Little By Little.

It wasn't until I had sometime

to clean up the rooms,

And unfolding the box, 

our box,

for the hundredths of time.

Laying out pictures of us,

frame by frame, little by little.

When a note slips away to my laps.

A small little white piece of paper,

written nicely, yet undone.

"the smell of morning dew,

at the break of dawn,

it's a start of something new,

with the roses blossom in the lawn.

as the sunlight touches my face,

i hear the hustle in the wind,

as my heartbeat pick up the pace,

i open my eyes with u on my mind"

With a calm and collected smile on my face,

my itchy fingers began to move.

Little by little,

before I had that little piece of paper filled.

"as my face began to feel the moisture,

embracing the breeze

i held close our pictures together 

between my knees

it's a world of wonder, 

where magic rejoiced

when the world seems lighter, 

whenever i hear your voice

round and round we dance,

under the sunlight, 

we waltz,

in our profound romance.

and though I might not 

be always in your view

my endless whispers of love, joy and care

will always be with you."

And I smiled,

putting my fingers at rest,

Little by little.

Have Heart

Of every night

I caressed, folded and molded

The pillow, trying to forge

The resemblance of your face

I pulled myself together,

Stronger and stronger.

And while you were away,

I quake the world for us

I faced the world, with you in me,

With your love empowering me,

In the overwhelming struggle

Forging a better self

Forging a better me

A better tomorrow

For us.

That said, I am pulling away

From the giving ups

And to rise,

Rather than to stumble

And crumble

Like a molten volcano.

But though building up concretes

And the whole figments

Of imagery being the dam against the strongest tide,

I do too, cracked a little. 

Because no matter how sturdy I seemed,

How far I flew,

I need a soft ground to land to.
My safe ground, my sanctuary.

It's inconvenient to walk,

When the naked truth is

I miss

Every

Single

Particle

Of

Your

Touch.

So I will wait for you, love

With an empty open hand

To be filled

With yours.

Come clean.

Life is wonderful,
and joyful; filled with magical incantations
when I started looking
through the window.

To the other side of the greener field.

I am trapped,
in this four sided square box, yes.
But in my mind,
I am free.

**********

Woe is for the worrying souls
who see the life on a narrow hard end,
whilst ignoring the peripheral views of the world.

Forgot to embrace the flames and hurricanes,
and to carry a little side of faith
that every mishap is a blessing.

And to be grateful of what you have,
before you kneel and clenching fists in pulsating wounds of regret
over things you threw away
with a make believe pride,
in an uphill pursuit of your own
imaginary made up fantasies you will never reach.

Life is for living,
And love is for-giving.

*********

Over the window, I look.
And I see
You
standing.

With life on your right hand,
You brought love on the other.

Showering me with colourful rain,
Every drop,
Flowing through the cracks

Washing away the scars and fears I have been covering.

Ease.

There's a covered empty canvas
Somewhere in the corner
Of my crude mind,
The obsolete empty piece that has been left
For so long, nearly forgotten.

With the cracked palette,
I began to mix the faded and dusty colors
With the best of emotions
New  found memories,
Wills, make beliefs, and once broken pieces of hope.

Through pain and bliss,
Time through time,
With every stroke of the brush,
While carving a smile, a familiar tilt on my face;
A drive to quench
My thirst of perfection and masterpiece.

Oh, how I long to paint the paper clouds with colors
in a comforting ease and guilt free,

While letting my imagination
Drown in the resemblance of your beauty,
That slips from my mind through my fingertips.

Oh, how I long to feel the calm,
Over a finished piece.

Like a long lonesome highway,
I finally yield before a road sign
With our names stamped on it.

Where I can rejoice, upon a completed journey.

Senseless.

There's an excruciating pain in my gums
forced me to grit my teeth.

Feeling disgusted over unfinished sentences
that used to be an infinite vortex
flowing over me like a river,
and drowned me in;
healing antidotes for infections in me
over faces, space, and time.

I am now numb. Exposed. In a fucking open season.

Good to go.

Clench, unclenched. Clench, unclenched. Clench, unclenched. Clench, unclenched. Clench, unclenched. Clench, unclenched. Clench, uncl..

With the tip of my finger
I began to draw an imaginary star on the surface
of a white wall.
Slow and intense.
One onto another,
until the whole constellation connected.
The whole fucking cycle.

And for a second,
I am glorified
and humiliated
by my own shadow at the very same time.
Staring back at me.

At the present moment, I am a second rate me in my past.

Save Me

I am the world.

The world that is paved with cracks and droughts
and deserts on the surface, with few little oases.

The world that is oftenly mistaken as paradise,
a shelter for broken souls,
a fair for uncherished minds,
and those who have lost their way home.

A world that people come and go,
with marks and footprints left behind, waiting to fade in time.

A world that needs to be saved, rather than a saving grace.

Halo

I know of a pain
that stains the fabric of the heart.
A heart that once loved and loving back
on the same tempo
of two heartbeats, beating for one another.

Pins and needles.
Pins and needles.
Pins
and
fucking
needles.

I counted the streetlights
of every pole that passed by the window
on every lonesome night drive,
cruising as the heartache lurks on every
freeway on my mind.

Every stray of light,
that reminded me of being an undeserving soul each time,
so unworthy to even ache from missing a free dove that flew away,
and will not come back.

Because if "you deserve so much better" is how it supposed to be when
every time I thought that I have already found
the missing pieces I've been looking for,

I might as well
don't deserve anything.

And if freedom is the thought,
when the reality is shackled tightly onto the ground,

freedom is somehow too good to be true.

Because while to the contrary of happiness, is impermanent, it is also certain.
And certainty never lies,
like pictures.

And to deny certainty,
is suicidal.

On this very day,
this very day,
this
very
day,
I wrote your name with
every drip of blood
that runs through my veins
as the ink
- for every unrequited hope,
that will never come true -
before I mimicked the honesty
with thousands of counterfeit expressions,
to bury the excruciating pain.

Don't you know that
underneath the facade,
of these thick layers of smiling masks,
there's a face that's bruised and full of scars,
and severed hopes,
and broken dreams,
that misses you?