Millions and millions of soul
may roam this earth
But I’ll still look for
with the dark brown eyes
and a ready
held my wings
from completely falling apart
as I collided on earth
with smoldering soul
and a burnt out life.
They say don’t make homes out of people. I didn’t listen. Instead I created a home out of you, out of us. And look where it got me. Every time you walk out of the door, it’s as if you’re walking out of my life, and instantly, I would become a homeless restless person, always anxiously waiting for your return, and always fearing that you would never come back.
Sometimes when the wait is too long, and the cold becomes unbearable, and my hands started to freeze, and the silence becomes too much, I make homes out of other people, temporary shelters, renting a space in their own minds, distracting myself from the reality of you and me, and renting a space in their own hearts, borrowing their beautifully lit fire chambers to melt the growing ice glaciers threatening to pierce my own heart, until the time you would walk back in my life.
But it’s been awhile now, and I realized I was never your home to begin with.
Her value does not lessen because of the clothes she chooses to wear, or the intensity of her makeup, or the color of her hair. Her value does not lessen because of the language she speaks, or the color of her skin, or the size of her jeans. Her value definitely does not lessen because of her relationship status, or the number of boyfriends she used to have, or the job she chooses to have.
Remember, the same Creator that made you, that made the sun, the moon, and the stars, and every constellations and galaxies and all the wonderful things you can ever think of, the same Creator who makes all things possible, made her.
He made her possible.
Alive and breathing and able for a reason.
So who are you to judge her when the One who creates everything clothes her with a love that you cannot even surpass?
Her value does not lessen just because you say she is stupid, or a whore, or a bitch. Her value does not lessen just because she is fat, or her bones sticks out and you can ‘feed her to the dogs’.
Her value does not lessen because she wears her soul on her skin, and her heart on her sleeve, and she cries every night reminiscing every harsh words you throw at her.
Dear mortal men, I cannot stress this enough.
Her value does not lessen just because you think she is not valuable.
We agree on nothing, and we disagree on almost everything. Isn’t love supposed to be magical? Hearts and bear hugs, and sweet movie dates, kisses that never ends, being on cloud nine, and being up late on night? Yet with you I feel like I’m a soldier, always on a battleground, trying to defend and protect myself, and salvage whatever ‘me’ is still in me.
Tell me, when did our love become a war?
I sometimes wonder if we are each other’s unfinished business in this life. And if we die right at this moment, will our soul rest in peace knowing that we have accomplished what we came here for? Or will this be one of those lives where we pass up the chance to collide, to be more than an almost, to be together, and to intertwine our souls into one?
“On next life, love,” he said.
And I cannot help but wonder if that’s a lie that he’s been telling me from life to life.
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.
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
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.
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.
My words will weave its way, to every corners, and creases, and part of your life, stumping any growth and positivity in your life. Success will never be easy again on you. And you say I am negative? Very well then. Let all my negativities come into your life and may your future be filled with it. Let see how it feels like. May all your blessings be undone. And everything else will be your failures, accountable to you, yours and yours alone. I am breaking this as I am writing this, my words shall not be accountable to this and it shall not go back to me, for you bring upon your own demise.
A negative response to today’s daily prompt: stump. For the person who thinks I’m too negative. Cheers.
The day I said I love you, I plucked the words I would say out of the ether and weaved magic in it, just so I could present it elegantly to you. I laced my words with sugar cubes so that it would taste sweet in your mouth, and poured warm honey in it so that it would melt on your tongue.
The day I said I love you, I casted my name with a memory spell so that my name would linger and last a little longer on your lips, and you wouldn’t mistake me for someone else.
I waved a wand to still my racing heart, and made a last wish to a shooting star.
I guess my charms and all those preparations failed to work with you, because the day I said I love you, you laughed out loud and crushed my beautiful words under your foot, and dismissed me with a wave of hand.
You said I’m a fool.
I heard before that the stars we see every night, those little source of light, twinkling and glittering and painting the night sky are long dead. Yet they still give beauty to everyone who looks at them at night. They still give hope and inspiration to everyone who finds meaning in their existence. Maybe that’s the reason why God created them. To remind us that even on the darkest of the darkest night of our soul, the memories of our loved ones can still give a glimmer of light and a twinkle in our hearts even when they are long gone, just like the stars.
I stare at the night sky today. The stars cannot be seen, the clouds obscuring their twinkling light. But I know behind those clouds, they’re still there. Somewhere far away in the distant. Alive and beating and twinkling, just in a different time. And who knows, maybe the stars do laugh and we’re just too far away behind in time to really know.
Dont make them your full course meal if you’re just an icing on their cake. You deserve more than that. You fucking deserve more than that. You deserve the moon and the stars and all those shit that guys promise to the girl they love. You deserve a goodnight text, not a ‘where are you, come here’ at 1 am. You deserve a goodmorning text, not a panic attack each night that he might be gone when you wake up. Hell, you deserve handwritten love notes and not just a text.
You deserve a breakfast in bed, or at the kitchen, as long as it is breakfast and it is your favorite pancake drizzled with your favorite chocolate and mapple syrup, because who cares if you gain a little bit of weight, he loves you anyways. You deserve a forehead kiss and tender kisses on your lips, and not a slap on your backside. You deserve a cuddle whenever you’re feeling out of sorts, and not a quick fuck. You deserve I love you’s, and not ‘give me some space’. You deserve much more than this. You deserve all of it, because girl, you are the baker of your own life and you… you can choose to be more than the pretty icing on their cake.
Not my usual type of writing though. 😁 Just came out of the blue for the prompt.