When the first time we met
He ordered coffee and I said tea,
and from there on
I order coffee missing my tea.

-

My active poem crawls slowly
to find metaphors that
shows how active I'm
but they lie on bed like me
the whole day waiting
for the perfect time
to rhyme.

-

Sadness has became my home,
everytime I go outside
to forget about it,
I return to my home
at the end of the day.

I can't tell how am I,
as I couldn't count
the stab wounds
life gave me.
I wonder if death ever comes to me,
I'll be just used to it.

Silence is that friend
to me now,
who knows all my
secrets like
the times I smiled while
I was drowning in the sea
I pushed myself in.

And shouting for help
is of no use,
as the only ones who made
feel heard were
the walls of my room.

I lie on my bed while
I lie to myself
applying this bandage once again of;
everything will be fine
on the void that still bleeds.

-

Sometimes
I want to kill every face
that exists
in me
to hear the silence lost in it.

Is it so difficult to love me?
Or perhaps when love comes to me
I say, "wrong address, maybe."

Since you left me,
it feels like a new year
turning adult already.

So how will you celebrate
last teenage year?
Maybe writing a poem
of random themes
that won't know
why it exists
and cutting a cake
for formality.
Or maybe cutting myself
in poetries.

Counting the candles of teenage
by the nails I've bit,
the times I had picked my skin
and the screams I silenced.

-

-

-

-

-

Beside a
Red rose with
Eternal beauty there lies
A flower who was plucked,
Killed and thrown in a wedding.

-

Are you the color of leaves?
that promised to stay, yet left
or the color of relationship that people
are searching for in a life partner
wearing red googles,
or maybe the color of vegetables that
the doctor told me to eat
because of the eye test I failed.

-