i have stopped being afraid of the dark when i realized that the monsters don't live under my bed but inside my head.

Living is hard, dying is easy.

six word story

Days like this I wanna be missed; by someone, by anyone, by everyone. Because I feel like I am forgotten like ashes in the air and sand on the ground very very very useless. The organ above my ribcage beats slowly like I’m not panicking in my head, like death isn’t running through my veins, like I’m a healthy living human being. My mind says jump. My body says no. There’s a war going on inside me but the calm is like that before a storm; quiet, silent, foreboding, ominous. I want my days to be over yet the clock ticks to midnight and another day passes by with me breathing even when I’m on fire.

please, let me die

as the years passed, i learned to love people's flaws. because it made them real, made them touchable, made them vulnerable, made them relatable, made them lovable. and with that, i finally learned to love my own flaws.

everyone has flaws.

I don't want love. I don't want your feelings, your affections, your soft touch. I want you to ruin me from the inside out. Leave bruises on every part of my body, fill my mind with filth, with sex, with sweat; with our bodies combined. Pour all your violence into me; choke me, slap me, hurt me. I want your flaws I want your dark desire I want your intense pleasure. Hold me harshly, Slam into me hardly, Fuck me badly.

i want your fucked up mind not your fragile heart

I don't like myself either.

six word story

i am not scared but i've been scared of the darkness for the longest time. the shadows moving as i turn makes my steps falter. the wind blowing against my skin raising terrified goosebumps. every sound, every creak, every whisper makes my heart beat like a scared animal on flee. fast, faster, fastest. beat against my chest, out to the world. because i was scared of the dark but. the darkness has become a blanket. a comfortable companion on dark winter nights when the wind just blows too harshly and the sky too dark but lit with heavy clouds. it's the darkest silence on the dead of the night that lulls me to sleep and i breathe calmly. relief, relieved, a sigh of content on the black world i now adore.      i am not scared but i've been scared of talking, touching, seeing for years. my mouth twitches just a tad bit too slow as the drum of my heart pounds against my ears. my hands trembles just slightly to remain unnoticed as my mind battles decades of war. my eyes blinks too fast, shifts too quickly as my throat tries to swallow the lump of panic. don't touch because it hurts. don't talk because why, you're always unheard. don't look because nothing makes sense but. the isolation has become permanent as years flew by and i, i accepted the me that's scared of touching, of talking, of seeing, of being. the walls are my protection from the hurricane of humiliations. the perfectly constructed avoidance of another's warmth calms my heart, my body, my soul, my mind. and i'm too far gone, feeling too lovely, inside my own blanket fort to step on a storm that i know lasts very long.      i am not scared but i've always been scared of eating, drinking, consuming. human rights, human nature, human, human, human. i am simply human but my mind whispers that i don't need this pear. or this waffle. or this cake. my intestines however says otherwise and i'm forced to swallow caffeine, booze, cigarettes, i wallow. i count nutrition facts, i time all my meals, i control everything, all the things i intake. because i hate eating, drinking, my mind keeps breaking but i read how people feels in their own body. looks at them and smile because thank god, thank fuck, they're okay. beautiful, pretty, fit, chubby, these people surrounds me and i close my eyes just a moment longer, longingly, and mutters, you're fine, you're beautiful, you're lovely no matter if it's a lie.      i am not scared but i am scared of falling. i am acrophobic. afraid of heights no matter how far up the floor. my feet shakes, shatters, skitters when i look down from a high place beyond my mind and my body could decipher. falling is hard. and hard is falling. and being far up, close to the sky, doesn't make the descend a great high. perhaps if i'm on drugs, weed, ecstacy, name it. but i will always loathe the ups because there's nowhere i can go from there but down. and i hate falling down but. i've tried roller coasters before. and i almost vomited on the person in front. my stomach sucked in too far inside my body, my hand gripping tightly, always tightly, the handle. but you know what, there's a joy in facing your fears even when you know it'll never go. there's a brush of pride and content and giddiness knowing that you've been there. up, up, up, high, close to the sky, the space, the end of the earth. and i swallowed my vomit because that feeling gives me a whole new peace of mind.      i am not scared but i've always been wary of people. they say they like you and hisses bitter words behind your back without any guilt. they stab too deep and i'm left on the verge of death. the bullets from their guns whoosh past and pierces through my skull like fuck, why, man why. people are hypocrites and they kill so i bleed and i bleed so they grin and they grin cause i'm dead but i like people. they soothe my chest like a balm on a sunburned skin. their little puffs of chuckles makes my brain short circuit because they're. they're very beautiful and i love how they purse their lips and shout my name and hug my frame and i'm okay with bleeding if it means i'll be able to watch these people happily mingling.      i am not scared but i very much admit that i am scared of myself. of me that's living, breathing, thinking, being. i can't count all the scars i've left on me, me, me. and i can't count all the memories of tears under heavy blankets, breathing too quickly like someone's on attack. i am on attack. my mind hates me. my body hates me. and i hate me but. but the darkness inside myself is too good. the scaredy cat starved of affection is amazingly miserable. the shackles that keeps me down is greatly asphyxiating. the malnourished soul singing praise to my intestines are a tad bit blackened. and the made up people embracing me are just too warmly depressing. it feels good. it feels bad. i'm scared. just a tad but i am not scared. no, i am just. terrified.

