365, Poetry, Writing Entries, Writings

Game of Pretend

How long are we going to play
this stupid game of pretend
where the coldest and most ruthless
and most indifferent of us,
will be the winner?

Tell me,
are we still playing this game?
Or is this for real?

Because love, I’m afraid you are winning.

365, Poetry, Writing Entries, Writings

Panic Alley

Panic rising at my throat
Heart beating fast
Knees going weak and
Hands getting clammy and cold
But I run fast as I could
Faster than I ever run in my life
Down to the dark alley
Of this neighborhood, I’m not familiar with
I reach a dead end
I hear their footsteps coming
And their callous laughter ringing closer and closer.

 

365, Prose, Writings

Love Potion

There are times that all I wanted to do is to cling on to you, kiss you, nuzzle your neck, inhale your scent, remain in your embrace, be surrounded with your oh so good energy, and never let go. And there are times that I’d always tell you to “let me go.” The confusion must be maddening, isn’t? On those times I tell you to let go are those times that I am hurting the most. And I do want you to let go, because as much as there are days that I will be bright and loving again, there will be times like this, times that all I wanted to do is to push you away, and run away from you, and hide under my bed, and curse you, and punch you in the face if I could. Because it was you who put me into this so much mess that I don’t know how to escape to. It was you who makes me feel so unholy, I feel like I’m falling from grace all over again.

It was you who first watch me fall from grace, don’t you remember? For I can still taste your name on my lips as I fell, and as you watched me fall with your cold dead eyes, and I realized my mistake for uttering your name for your help. So please, don’t ask me to trust you, don’t expect me to trust you, because as much as I do trust you and I wanted to trust you, I will always battle with myself not to.

I’m falling for a second time, and I wonder if you put love potion on my drinks.

//excerpt from a book i’ll never write #2

365, Poetry, Writings

Startled

I still jump up a little bit,
my heart stopping on its track,
when someone mentions your name.

 

365, Prose, Writings

Don’t expect me to love you

Don’t expect me to love you when he knows my demons’ name and he knows how to hush them so I could sleep, while you just know me by my name and you only see me when I’m all smiles, beautiful, and happy. Then you always say that I’m beautiful, but that’s all you could ever tell me about me, isn’t it? What if the beauty fades? What if you see the demons inside me? They aren’t at all pretty. Can you hush them like he did? Believe me, you couldn’t handle what’s inside me. I tried a million times, and I still couldn’t.

365, Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Quiet Love

He loves her in the most quiet ways, never saying I love you’ s, never doing grand gestures of love in public like those she often sees in the movies with the girl holding a bouquet of flowers from the leading guy, or like those that her girlfriends’ boyfriends do, publicly announcing their love in social media or being touchy feely in public. He never did those for her, but for some reason, his quiet love, that never ceases nor fades, still roars louder to her than the rest of the world begging for her attention.

– –

In response to Daily Post: Silence

365, Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Girls are love and witchcraft

Witches are one of the most dangerous people you could ever meet, because they know how to harness both love and dark energies. How someone chooses to use love or dark is a matter of past encounters. Tell me of a witch that uses light and love, and I’ll tell you of a story of a girl that has been loved unconditionally by a man. Tell me of a witch that uses the dark forces and I’ll tell you of a story of abuse, heartbreak, and betrayal. For every girl that turns ruthlessly dark, is a boy with a smug smile who watched her burn and die multiple times and still claim it’s her fault all along, while he was the one who hiked her on the stake and throw the first embers of evil fire to her soul.

365, Prose, Writings

She feels loved most

She loves him most when he talks about the things he’s passionate about. That’s when his eyes light up, alive, dancing, and burning, as if he sees a world that no one else has seen. And when he looks at her in the same way, that’s when she feels loved most.

365, Poetry, Writings

Premonitions

I dreamt of you today
in my dream you are leaving me
and when I woke up,
I realize there’s really not much of a difference
for I know,  sooner or later
you will leave me too,
and the countdown has just begun.

365, Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Fragile Love

When I was young, I wanted to believe that I’m the kind of girl that book authors write about, the heroines, those that could fight and ride their own horses, those that could hold their own swords, battle with the dragons, monsters, and evil witches, and command a whole wizarding world. As I grew up, nothing much changes. I wanted to believe that I’m the kind of girl who is independent and self-capable, a girl who could hold her own self, fight her own battles, win this world with charm and intellect, make some outstanding achievements, and solve her own problems without needing anyone’s help.

So why then, here and now, when you kiss me, I feel like folding on myself? And when you touch me, I feel like a porcelain doll too vulnerable on your touch, and all I wanted to do is to curl up and sleep in your arms, and be engulfed with your warmth embrace and presence. What happen to my dreams of courage and self-independence? Why is it, here and now, I want to believe that maybe this time, I do not have to keep my eyes open all the time to fight the monsters that plague me before I sleep? Maybe this time, I could be as fragile, vulnerable, and trusting as I could be. Something I’d never been.

365, Poetry, Writings

Sweetheart

Darling, babe, love
dear, honey, sweetheart
there are different kinds of endearment
different ways of saying I love you
but none of it compared
when you say my name in full.
Somehow,
hearing my name
coming from your lips
makes me feel a lot more special
than I really am.

365, Prose, Writings

Love Letters #2

Do you remember how when we were kids, you taught me how to swim? And when we grew up, you always told me to stay away from waters unless you’re near? You knew how clumsy I could be on all the wrong moments.

But I never worry then.

You were always there to be my lifeguard whether in swimming or in real life. You have always been my floatation device when I’m about to drown, and my lookout when I’m already wading near the deep ends of the waters. You never let me go through any of it alone. That’s why when you’d left, I had a hard time adjusting and keeping afloat, even when I’m not in the waters, even when my feet is flatly on the ground. I feel like I’ll never learn how to float again, and my feet will never find its stability again.

I wish you pushed me harder in lessons.

But how can I blame you? That’s how you’ve always been, comfortable in being relied to, and that’s how I’ve always been, quitting before I even started and just comfortable on depending on you. You said that’s why we clicked on everything.

Sometimes when I’m near the beach, I can still hear your voice ringing through my ears, loud and clear, like it was just yesterday, reminding me to keep to the shore and to not go through the deep waters unless if I’m with you.

Sometimes, I go to the beach alone, because that is when your voice is loudest, that is where my memories of you are the most clear, roaring above the ocean’s wave. And most because, that is where I lose you.

I don’t think I will ever forgive the ocean for never giving you back to me.

Until now, I never manage to learn how to swim, and I’ve never been comfortable again with waters. I don’t think I will ever be, since you’ve been gone.

**…continuation from a post titled, 17.

365, Poetry, Writings

The Universe Within Me

You once said
that beneath this flesh of mine
are worlds and galaxies and universe
and ideas waiting to get out.

But boy, you are so wrong,
how can I tell you that within me
are not galaxies, but ghosts and demons
and dead souls wanting to get out?

365, Prose, Writings

Lost fairy

She dances under the full moon light, all night long, keeping up with the tradition of her kin of fairies and nymphs and tree spirits, hoping maybe this time under the full moon glow, she’ll meet her knight in shining armor.

But her nightly escapades only leave her with blodied feet.

She’s lost on a wrong century.

 

365, Poetry, Writings

Foolish Soul

Foolish me would always wonder,
Why do I feel so incomplete?
When I put a little bit of my soul,
in each pieces I write,
and in every pair
of lips
that
I kiss.