Match your energy
with someone that has the same energy as you.

Never force it. You will get tired.
Just let the vibe flow.
If you click, it will.

I play pokers with snakes,
I play hide and seek with monsters under my bed
I play truth or dare with backstabbers
Well, it is called truth for a reason

I mirror unparallel versions of you, mimicked into one
The deception of the trickster was acted upon by the *****
For them, money is god. For God, you are pulverized— like ***** and Gomorrah.

Forming words like scrabbles is like forming words of questioning abilities
Be it a word or a phrase— make up your mind and lay the tiles on the scrabble board
Like a domino effect, I stack you up and you fall

Pick up sticks, fell down and picked up
But sticks and stones will surely break your bones.
The games of the general or checkers, move for the red or the black one
Bull's eye like darts or archery, you could swing by in a baseball bat.

Knowing a mastermind's mind games is wicked
But knowing your move is like playing chess with the enemy.

Not knowing when he will bite or blow,
Fed by fear and latin prayers
behind the latin prayers written in the red handkerchief

I was wise enough to tell when I let it burn
Out with the agony, with the truth one person tells through smoke
Like this poem, my mind is in scribbles too.

To my partner during sunny days,
We will always be happy together.
But when storms may come, waves may rise and the sunny day may hide behind the stormy clouds
We never understood each other based on the noisy banters we throw at each other.
You gaslight me of things I never said, manipulate me of things I never did
Worse of all, I never understood myself during the anxieties of the weather
Life was too short to come by,
time too limited to be wasted
I never noticed the tears that fell from my eyes
When my heart was too heavy to carry the hurt and burden I felt deep within me
My mind bursts into chaos
Too stressed to overthink of things in life we have no control of
Promises are only inside our palms, curled empty-handed
Color me intrigue of the stuffs I used to do
And cutting my hair has become a habit of mine
To relieve stress...

I do not need a therapist—
Poetry is all I need.
Since it is my unpaid therapist;
Where the world's perspective of me is the contentment of my experience
Hence, Hello Poetry is my freedom wall, so to speak.

Maybe E.A. Poe is my idol—Or rather a favorite Because I get my inspiration from him.
Oh well, Annabel Lee, My aunt is no Annabel Lee.
We neither have to experience The Fall of the House of Usher,
Nor wander in the shadows of The Raven's lore.
There’s no Tell-Tale Heart beneath my floor
Nor do we tremble at The Masque of the Red Death's door.
We shan't endure The Pit and the Pendulum's sway,
Or face The Black Cat's ominous gaze.
The horrors of The Cask of Amontillado are far from view
As are the riddles of The Murders in the Rue Morgue, too.
"Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Your son will be the death of you— remember that, remember that
Oh wait, I forgot
Because when you literally walk around town
You do not have a brain in your head

Clueless as **** now, are we?
You keep telling people **** about us
When you feel so clean and pure

How hypocrite! All of them know what the truth is now
Stop blaming us for the ******-up life of your son
Clean your own mess, stop letting us clean your own mess

As for your son, directors and scriptwriters would be so proud of him
For creating such a ******* brilliant masterpiece
He could be featured in one of the news, or write stories for films
I could cry while I applaud for him— crocodile tears and flowery words won't work on me this time
He could prepare a speech, I'd prepare for a eulogy for him
He could receive a bouquet from one of his fans, I could give him a funeral wreath, saying "Condolence to the bereaved family"
Because I'd love to see you in your deathbed, covered in blood, stabbed in different parts of your body
One million—not a pocket money or a spot cash but rather, stabbed wounds
Slitted throat, fractured bones;
Sawed limbs and gouged eyes.

I dreamed of it, to be this gothic
And you, my dear, is my main prospect
But I ain't the suspect or the mastermind
I am the victim, for this ******* of yours

Time will come, your first hurrah and laughs, will be my last hurrah and laughs.
Mark my words, be careful with your life
Because one day, you might not wake up alive next day.

you knew,
I knew.
we knew each other for 25 years,
but in a single blow, I forgot about you
I forgot that you were even my cousin
I forgot that you even existed.

I could look at you right now
like I never knew you
that even at the back of my mind
I was planning, plotting for revenge
thinking of ways on ******* you
in different ways,
or how many stab wounds will it take
for you to die.

but it was all a blur.
a memory I declined to act upon.

He asked me:
How are you holding up?

I smirked in his question:
You’re really asking me that? After what you did?
After you forced yourself on me and walked away like nothing happened?

He answered:
…I don’t know what to say.

I spoke:
Of course you don’t.
You never did.
You never said anything that mattered,
Even when you took what you wanted
And left me to hold the pieces of myself in shaking hands.

You left without a trace—
No crumbs.
You ate it all.
Devoured my trust, my voice, my sense of safety,
And walked away like it was nothing.

I added:
People say wounds heal.
That trauma fades like smoke through time.
But when?
Because it still lives rent-free in my mind—even if you don’t think about it at all.
It’s there when I’m brushing my teeth.
In the split second before I fall asleep.
In the silence that follows laughter, reminding me what was taken.