i am not scared.

It devastates me how people focus only on the familiar. Towers, cafés, roads to love, love, love. Don't say love when you decide to ignore any other matter; bombs, earthquakes, religious phobia. Don't say love when every day and every minute of every second someone's suffering. It didn't start only yesterday, hun. Open your eyes, open your ears, open your views, open each of your senses and emotions to what is happening. The world is a huge place. Pray for those who are suffering; on the inside, outside, general, world wide. Don't let your sight see only straight, look around. You'll find everyone's always in a bind.

#prayzoned

It’s a hard pill to swallow Realizing that you yourself Doesn’t believe that You have something to offer another. Thinking that you’re not enough, Not good enough, too out of luck. It’s a sad tale to bellow The story you yourself Don’t even give a fuck. Say, why so afraid of a shot?

 i’m not enough (coward much)

I've imprinted on you. It wasn't at first sight, nor the second, or third. I don't know how many times I've seen you thinking that "hey, that one might be the one." I've seen you in all the colors possible, except your darkest days and your brightest nights. I've imprinted on you in a way that everything seemed important. Like every details should count; from the top of your head to the tip of your toe. I wanted to capture everything that mattered even if they were such a bother. Because I've imprinted on you in ways I can not explain. In ways that I should explain. In ways that you can never explain. My dependency may be a trouble but hear me out, I was protecting our bubble. Though the sound of it exploding was deafening, I finally figured out. I've imprinted on you because you were worth imprinting to.

but imprinting does not always come in two

I know loneliness is a vicious thing. It keeps me up at night, scenes whirling in my mind. Regrets jerks my chest tight and in the darkness I’m blind. I know loneliness as a horrible disease. Choking me on the daylight, throwing my lumière aside. Shit, I’ll commit a pathetic manslaught just to hold my insanity inside. I know I know Loneliness as a killer suicide. My sins are forgiven but I’ll always be bedridden. Guilt still stabs through my heart. How, How can I make everything right?

I could cry For missed moments of wanting to prove that I very much deserve this 'gent. I could choke For every word stuck in my throat, wanting to shout but couldn't. I could sigh For every kiss against your lips, thinking of nothing but this. I could die For every, every touch I took for granted knowing us doesn't mean we'll last. I could laugh For every opportunities that I passed up because let's face it, we're both fucked up. I could throw my hands up, do cartwheels forever, go play in the traffic, jump off a cliff like I've gone insane. 'Cause this: I could have gotten used to us, to this, to those, to we but- we put the in in insane and us in usually and regretfully, gravely, we're usually insane.

i could

can i ask you what inspired you to write 'don't fall in love with a writer' and when? because i'm continuously drawn back to that and it's definitely one of my favorites. any time someone asks me why it's easier to write about them than to express how i feel about them this is what i have them read.

