
Never did i even think that this line from my favorite movie would be about you.

Vices

You know you are dead when you have found comfort in that ice-cold bottle of beer you are holding.

When that beer has become somewhat like your home.

After all, home is where you find comfort right?

You know you are dead when you have found yourself seeking every corner for that shot glass filled to the brim of tequila.

When you feel that smooth burn go down your throat, you feel safe.

Because you know that you can control what pain you feel and what pain you wont.

You would rather choose the pain of alcohol than the pain of your parents’ cruel words.

You would rather choose the pain of liquor that the pain of being left behind.

You would rather choose the sweet burn down your throat than the pain left behind by a broken heart.

You know you are dead when you feel the loneliness with an empty bottle of alcohol beside you.

Yet…

You feel so alive.

You know you are dead when you have found the fragrance of smoke coming out of a cigarette stick.

When you get a whiff of that smell, you go closer to that person sucking on it.

Till you find yourself saying,

“Can I have one drag?”

And of course, they offer you a stick instead.

And you accept it without a second thought.

You know you are dead when you crave the taste of nicotine.

When that is all you think about

And not even a nicotine patch can help you remove the pictures playing in your head.

You know you are dead when you find despair when you see cigarette sticks, unlit and on the ground.

Yet…

You feel so alive.

Just because one thing leads to death, doesn’t mean it makes you feel dead.

Vices make you feel alive,

So you can spend every single day feeling alive,

And when that day comes,

You know you spent your life well.

You know you spent your life feeling alive.

Welcome!

This is the untold story of people behind the addiction.

Listen to it.

Funerals

They’re my type of party.

I mean,

Who doesn’t love getting wasted because of a loss?

We do it all the time.

When we get a broken heart from the loss of a person.

When we get broken wrists from the loss of motivation.

Even as petty as losing a car to an accident

I mean…who cares about the person inside right?

You care more for the car you see as you pass by the highway and see an accident.

Don’t deny it, we all think of the car first before the person.

 

(Sigh)

 

Funerals.

My type of party

My favorite type of party

So when it is my time, to host this marvelous event

Here are some rules for those who want to attend my funeral.

 

Don’t wear black for mourning.

Wear it as if you are going to a formal black and white party!

Because what’s there to mourn about?

I’m finally free from the pains of this world.

Finally free from the cage that my parents locked me in for the longest time.

Don’t mourn because I’m finally free.

 

Make sure to drink.

It’s a party. Have fun!

Drinking is fun.

It makes you forget shit.

So this is my way of sharing my freedom with you.

So go ahead, drink till your livers erupt!

Drink till you feel as free as I am in that beautiful wooden bed that you put me in.

Drink to forget all your pains,

Drink.

 

Play my top 5 favorite songs.

First is “Broken Strings”

Second is “Gasoline”

Third is “All Those Pretty Lights”

Fourth is “Totally Fucked”

And lastly, the fifth, “Funerals”

And imagine me singing them by heart.

Imagine that I’m screaming at the top if my lungs trying to reach the high notes.

Imagine them as your lullabies to me as I sleep in the ocean of my freedom,

My last rule

When you see me there,

Say hi to me as if I were still in my body.

Laugh with me as if I were laughing too.

Smile at me before you leave.

Because I’m going to be there when you finally say you’re last words in front of my body.

 

When they finally carry my body down to be buried,

Don’t say goodbye.

Continue drinking.

Continue smiling.

Continue laughing.

Pretend you are in my party.

Would you cry in a party?

 

To everyone who remembered my rules…

Tell her please.

Tell her be happy for me.

Tell her…

Tell her to drink all the pains away.

To laugh when she sees my hideously made up face

To smile in amusement that I’m wearing a pink dress

And tell her this:

“You will always be my galaxy of stars, that’s where I am swimming right now. That’s my freedom. You. I’m swimming in your mind and heart. Don’t worry my belle. Just drink and have fun. Be happy. It’s a party.”

(Hi! This was inspired by Lukas Graham’s Song: Funeral)

 

 

 

 

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I love you.

You gave me my favorite toy when I was a kid,

That teddy bear,

Remember?

I used to hold it at night

When I go to sleep

To keep the bad monsters away

You know,

The monsters you told me to be wary of?

The monsters in my closet,

Under my bed,

Under the stairs,

Hidden in the dark.

But mom,

Why did you never tell me of the monsters in my head?

You never taught me how to protect myself from them.

Now they keep on haunting me,

They never leave me mom.

Never.

 

Dear Mom,

That hurt.

That belt hurt.

Those words that come out of your mouth hurt.

They all hurt.

Why are you hurting me?

I thought you loved me?

Didn’t you know that the monsters don’t like hurt?

They don’t like me getting hurt?

Did you know that?

Of course not.

You never listen.

 

Dear Mom,

It hurts.

But it is strangely satisfying.

To see my masterpiece on my skin

To see the glorious color of red dripping down my wrists.

It is strangely a wanting now,

To see red dripping down my neck…

My head.

After all,

I’m bleeding inside right now.

