If i could write a song
I would create melodies
and rhythms that would take your breath away.

If i could write a song
I would take words unspoken
and place them with a tune to try and tell you how i feel

If i could write a song
I would take your breath away
the way that you take mine and tell you how i feel the way i wish i could.

If i could write a song
You would never hear it, the fear of disappointing you would make me shake to much to preform it....

If i could....

your eyes tell me things
your mouth cannot,
they utter silent stories
to me
when I hold you close,
our face mere inches apart.

and even through all this haunting
I still find myself falling,
so fast,
and I think I've fallen
in love with you
and there's no stopping
(I don't want to)
and I don't need to
because I only need you,
flush against me.

To face life's challenges
With no one beside you

To struggle to maturity
With no one to give a pat on the back

To let go of people you loved
With no one to give you a hug

To feel so all alone
With no one who'll take time to listen

To shed tears by yourself
With no one to shed it with

To tell yourself "I'm fine"
With no one to say "are you sure?"

To try forgetting your sorrows
With a pain that lingers

To run from your fears
With no one to show care

To keep silent...
When all you wanted is to scream your heart out!

All those eyes face upon my movement like a circus monkey,
Laughing at the uncontrollable flailing of my arms and head.

How could I express my embarrassment of so many entertained by my misery,
Like the stabbing of needles around my whole body.

So much movement and sound moving in thousand beats per second,
"And this desire to release sensory overload by hitting against my head."

This solitude of being alone is overwhelming,
And I wish I can convey my deepest emotions.

Only if I can communicate my world to you,
And tell you how I feel.
To dream like you,
And have many aspirations.

How could I express these thoughts to you,
I am a human being stuck in a different body!

Please be patient with me,
Show me the right way,
And I will show you my deepest thoughts,
My dreams.

I'm writing lines
in hopes
that
one day someone will see
the unspoken way of things.
I was down on the frown
down, sinking
as things got deeper
i got darker
the more i opened
the looser this vacuum seal go
but not
without consequence.
random flurries in my head
in my head
in my head
everyone is left for dead,
in my head.

Monday.

First day of the week.

He was absent. Was he sick?

I took a glance at the empty chair.

How I wish he was sitting there.

I hope tomorrow I’ll get the chance to see him.

Cause a day is not a day without him.



Tuesday.

I came at school early,

Wanting to see him badly.

There was a sad smile coated on my face,

When I didn't see him at his usual place.

His chair was still empty.

What happened to him?

I have no idea.

I have no clue.

All I knew, I was feeling blue.

I tried to brush my thoughts away,

And just listened at the class all day.

I thought I’m okay,

That I was feeling fine.

But when I saw his chair empty,

I knew my smile was not happy.



Wednesday.

Crestfallen and disappointed.

He was still not here.

I could feel the emptiness in my mind.

Just like the empty chair in my behind.

I asked my classmates,

They just shrugged their shoulders.

I asked his friends, they don’t know why.

Soon my dark eyes began to cry.



Thursday.

Too many question popped in my head.

Frustrated and confused,

I committed a major offense.

I fled from school during recess.

I want to see him today,

To know the reason of that young man,

Why for four days he was gone.

There was no one in their house.

Only their old maid.

“Where could I find him?” I asked her.

She gave me a piece of paper.

I went home with a heavy heart.

It felt like my world was drifted apart.

I looked at the paper once again,

Tears fell down while reading them.

I don’t how to endure this kind of ache,

I kept on telling it was just a mistake.



FRIDAY.

Fresh flowers I brought,

I put them on the ground.

I smiled bitterly,

As I read his name in the tomb.

“I love you.”  I whispered.

I didn't hear anything in return.

“I love you!” I shouted.

Hoping he’ll answer me at ease.

But all I heard was the sound of the trees.

I cried again..

How many tears should I cry,

For him to come back?

For him to be with me again?

To feel his warmth.

To smell his scent.

To stare at his eyes.

It was too late.

Too late…



Saturday.

I wept until I could no longer feel the pain.



Sunday.

I did what I've done yesterday.



Monday..

I come to school.

Act as if nothing happen,

They asked me if I’m fine,

I nodded and smiled.  

While walking into our room,  

Wearing fake mask behind my gloom.

But tears fell again on my face,

When I didn't see him at his usual place.

I glance at the empty chair,

How I wish he was sitting there.

whenever word fails...
silence prevails...
listen to tis
alluring echo of
unsaid
and unspoken
not ears
but...
only heart
can feel....
this everlasting zeal..!

“I’m not going to begin with introductions because I don’t like my age.”
“It reminds me of how old I am.”
“When do you become old? – I was thirteen.”
“Who made this bus yours?”
“Don’t ‘**** school’ it’s unsafe.”
“I’m broken.”
“I do mind, actually.”
“Sorry.”
“You broke me.”
“I don’t want to grow up.”
“I’m clever.”
“What’s the point in learning to find the area under a curved line graph?”
“Do I know you?”
“I’m scared.”
“I’m scarred.”
“Why don’t facts make sense?”
“How are 21% of teens obese when I know more people with anorexia than obesity?”
“Why is the colour blue attractive?”
“Are you actually qualified to teach history?”
“Or anything?”
“I didn’t think so.”
“I prefer books that hurt me.”
“I tell lies.”
“Very well.”
“Am I a bad person?”
“I have never revised in my life.”
“I’m *******.”
“I’m glad you have such misplaced faith in me.”
“Stop dying your hair.”
“We were best friends aged 7, remember.”
“You do remember – you just don’t like remembering.”
“I’m scared of dying.”
“And of living.”
“My sides are splitting.”
“I hate my own sarcasm”
“I love you mum.”
“And you.”
“And you.”
In fact,
Now I come to think about it,
All my poems are just the words I don’t say.