Hello! Wow, that one’s ancient. haha Fortunately, I still remember what inspired me to write that. How could I? I’m sure I wrote that piece in a fit of frustration and suppressed feelings and doubts and apparently, love. Or, I say infatuation. Yeah, I was infatuated with this guy. I’ve always been one of those people who believed in “actions speaks louder than words” but I do know that sometimes, you gotta say something to clear things up but I. JUST. CAN’T. “Shall I ask them if we’re together? But we always fall to each other every.damn.time. Doesn’t mean we’re a couple, does it?” Always being a coward and always depending on the person to understand if I just– you know, show them. Touch them and shit. Those don’t cover things though. With those thoughts, I wrote. I was unable to say something so I wrote. I’ve always thought writing is better than speaking. More time to think things over, yanno? Most of those habits were mine and definitely the ‘being cold and hot’ one. Haha. I figured it was better to write than blurt shit out. Don’t you think so? I defo do. When? Either before or after christmas because, well, we happened again sans label. bYE so yeah. Frustrations piling up. Yupp. I hope I answered your question in this long ass rant of mine! And thank you very much for liking that piece!

I am an empire-- State of mind wide as the universe, the galaxy, the whole entity of everything that can be. There's nothing that I can do; the build of my body has nothing to do with my strength, determination, motivation, fuck all your misplaced degradation.            Look here, buddy. You see, my breast and ass doesn't define my worth; big, small, there, not there. I can slam your insults against your face with as much power as a body builder on a contest day. Don't say I'm weak. Never say I'm weak. I can open that jar of pickles without your help. Fuck all your bicep curls.            See, see? You see that panty? No, wait, that's a bikini. And a bra. Sexy, ain't it? So why are you goddamn forbidding every mother feeding their child on public when you fucking masturbate to naked girls on the internet? What a sly hypocrite. It's okay, fine, hella damn amazing to print posters of (half) naked girls and sell them on the streets but it's scandalous! gasp! blasphemy! for a woman to show her breast while feeding her precious one. Fuck all your beliefs.             Have you ever whistled or shouted vulgar words to a girl on the streets and have her hurrying, scurrying, in fear of you attacking? Oh, yeah. Attractive--ly disgusting; not even close, hear my vomiting. Don't. Ever. Never. Cat call a girl. Your lookin' good in that pants babe! how much is a night? walk here often, sweetie? is not even remotely accepted. You want fear? Feel the beating of our hearts while walking alone late at night to get home safe, safely, to safety. The shadows are threatening, the dark alleys are hell, the slight sound of clattering from behind, front, side to side is enough to make us sprint. Is this how you want your daughter to live? Fuck all your countless apologies.              Pay day, may day, friday, today. How much do you get paid? How much do I get paid? Not even close to yours who's got the privilege to own a fucking dick. Oh, no offense but you see, where's equality? Ee-kwa-lee-tay; I don't think the government knows the actual definition of the word, so the temptation to throw an oxford dictionary on their face is rising every time they discuss women's privileges. There's no such thing as equal pay! No such thing as equal treatment! No such thing as equal society! No such thing as equali-fucking-ty! Hear me? Fuck all your corrupt money.               But you see, what have we done to you testosterone bearing assholes who thinks that they've got any fucking right to decide how we handle our body? Sexuality? Don't you like it when we're sexual and fierce with a hint of promiscuity? Then we're whores! sluts! bitches! hoes of the highest degree. Why thanks, person who's slept with the entire city but got the nickname big daddy. Thankfully, you have nothing to worry but STDs and other diseases that science - thank you, science - discovered a cure already. We? Women? Females? We?! Menstruation! Pregnancy! Pills! IUD! And you all-- you fucking all are discussing who's got the last decision if we should get abortion even if we're falling to depression because you and your misplaced rights and your asshole tendencies wants the last word if WE, if OUR BODY, should be saved from ruining our entire future for an unborn baby. Doesn't matter if it's conceived by rape, force, consensually. YOU want the last word, so let me shove this in your shit for a mouth: you have no damn rights to direct our bodies sanctity. Fuck all your useless ways.                So here I am, calming down with a drink of coffee. Don't fucking touch me, I'll pour all these damn red warnings on your empty for a head. We women aren't puppies, pets, puppets that are up for grabs and are easy to throw. I'll throw a mountain at you, see how that will go. You shake on your legs, you stomp on your feet, you chew on your lips, you tap on your fingers in nerves; scared and threatened that if we succeed, your all-for-shows strong quality and authority might crumble to pieces. We march and fight and shout and wave our banners for everyone to see that there's more to us than our body. We have brains, we have feelings, we have strength; knowledge for centuries, love for eternity, and muscles to bear all the burdens in this world filled with unfair men. But you ignore, brush aside, cover your ears and eyes from hearing and seeing all our pleas to a good living. So, here I am, telling you government pussies to make a stand, stop arguing about our lives, let us decide on what's good for us, and go for a fucking run.                Fuck sitting on those useless seats.

