She said people were seasons,
and when I first met her, I couldn't agree more.  
After getting to know her, I wished that I didn't.
Her ex-lovers were Winter, and her eyes were a shade of Spring.
I could see the vulnerability of a car crash
swimming in each fountain trapped behind her emeralds.
She was beautiful in the way that could cause suicides,
and fix spider-webbed windshields after each collision of,
“Are you okay,” and, “I’m fine; I promise.”

Every story was Winter, and she was always left alone in the snow.
Mauve lips mouthed words that silently whispered,
"When is this too much? When are you going to leave?"

People are patterns,
and all she knew was the tessellation of temporary love and permanent loss.
Her hands trembled as she looked down.
She was in transit; moving after each hope of home fell apart.
And I wanted to kiss her like the world was falling apart.

Fly high, Oh, Yellow bird,
Fly so high that you are among the few
Who go beyond lesser mortal’s vision
Far towards horizons new.

Climb heights that no one imagined
Spreading your wings with all the might
Reach new places that the world knows not
And touch the stars that glare at night.

See new world with your own eyes
Feel the joys that to others are foreign
Make new friends and start new trends
Let your charm on the world reign.

You may sometimes feel tired
You may at times stall
Your strength may cease too
When cold winds befall.

Yet, stop not, Oh, Yellow bird!
Hard metal is what makes your spirit
So sweat not the tall obstacles,
The sky is your limit.

One day you will make history
And be etched as a timeless being;
With time will emerge a spirited storm
That is yet in the brewing.

And though the wind beneath your wings
Did help you carry through,
The victory will be truly yours
For you are the one who flew.

This applies to every single one of you. No matter how little you may believe you are worth, I swear to you, you are worth more, way more than you could ever imagine, in your wildest dreams. You are worth the same as those you value most, that girl with the body you aspire yours to be like, those people that you envy for being so naturally beautiful, your closest friends, your family. You are worth every piece of happiness, hope and health. I promise. You are not a diagnosis or a statistic, defined by criteria, percentiles and numerical figures, no. You are so much more. You are more than the inches around your waist, the abs on your stomach, the lbs that creep up and down on the scales, the self defeating thoughts, the highlighting of your insecurities, the constant regrets.
You are the air you breathe, the laughter that slips between your lips, the fight that you said you had ran out of months ago. The love you share and feel, the smiles that sweep across your face, those moments where happiness feels so close that you can almost taste it. You are daylight, the sun, nightlife, clubs and music and drunken confessions. You are a shining star, the scent of your favourite perfume, your most treasured memories crammed into ink and squashed between frames.

Never doubt that you are more.

2013 ©

does she even start forest fires when she blushes?
"she sets the whole world on fire"
i'm going to be sick.

I'm sorry courage took a longer time for your hair to grow out past your shoulders

Maybe I regret the coveted gazes that took residence in the threads of your muscles now precinct, hardly noticed nor remembered

You're the seventh page of my diary, as well as the eighth, the ninth, the tenth and it goes on till the edge of this cliff you call home

There are things I don't know why I do

Like the time I gave myself bruises on my shins just because I liked the colour

Has anyone ever thought of how bruises are actually a metaphor of everything unsaid?

Capillaries bursting under the surface of your skin and not flowing, like the words that ride in submarines in your head but never brave enough to say them out loud

Things sound nicer when they come from your lips anyway.

I laugh too much

Is the passion carved on your skull as deep and carefully thought out as the things you say?

Warmth from you is as untrue and synthetic as your boxing gloves strapped tightly on

Punches with the soul of death, you pretend your stares are empty

I’ve watched sunsets more times than I have seen your smile

The darkness that swallows the harbor isn’t something we’d talk about over steaming cups of coffee

I don’t drink coffee anyway

I heard you make lovely icy rainbow popsicles and hand them out at barbecues

But nothing’s colder than your hard gaze, as hard as your cheekbones

I wish you’d grow your hair mid-back so you can finally braid it

I am not so sure what waiting is supposed to do except breed hope and a whole lot of misery

Silhouettes are me and you and everything intangible, just like me and you and black and white, just like me and you

I am in love with you but I do not love you.