Talk to me.
Talk to me about everything that keeps you up all night,
especially the fragments of your heart that struggle to beat.
Talk to me about the kind of love you want to give and receive,
especially how love has turned you into the woman you are today.
Talk to me, love. Because silence alone is not always the best.
Running wild in the chaos and the calm,
Searching for everything that she deserves.
Bearing in mind that she belongs to no man,
And all she needs is to keep herself warm.
We love what we need,
we love what makes us feel good,
we love what is convenient to us.
How is it fair to say that we love one person
when there are a couple thousand out there
who we would love more if we met them?
Isn’t love is a form of prejudice?
Based on circumstance and compatibility
and a result of a chance encounter?
In my soul, there lies a love
which yearns for a home
which no longer has space for it.
I wonder how many lives
I will have to live until
I find my way back to you.
I will be waiting there.
I like it best when my mind is
in a bloodshed battle with my heart.
I like it best when I’m a little broken,
with bruised knuckles and happy pills.
After all, I like poetry more than therapy.
Poems never seem to judge my “wrong” ways.
The truth is, despite being my dream girl, I rather you be happy with someone else than to be unhappy with me.
I hope someday you will lie awake at night and realise that once upon a time in your life, someone did love you with all her heart.
But for now, I will try to move on by finding you in other people.
I mean, that’s my last resort right?
How did you forgive me before I could forgive myself?
Maybe we were too young
or maybe we were the plot an author couldn’t finish.
Maybe we were the beat an artist couldn’t get right
or maybe we were the painting an artist ended up restarting again.
Maybe we were just the poem that a poet couldn’t find the right words to end
and it’s up to us to create our ending.