She was right there -
sitting in crossed legs,
the morning light
gleaming on her crimson
cheeks.
She was young
and naive.
Indecisive.
Quiet.
She became her own
defendant because she
chose to.
She wanted to be alone,
but she didn't consider
herself 'troubled'.
Because really, she wasn't.
She was an ordinary girl
who thought she,
standing alone, and not
having anyone get in her way
was much, much better.
Those days were rough
and now gone.
The thought of her
existence took precedence
over the thoughts
that have been intensely
clouding her mind.
"I'm alright. I hold no grudge."

One day, you'll see
her at a park bench or a
cafe and she won't
even notice you anymore
because she'll be too
busy exchanging laughs
with somebody else.
And you're just there, watching
her sip her coffee and her
mouth breaks into a smile
you always thought could
light up a town.
You -
you're frozen in place and
all you could do is heave
a deep sigh, watch as he strokes
her hair and feel your
heart sink because
hey,
she doesn't even recognize you.
Hurts, huh?

You deserve it.

Runaways

There's a girl riding
the midnight train
out there, weeping as
she slowly falls asleep to
the silence of the night.
There's another girl out there
biking the empty
streets of an unfamiliar place,
her heartbeat getting faster
and faster with every pedal.
There are kids out there
standing on the curbs
and patiently waiting
for the next bus to arrive, their
hands cold and shaky
from either fear or probably
just in a hurry, I'm not
quite sure why.
And you,
you're stuck in your home
wishing you were one of
these kids and could run away too.

—

Pieces

Every word that comes
out of your mouth sounds
like a poem with no vowels
and rhymes but I know
for a fact it's a poem because
it meant something to me
though I couldn't seem to
get the idea because every time
I think about it, generally, it
seems like an inconceivable
prayer waiting to be recited
by you, and only you.
Your voice exemplifies the
stillness in the ticking clock
and every tick is another
step away from the graveyard
where I buried all the words
I wish I could say but
never had the courage to
because maybe, I'm just
another lost girl still in search
for the light at the end of
the tunnel.

Will I ever get there?

Deprived of a need

The crashes of the waves
resembled the way your lips
curve and the lines on your
neck created a path that led
to your tiny fingers, reminding
me of Romeo and Juliet and
their hands intertwined. Every
time you spoke I could tell that
you're hoping to be a little
bit of something in your tone;
and that is how I knew so well.
Every chirp of the birds that
wake you up will remind you
of me and all the songs I
never got to sing to you just
when you asked me to and
miles away, I would quiver with
every word that lingers inside
me and I'm not quite sure
if I'd be glad about it because
at least I know things are fine
or disappointed because I
wake up every morning, bothered
by this distance between us.
I hope the things I tell you that
you keep under your blanket at
night make their way to your
mouth and it curves into a smile
that's gonna make the sun rise
and the moon stay hidden.
No more secrets were needed
to be kept by the sky's 3 am
pitch because they are already
buried within me. And you
know what? I'm keeping them with me
just as I would keep you
close to this pumping thing on
my chest...

The pains of remembering

I believe my eyes knew

me so well yet

it's slipping past me now.

A laugh I once thought was

for a girl like me echoes down

an empty hallway.

A flashing image of the happy 

days with the people I owe

so much to; far too close, near

our spot.

A flashing image that was gone

far too soon.

I ran out of people,

and moments,

and dates,

and conversations to blame.

Since then, I blamed

the day for taking over

the night 

and shining light on everything

that should've stayed

hidden in the dark.

Now here I am, remembering

people and wishing we

had more time to learn every part

of each other.

A hundred poems written 

on anything,

hands,

walls,

desks and the pavement where 

we spent our late nights.

Three hours spent searching

and reading the poems 

that paint every part of a happy 

picture of people, now far away.

A lifetime spent

remembering

and regretting and reading a hundred

poems time & time again.