i’ve come to realise that i’ll never be a piece of what i write. i’ll never be the girl with pixie ears and whimsical hair with lavender highlights, nor will i be the girl who scrawls on her little black moleskin a5 endlessly with such ferocity and vigour. i’ll never be the one with furrowed eyebrows or the one with a pen cap clasped between my gritted teeth. i’ll only be the one who struggles to put messes into ink. 

and as the moon nestles into its indigo blue warmth, i’ll struggle to nestle into the echoes of my own mess

delayed

there are already imprints of your soles all over my heart. and i don’t think you know how i grasp pixelated portrayals of you at 3 in the morning like a child with a newly bought toy. i’m pretty sure you don’t know how my heart beams with jubilance when i hear your boyish giggles and child-like no in that sole video i have of you. you should know, you should know. you should know that i love you. that your arms remind me of home, that home reminds me of your ams.

i hope you know i do. i hope one day you’ll realise that i’m willing to love you even with nothing. nothing except for tender hands and glassy eyes. nothing except for blushing forehead kisses and clasped hugs. nothing except for clumsy 3am rambles and impulsive 2am texts of i miss yous and i love yous. i hope you remember. i hope i hope i hope. i hope you’ll never have to find a reason to stay because i hope you’ll never find a reason to leave even when the atmosphere is impregnated with things with should/shouldnt have said.

i hope my love stays with you and i hope it stays for as long you allow it to.

clenched fist (an angry man)

you have your fists clenched against the world. some siltation of feelings of injustice, of angst, of negativity on the river bed of your booming heart. thump thump thump. your heart booms as if life has declared another war on you. your heart booms as if they’re meant to be war drums. your heart booms as if you’re never going to be at peace with anyone, with anything, not even yourself.

and when currents and waves of all the good in life washes over you, you cling on stubbornly to those bathroom walls. just like grime. moist, damp, grime. as if you have already embraced perpetual darkness with open arms. darkness like bible verses you memorise by heart. and the first commandment is to live within girds. and the second and the third ………. and the tenth to live within boundaries/limits/boxes.

it’s the fear of free-falling, the fear of freedom, the fear of riding the waves, the fear of the lack of some sort of control in just .. living, you grunt as an inaudible sigh escape from your quivering lips(I saw a twinkle of hope in those pools of darkness that maybe maybe maybe you’ll be able to let loose of those wild creatures of anguish you’ve caged up in your steely rib-cage)((but it flickers))(((but it dimmed out))). but you forget the transcendent beauty of moon glitter shimmering over blue fluids. but you forget the simple fact that living, that breathing, is to simply allow yourself to gasp for air, to 1 2 3 breathe.

you deserve someone better someone who makes you happy someone who’s able to grasp the loose threads of your heart

and I wonder to myself everyday why am I not that person

(via dec1duous)

(Source: jueki, via blck-grl)

"A flower does not think of competing to the flower next to it. It just blooms."

from Zen Shin Talks  (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: serymn, via olvidare)

I’ll gather the loose threads of our hearts with delicate fingers and with my heart laid upon needles and with my knees scraped and with my other hand clasped tight with yours, fingers interlacing
if I can

(but I can’t)

I know I love you when I start sleeping with your sweater against my chest, with my heart palpitating in sync with the waft of your smell, with my heart rested upon the comfort of your warmth

I know I love you

16/17

i’m still learning how to grapple with waves of jubilation/exhilaration/poignancy/trepidation while savoring each passing moment which slither through my hands like fistfuls of sand.

my sky is painted a constant grey with minimal hues of blue or streaks of pink or a palette of orange. and i feel as if i’m stuck in this state of neutrality until something sweeps me off my feet again. i dare not seek the similarity between neutrality and contentment because i’m afraid of being fooled (by myself) into thinking that they are the same. they’re similar yet different, not the same. there must be more to life than this constant state of neutrality. i’ll never be compelled to write or feel in this perpetual state of nothingness. only when i’m stranded on isolated islands of extreme emotions will my pen do its magic work. i want to write again.

i’ll write about oceans and seas and those blue pits of nothingness but i won’t. they scare me with their engulfing waves and their vastness. can you imagine sinking with your feet never gracing the seabed? can you imagine clinging onto a flimsy piece of wood with nothing but blue in sight? i yearn to see the oceans in the eyes of a poet - yale blue with speckles of sunlight with the occasional sightings of iridescent jellyfishes and the comforting squawks of seagulls. but i can’t. i see the oceans as blue pits of uncertainty. as blue monsters with waves as tentacles, engulfing everything in sight. sometimes, i’ll dream of drowning and
sinking sinking sinking

but what scares me isn’t the act of drowning. what scares me is that i may sink and never stop. my feet will never grace the seabed and there’ll be nothing in sight to cling on to even as i wrestle with the waters.

i don’t know whats with the sudden influx of words but. yes.