We Are An Empire

The feel of wind against my skin is the sign to begin again.

Take me, deeper. Twist me, tighter. Hold me, rougher. Don't let go.

Aesthetically speaking, I love your face. When my eyes lands on you, it’s your face I glue to. Eyes so blue like tenerife sea on a good summer day; irises like soft crashing waves, calm, silent; let me drown, so gallant. But no, your beauty isn’t the only reason, my eyes tremble with emotions. It’s when your lips twitch into a smile and somehow, the world lights up brighter than the starry night sky. It’s when the corners of your eyes crinkle with lines of wrinkles, showing your genuine feelings. And when your jaw clenches about a topic that doesn’t sit well with your beliefs, my urge to trace and soothe your worries continues to grow. Aesthetically speaking, I love your arms, hands, fingers, wrists, elbows. When I feel them with my own, my heart shakes above my ribcage, wanting to move and reach out, like it's grown its own pair set of hands just to reach you; feel you. Your calluses speaks of years of work, of devotion towards a bright future; a future of hopefully me and you. The fingers against my own grips tightly-- tightly, securely and I fell, fell, fell from the sky for you, with you. Like a suicidal couple, parachute no where to be found but we've got us, you, I. You hold with unspoken words that I would love to know but my heart shakes and I continue to ponder why I love your whispered touch so much against my fevered skin when all you do is brush. Aesthetically speaking, I love your stomach, your hips, that scar on your back. My fingers traces every little ridges of bones that I could; the cage that holds your organ for a heart, the bones that hugs those tainted twin livers that you attack with beer, vodka; I hope you stop, the indents that keeps your lungs pumping blood, air, smoke, cigarettes, why does it matter? You matter. And I wish I could vanish that scar you play hide and seek with loathe, hate, regret. But you'll always be reckless, wreckless. I want you to know more is not less. So let me kiss from your chest to your hips, to the back you always miss all the insecurities built with bricks. Aesthetically speaking, I love your thighs, knees, calves, feet, whatever is it. It's because when you step forward, it's towards me. They're a compass to my own quick walks while my heart sprints closer-- closer to you. They take you from one place to another and no matter wherever you decide to go, I know, I know, you'll always come back home. Bound to the compass that is me; north, south, west, east, me. And your legs have the strength to shelter and carry all the burdens that your shoulders couldn't. Like Atlas holding the sky up before it flattens every living being, your thighs are thunders that keeps your world from crashing. So come and sit sometime, beside this lonely dame and rest those tired feet, my knight every midnight chimes. Aesthetically speaking, I love all of you. Body, heart, mind, soul of man. There's a beauty in your ignorance, there's adoration in your wry smiles, there's confidence in your spoken words and there's pain in your love. I have you; body so warm against mine goosebumps died and replaced with the pouring of hidden emotions. I don't have you; heart, mind, soul of man who can woo any woman to leave their own beautiful green and grassy land. I wish I had you; near, far, inches; my ruler can't reach your heart. So, aesthetically speaking, I love you. Questionably, do you love me too?

Aesthetically Speaking