Both sending letters,
they tore their love apart—
each line like a "don’t leave me,"
they looked like real love letters.

Reading between the lines,
you’d see who played the part.
The strange thing is, the culprit
was not of either heart.

Jealousy, the silent fire,
gave context and reasons,
possessing their prey,
it moved without control.

Can love be found again,
by one who shared the blame?
Can a fractured soul find wholeness
through forgiveness, love, and name?

Your sorrowed letters shake me,
each farewell cuts me through.
Some of us never get letters—
not of friendship, nor of loss,
much less of love from you.

Los dos enviando cartas
rompían su relación,
parecían un no me dejes
reales cartas de amor.

Mirando entre palabras
verías al culpable,
lo extraño del culpable
ninguno de ese amor.

Los celos crean
contexto y razón,
poseyendo a sus víctimas
accionan planes sin control.

¿Será posible volver al amor
siendo un coautor de tal error?
¿un espíritu quebrado unirá sus trozos
con palabras de amor y perdón?

Conmociona mi espíritu
tus tristes cartas de adiós,
algunos no recibimos cartas
ni por quiebre, ni amistad,
menos siquiera por amor.

Dear books,
I love the feeling I get when the series of sentences you hold make me feel understood in the perfect manner.
To be honest, I sometimes envy that those words didn't come out of me
but mostly?
I love you for carrying what I failed or never even tried to bring out of my mind.
I hope you realise your importance and how much you mean and how it brings comfort to me especially at times when I feel low, you're always there.
I'm sorry you have to wait on a coffee stain sometimes or even untouched under heavier books
but mostly I love you for always being there.
Love,
January

Still mask, that's what's left- a face,
A canvas for words I've never said.
Your fingers tracing the lace,
The only  thing I ever dread.

You place the letters by my side,
Silent tear rolling down your cheek,
Words tangled in webs, trying to hide,
Knowing that I'll never speak.

You lay white lilies by ice-cold hands,
Close to cover the letters as it lands.

is there any cure for love?  
I asked a bartender
once in a town
where even the pigeons
looked tired.  
he laughed, poured whiskey,  
and said
“yeah—time, or a bullet.”
but time just teaches you
how to miss her cleaner,  
and bullets are too polite.  
love isn’t a wound,
it’s a habit—  
like lighting a cigarette after ***  
or checking your phone for nothing.  
she’s not coming back.  
but the ache of her
still knows the way back,
still writes poems on your spine
and unbuttons your rest.  
is there any cure for love?  
maybe.  
but no one takes it.  
we like the fever...

riffed on and on
about these implosions that is the world inside of me
pretty words and raw sketches did not get it any lovers
lovers that only knew to love
and everything else felt so vacuous
so lacklustre

dissect me, let me be your science and god- i plead again
but i thought i am not reaching you because my words were not adept
so i made it better and i was all the more unreachable
until maybe i thought that was fine,
i will be unreachable, sad but well

will you reduce me, let me be an atom that intrigues you endlessly

so i plea
so i plea
shamelessly
i will make you coffees and teas and potions unheard of
i will let you cut into flesh of my dreams,
we will make love in a cobweb of intricately beautiful poetic delusions
but i am tired too

I'm so proud of you,
You've made it all the way here,
You're still nothing but yourself.

I still remember when you were little,
Skin and bones all the way till third grade,
Mom was so happy when you started putting on weight,
She was worried you'd starve your growth.

But kids are cruel,
Now I'm worried about you,
You're taking bold steps into life,
Carrying yourself with a grand sense of pride,
Promise you'll be careful, more sensible than me.

Because I want you to be something more than me,
Please don't follow in the shadow of my legacy,
Light a candle, break away, make something more out of your modern day,
You used to have the same haircut, shoes, ideas as me,
Though I finally see you moving along,
I make big foot-prints, I dare you to make bigger ones.