Man of Mystery

Man of Mystery

You can keep wrapping yourself up in your cloak of mystery. The stench of that mystery will keep enticing me to reach for you and maybe let you break my heart. You see, that’s how dumb I am.

This is me reliving my folly of a love that I once had for you.

I used to call it “puppy love.” That whenever I see you my heart would jump off the cliff and race you to the hills. When it gets there, alone, I will let it dance ’till it settles down. All that in a matter of seconds. I never understood why I liked you though. It was just there like a shadow following me even in the dark. I look at you and I know I like you. I understood it that way and nothing more. No other reasons: none that concerns the purity of your heart which I never even had the privilege to know. None that concerns how you might take care of me when I need the words or the touch that would speed up the return of spring. But that was that.

Now, here you come springing back only to offer a loveless love: an adventure. A trail to the past with extra vibrant passion coming from the wrong places. And all these places point down south of me even when I would like to face only the north of you. But thus, an adventure is an adventure. Even with a broken compass, I may have insinuated a “yes” for a reply.

Any positive vibe could only have side effects and  do nothing good to me right now. Any drug or any vaccine for a broken heart like mine could only work in one way and one way alone: poison. That even if you could excellently build me up or even if you could majestically sweep me off my feet, I would never even need that because I know; deep down, I will end up yearning for you.

Whether you are an angel with black wings or a devil with a pure heart, your kind of mystery is strong enough for a bait to reel me in. And as you long as you stay there in heaven, hell or wherever you fucking live, I’d be here waiting and praying to have you take me to an adventure. Until then, I can only imagine you here meeting me down where the figs lie.

I never loved you enough, have I?

I never loved you enough, have I?

I never loved you enough, have I?
Or maybe I just realized what it’s like
to have the freedom I have always wanted.
Or maybe this is what it’s like
to not have someone around
someone like you.
Or maybe this is what it’s like to want
to go out so bad and not have somebody to be with
somebody like you —

YOU
who stood by me.
who understood the seasons of my mood.
who tried to laugh at my jokes.
who cursed the world with me.
who heard my qualms against fate.
who endured the backlashes of my hate.
who have given a lot.
whom I had to give up.

Such perfection does not exist.
For as perfect as imperfection is
We don’t sit together in that one picture
And you should know that it hurts
to be compelled to accept this
even when I have been given what
I wanted (you; I used to want you)
The freedom that costed me missing
You (I have always loved you)
Or maybe this is exactly what it’s like to realize
That I never loved you enough.

Summer in my eyes

Summer in my eyes

I have not cried in a long while. Countless reasons came by and I can hardly understand why my tear ducks hold back. Has the dam grew dry? My heart yearns to shower upon the external the mourning it holds, the grief.

How can this life be cruel and not let me cry? I’m only human. And I have always known myself to be emotional ergo my heart easily runs with pain and it storms right through my eyes. Two decades of existence and twenty summers of ever wet tear ducks suddenly run dry.

Have I told you that this does not necessarily mean that I feel strong? Do you know that I don’t feel strong? Do you understand how vulnerable I feel? How could I run out of tears to cry?

I have been cruel to myself and to the world. And the most human thing that I could do is the one thing that is brought away from me. To mourn.

I ask a simple question. I ask one thing. Let me cry for the reasons that I have now. I don’t know how else I could let the pain out. I can’t bear to keep feeling the pain. I can’t bear to release the pain in ways I don’t quite understand. In ways I would wound myself more, in ways I would destroy myself.

Fate be less cruel to me, please. Wash the drought off my tear ducks and let me cry again. Let me be the kind of human that I’ve always been… That if I cannot bring what was, let me have that one part of what used to be.

The Lady in Red

The Lady in Red

For the night was dark
And your kind of red
Impeded my lust for oblivion
Not to overpower
The redness of your lips
Or the redness of your silhouette
Or the redness of your being
Or your redness
Inside and out

For the night was dark
And your kind of red
Make me red down under
Not the same way I often do
The way I would look at you
Or the way I would watch you
Or the way I would see you
Or the way you look
Then and now

For the night was dark
And your kind of red
Destroys each drop of my patience
Not like the tide ran dry
Drive me insane with that red
That red of the still day
That red of the slow night
That red of time passing
Quick and slow

For the night was dark
And your kind of red
Draw jealousy on my veins
Not with anger nor rage
Still, still me; I proclaim
That I love your every inch
Your every pain
Your every sorrow
Your every scar, beloved

More than he who would steal
Your heart
Your curves
Each fiber of you
No one will love you
Like I do
For the night was dark
And your kind of red
Is my sanctuary

Game Changer

Game Changer

Whisper to me again how you wanted to
stop taking turns in this game; this game
that you so want to cease playing.

Because
even I
as broken as I appear to be,
I am tired.
Of the wrong turns,
Of the missed chances.
The time

That you could have owned with me.
That you could have owned me.
That each kiss
meant so much more
than a sudden meetup
meant more than goodbye’s
meant more than
see you later.
These
could have been
real.
Not just what we feel– felt
At that–
those moments.

But the game has changed.
And so have we.
For the game is over.
So should we?

I like to think that I played my
cards right.
Whisper the words if I got it right.
I really want to last the night.

Thus we learn

Thus we learn

I learned to love myself, you said.
That with you, I learned I could be new.

Down to hell the stories went.
Down with the fire all possibilities.

Let us take it really slow, you said.
I wish I made you up inside my head.

That I told you what you are.
That I showed you what you could be.

Apart from the future that I could see.
Apart from the picture of you and me.

I somehow chained you to me, you said.
Perhaps those kisses were not dead.

Perhaps the memories have never fled.
But the now must come to an end.

Like the way I jumped off the train.
That moment hurt you, you said.

Three months would not need be long.
That is if I take arms and I be strong.

No one’s bound stay, at least not today.
At least you learned to love yourself.

Not many learn that lesson this way.
But you might learn to love me back, one day.

Yours truly, the fool

Yours truly, the fool

The snares of childhood come springing back like the storms I once tried to weather. I was an open book that recited itself word for word right in front of your eyes. From miles away, I was the so-called delicate flower that fearlessly opened, petal by petal not knowing each one that I shed could be burnt to ashes in an instant. We can say that right now, I’m no more than a weak little girl finding her way back home.

And I remember the thrill of not knowing you shared affection for me, What did I know other than the world never dared holding whispers and gossips from me? That the world bore despise of me. And I grew up to that. Even with the people whom I believe I loved were not saved from this curse. It was a curse that fate made itself and trapped inside my head.

Why did I even choose to be an open book when I am aware that anyone can practically burn every page of me? How brave of me to keep it that way in belief that no one would dare do such a crime. But I am a fool for stepping on gray areas, playing outside the field, in hope that one would sweep me off my feet and deliver me from uncertainty.

All I know are stories. All I know are legends. All I know is that I could be a legend made real. I could be a damsel in distress and a heroine if I wanted to. I am brave and bold enough to slay any creature if I have to. I could do so many things and be in so many places. No one need to dare me to traverse uncharted territory.

As long as I am what I am now, there is no need for fear.

Fearless and weak.

All that because I’m too bent. Too broken. Too scarred. Too wounded. Too tired to care.

And oh, behold, I’m a fool. Laugh at me now, if you will. But as fresh as the wounds I carry, the realization is clear as the morning I learned you left. I keep saving them without even trying. I was brought up to love the world and its scars. And with the scars I have gained during the wars, I learned that there is no use hiding them, not even myself. And certainly, there is no use hiding the fact that I too, need saving. I just don’t always admit it. Luckily, it is that time of the year.