Because the monsters are fighting in me.

They are creating a war in my head that I don’t know how to stop them.

I don’t have the power to stop them.

So instead,

I distract myself.

With the red

And with the salt running down my face.

 

Dear Mom,

Remember when I told you I would listen to the radio in my head?

You would always tell me to go ahead and listen.

But you didn’t know it was them.

The monsters I mean.

I listen to them all the time now because of you

They tell me the truths,

In a repeated echo of your voice.

You’re worthless,

Selfish,

Ugly,

Fat,

Waste of space,

Disgrace,

Unwanted,

And worst of all

You know what they tell me?

Want to know what they tell me to do mom?

DIE.

 

Dear Mom,

I know now.

I have depression.

Yet you still can’t seem to grasp that mom.

You tell me that I’m not making an effort,

That I’m not doing anything to help myself,

That I’m not even trying.

But don’t you get it mom?

Having depression means that you are trying

And trying

And fucking trying

All the time

Yet it doesn’t seem enough.

I feel that I am the lack of enough!

I have these monsters,

That tell me to quit every single day,

But I am trying

I AM TRYING

Not to.

So why can’t you see that I am trying?

Why do you keep saying I’m not?

Why can’t you see I am fighting a losing battle

And actually winning

Since I am still fucking here?

Why can’t you understand?

 

Dear Mom,

Want to know a secret?

I never loved you.

What I do love,

Are the scars on my skin.

Because they are the reminders that I am a survivor.

You are a reminder

That I am never enough.

I’m sorry: The Mantra

When I was a little kid

I was taught that I should always

Always

Say sorry for the wrong things I’ve done.

You broke someone’s toy?

Im sorry.

You accidentally hit another kid’s face?

Im sorry.

You hurt your sister?

Im sorry.

You disobeyed your mom?

Im sorry

You cried for not getting what you want?

Im sorry.

You said I love you to a girl?

Im so–

You get the picture.

 

It grew on me,

That word.

It became my mantra.

I would say it over and over again

If I think I did something wrong.

And even if i didn’t do anything wrong,

I would say sorry for being too truthful.

Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry Im —

…See?

Its my mantra.

 

It came to my attention recently that sorry doesn’t fix everything.

I used to think that word,

Even though it would take time,

Would heal things up.

But apparently…

it doesn’t.

And yet I can’t stop saying sorry.

I keep saying it still.

Even when they don’t accept it.

It has become the mantra of no meaning.

It has been said so many times that

It did lose its meaning.

To me anyway.

 

I think thats why I don’t forgive myself.

On anything.

Because my sorries to myself,

Mean nothing at all.

 

I am broken thing,

That a simple sorry can not fix.

Even if it is my own.

This is for You.

When I was young I was told that family would always stay and friends would leave.

So at a young age

I was thought that people come and go.

That the people you meet never stay

That family will be the only ones there for you

And I hated that thought as much as the next guy who was abused by his parents.

I abhorred the thought that the family I have will be with me forever.

But I can not disagree,

What they said was true.

People do come

…then they just leave.

Why do they leave?

Until at last I couldn’t take it anymore

I planned my escape.

Quite messily I might add.

But I had a procedure:

Step 1: Pick a canvas.

I chose my wrist and my thighs.

Step 2: Choose your paintbrush

I chose the sharpener.

Step 3: Choose how dark do you want your painting to be.

And the rest is just general cleaning.

 

Then she came

She drew me fantasies.

She created a space ship with my name on it and told me she’ll bring me to other galaxies.

She took me to the moon

She made me walk on water

Then she left

And all the fantasies became nightmares.

My skills of being an artist of the color red came back.

She left me, cold and unwanted.

She left me with a jar of broken dreams.

I’m never going to see other galaxies.

I’m never going to the moon.

I’m never going to walk on water.

Again.

 

But…you came and snuffed out the darkness in me.

Not entirely because the darkness will always be there,

But the light in your heart fought the darkness and won.

You carried me up

Up

Up

Into the ocean of clouds

You stared at me,

Your eyes full of love

You promised things that does not compare to the boundless sea

For as I read in a poem “for no such love and no such ocean will ever be”

What you promised was real.

You promised to take to the beach at sunset,

You promised to let me watch the stars.

You sang me to sleep,

Told me stories.

Held my hand through the nightmares.

You never gave up on me.

You showed me that people do stay

You told me that you can break the chains of this unwanted family bond.

You…

My sweet, sweet darling

You are my answered prayer.

My one galaxy of stars,

My one true angel

I love you.

 

(To you, Loser)

You

You.
This is my last poem,
My last letter,
To you.
Ever.
This is the last time I will write about our used to be friendship.
This will be the last time I will write about our roller coaster ride.
This will be the last time I will write about our greatest downfall.
This is the last time.

You.
This will be the last thing that you will read,
That will make you hear my voice in the background.
This will be the last thing the I will write,
That is about you.

