I had always been a romantic
with hope in my heart
and the sparkle in my eyes,
as I waited eagerly for the one
who I thought I could call mine.
Yet with hope came disappointment
with love, heartbreak,
and my hopes got me too far into it,
that I think
I shot myself in the wrist, an everlasting hit
before he reached the gun to disintegrate my dreams,
they now lie scattered at the seams.
I was a hopeful romantic,
And he knew that too,
how I wish he’d say to me,
“I want to be hopeful with you.”
But Hope now resides at the morgue,
buried underneath the rubble,
I think I still care too much,
but you wouldn’t care—
why would you want to go through the trouble?

-

I want you to talk to me
like everything’s over
and you want someone to hold you in their arms.
And if not that,
talk to me
like its been a long day
and all you want to hear is my voice,
want me there to stay.
And maybe if you don't want that,
talk to me because you like me
for my unserious personality
and find me “different” from other girls.
At least talk to me
if you’re bored
or if you need something
to keep yourself allured.
But just talk to me
for whatever the reasons might be
because my love for you is an expansive sea
and for you I guess I have ended up being a stream,
unwanted, unnecessary…

-

all my love poems are fictional
all these feelings are fake
and I don't know why I would do this to myself,
break my heart
without any stakes.
Maybe its because l love love,
the feeling of butterflies holding his hand,
looking into his eyes
feeling my body disintegrate into sand.
I'm better at imagining than loving in real life,
maybe its past trauma
or those horrible fights,
the idea of love now makes me want to shiver in spite.
My heart yearns to have him close
I want to whisper his name in my sleep,
but I'm afraid
he would find this promise too worthless to keep.
Love is the bravest feeling in the world
and now I guess I know why;
all these feelings were “fake”
but trust me,
for you,
I would die…

-

My face soured,
my heart hurt,
like sprinkling salt into a wound
to make it severe.
My blood boiled
my anger surged,
the corners of my eyes
holding a waterfall
ready to splurge…

“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, there’s just something in my eye.”

and all I could ever do was pretend it was alright…

-

With every word inscribed
Every poem put down
Tearing my soul
and pasting it onto these pages,
I have wrapped myself around these words;
now we are one,
together intertwined
my hands stained with ink,
the pages stained with blood.

Oh, what have you done?

-

I think I’ll miss you always.

A week later,
when my eyes are less puffier
my heart too tired to weep
I’ll still miss you.

A month later,
when there’s someone else
trying to make his way to my heart
I’ll still miss you.

A year later,
when you celebrate your
eight-month anniversary with her
I’ll still miss you.

You can't make homes
out of human beings
Yet here I am,
an uninvited guest
not ready to let go…

-

I love you,
but you don't exist…

-

I let you stab me
over and over again
because the tapestry of wounds
on your back
made me want to have them on my heart,
made me want to hurt too,
but it was later I realised
that I was never truly yours,
and neither were those wounds…

-

I gazed into her eyes,
a storm brewing within them,
too profound to bear,
so I held her hand in mine,
only to let it slip away.
She wasn't the first,
and wouldn't be the last,
But in this battle of love and longing,
I was the last one standing,
but the victory not mine…

-

In the rays of dawn
I felt the warmth gushing through my veins
as I thought,
‘I have finally found the one I have been looking for’.
We laughed, we cried, we dreamt so high
Under the beautiful velvet sky,
but the stars above,
had woven paths that led us away,
leaving me shattered,
with bad memories there to stay.
Yet when I think back to the moments we shared,
I know that I will always care,
and even if the love is not there,
whenever my thoughts shall run deep
in dreams your memory I will keep,
There is always a time for love,
and for what we had,
I guess that was enough…

-