You.
This is not a feeble attempt to restore what we once had.
After all, everything is not always about you,
as it should have been all along.
Because everything was about you
And you
and nothing but you
miles and piles of
you” 
Not everything is about you anymore.
My world will not revolve around you anymore.
You were once my earth and I was the moon.
Things are different now.
I am still the moon
but you are now Pluto.

You.
Im tired of crying over you.
Im tired of building walls because of you.
im tired of thinking about you
because once, you were my greatest strength
And my greatest weakness.
Now.
You are my greatest stranger.

You.
This is the last time I will cry over our happy memories
This is the last time I will think of you as a happy memory. Because
of all the people that could have broken me
into a trillion pieces
you werent one of them.
But you became them.

So.

You.
This is the last time I will write about our friendship.
Goodbye.

The Golden-Eyed Monster

 

Keep calm

I tell myself

Don’t tell her.

She doesn’t have to know.

I scream in my head.

She doesn’t have to know that a monster is rising at the pit of my stomach.

A monster with gold eyes and a muscular frame

A monster that for months I’ve been trying to keep caged at the dark pit of my heart.

 

It started when you talked about his hips and how you admire them so.

It’s petty I know.

But since when did jealousy not have a petty reason to rise out of its ashes?

It rises up out of nowhere.

Rawring

Clawing

And rawring

Clawing.

It started when you talked about his graceful hips.

The monster stared breaking the bars.

 

The next thing that happened was when she kissed your forehead.

“A kiss on the forehead means protection” they say.

I’m the only one who has the fucking right to protect you.

…I’m the only who should.

I hugged you tight then, in front of her, so she would know you were mine to protect and love.

I sound possessive I know.

And I don’t own you.

But you are the closest thing to love that my heart opened its doors to.

The next thing that happened was when she kissed your forehead.

The bars started deteriorating due to the monster’s breath.

 

The final straw was when he started tickling you.

I’m not stupid.

Tickling is a form of flirting (that’s why I tickle you sometimes)

You don’t notice though.

He’s flirting with you.

I asked if you wanted me to talk to him

Because I know you don’t like being tickled (You just tolerate mine)

You told me to calm down

That I sounded mad

…I am.

Because when he started tickling you the monster exploded out of its cage.

 

Don’t tell her.

Don’t show the monster.

I want her to know she can tell me anything.

I don’t want her to create a wall because I introduced her to one of my monsters.

I don’t want any walls from her.

 

I may be overreacting.

But jealousy is overreacting.

It is overthinking

It is unreasonable.

Catastrophic.

I know this first hand.

The first time I showed someone my golden-eyed monster she stayed away from me.

 

So instead I will let the monster eat my heart

And let it make me create oceans at night

 

~/~/~

 

if you see this and you want to talk about it then okay. I don’t know how to start the subject. ‘Im sorry if you see this too. Terribly sorry.

Another Random Letter To You

To you who has unknowingly stabbed my heart and ripped my soul multiple times;

There is a reason why I don’t tell you that you’ve cause me to bleed a waterfall of blood down the bathroom tiles

There is a reason why I let you constantly cause my eyes to produce the ocean’s water.

There is a reason why i don’t

…say anything.

It is because I don’t want you to think that you are a bad person.

You are not the villain in my life’s story.

You are my teacher that gives me stone-col lessons of life.

Yes, it makes me bleed.

Yes, it makes makes me cry.

But it makes me stronger too.

It builds my walls higher and my moat deeper.

That is, after all, what strength is.

…right?

To you who has unknowingly stabbed my heart and ripped my soul multiple times;

Please just know I have my limits.

My walls can only go so high till they reach the end of the night’s sky.

My moat can only go so deep till it reaches the pit of my soul.

You should know once I’ve reached my limit my soul dies away piece by piece.

And right now?

There is only enough to fill my cracked heart.

To you who has unknowingly stabbed my heart and ripped my soul multiple times;

I don’t tell you that you kill me slowly for one

Umbrella

reason only.

It is because I love you, my dear precious friend.

And no matter how many times you’ve knocked me down to make me stronger;

no matter how many times you’ve tested the limits of my broken soul

I still love you.

The Heartbeat of a Hopeless Dreamer

Cracking.

Breaking.

That is the sound of her heartbeat.

Each beat equals a new crevice.

And from it, blood pours out.

Blood that is supposed to reach the other parts of her body – it is supposed to make the other parts function properly…

But that’s not important.

Her blood isn’t important.

So let us watch as it pours out of her dying heart.

Her heart is crumbling to pieces.

Sharp shards it becomes.

So sharp that if someone tries to pice it back together they get hurt.

The heart that is crumbling is the heart of a hopeless dreamer

The owner of the heart — I see her right now — she’s sitting in the corner of her room, writing her letter to the world.

She’s calm as tears trace down her cheeks.

You won’t even hear her crying.

Shh.

Listen to the scratch of her pen on the paper.

Shh.

Listen to her crumbling hear.

It is still beating…isn’t it?

Softly.

So…softly.

So fragile.

You can barely hear it.

It is more shy than a whisper.

Listen to what it is saying.

“I am done.”