And you once said I ruined your life—how insensitive.
Did you ever think you ruined mine?

I recalled:
I was 15.
Barely a child.
Already depressed.
Already struggling to stay alive.
And you took advantage of that silence.

I wanna describe the feeling,
It was nostalgic to walk down memory lane
without flinching or shaking at recalling
something you wanna forget but your mind does not cooperate

I asked him:
Did I ruin your life?
Are you really saying that to me?
Do you even hear yourself?

You’re trying to make yourself the victim
When you were the one who pinned me down,
Ignored my “no,”
Took away my safety,
And left me in the dark with it.

You say you were young.
You were 23.
A fully grown man.
Sober.
Aware.
Choosing.

You talk about your innocence like you didn’t take mine.
Like you didn’t strip it away with your hands, your weight, your entitlement.

I asked him once more:
Do you know what ruin looks like?

He clapped back this time without holding back:
To answer your question…
Ruin is like sleeping,
But you can’t sleep at all.
Even if you drink yourself unconscious,
It won’t work.
It still finds you.

I objected:
No.
That’s not ruin.
That’s guilt.
That’s the echo of your own making,
And even that—you can escape with liquor, with numbness.

But ruin?
Ruin is when you wake up screaming
Because your body remembers what your mind is still trying to forget.

Ruin is when you flinch at kindness,
Because you’ve learned that even warm hands can burn.

Ruin is carrying your own body like a secret.
Like a crime scene.
Like a war was fought there,
And no one came to clean up the blood.

That is what ruin looks like.
And it lives inside me.
Not in your glass.
Not in your hangover.
In me.

Ruin is learning to flinch at the smallest sounds,
the lightest touch.
The unexpected movement of someone walking too close.

Ruin is hating myself for years.
Feeling insecure with who I am,
Guilty for what I let happen—
As if being naïve was a crime.
As if freezing instead of screaming meant consent.
As if my silence signed away my right to be safe.

I was just a girl.
Trusting. Vulnerable. Too young to even know the danger.
And you used that.
You knew I wouldn’t fight back.
Because I was already fighting everything else.

Ruin is sitting alone on the bathroom floor,
Clutching myself,
Trying to feel real.
Trying to feel clean.

Ruin is carrying shame in my bones
While you walk away, living your life,
Claiming you were the one who got hurt.

Ruin is a fifteen-year-old girl,
grounded, wings clipped to be broken not bound to fly
like a penguin, have flippers but felt useless
with broken dreams, felt caged and has limited movements

You said I ruined your life.

I did not ruin your life.
I am not the type of person to ruin a ruined person.
before I ruined you, you are already bound to be ruined
you caved in, you hid from me
ran away, you even teamed up with a priest to tolerate the **** you did

He was a boy. not a man. One thing I know is, boys tolerate ***** like their ****** life. Men ruin.
like Pompeii, you are bound to crumble and collapse


But did people look at you like you were tainted?
Did they whisper behind your back, tearing apart your dignity?

Did you have to teach yourself how to be touched again without shaking?
Did you have to pretend to be okay while dying inside?

You don’t get to say I ruined your life.
You don’t get to twist what you did into something about you.

He protested:
I… I didn’t realize it affected you like that.

Without a doubt, I said:
Because you didn’t care enough to think about it.
I spent years thinking I owed you an apology.
That maybe I led you on.
That maybe I was too quiet.
That maybe it was my fault for not screaming louder.
For freezing instead of fighting.

But no.

I don’t owe you anything.
Not anymore.

I wrote 500 poems just to keep myself alive.
To let people see my wound through words.
Because it was the only way I could keep breathing
Without collapsing under the weight of what you did.

He apologized:
I’m sorry.

I said in a monotone voice:
Your “sorry” won’t give me back what you took.
It won’t erase the fear.
The shame.
The years of trying to scrub myself clean.
It won’t give me back the parts of myself
That shattered under the weight of your choices.

Your “sorry” won’t let me go back
To the child I was
Before you decided your desire was more important than my humanity.

But I need you to understand something:

You don’t own me anymore.

You don’t get to haunt my dreams,
Poison my mornings,
Make me hate the reflection in the mirror.

You don’t get to take any more of my life than you already have.

You asked me how I’m holding up?

I’m holding up
By reclaiming every part of myself you tried to break.
By reminding myself every single day
That what you did was never my fault.

I’m holding up
By writing my way back to life,
One poem at a time.
One breath at a time.
Even when it hurts.
Even when it feels impossible.

I’m holding up
By living,
Even on the days the memories try to pull me under.
By laughing.
By creating.
By loving people who deserve my love.

By refusing to be silent about what you did.

You may have hurt me.
But you do not get to destroy me.
You do not get to end me.

I am still here.
Breathing.
Healing.
Rising.

That’s how I’m holding up.

A moment of silence.

Then, I speak again:

You know, old wounds never really heal.
Skin deep, they close—
But underneath?
They’re still bleeding.
Quietly.
Silently.

They ache
When the weather changes.
When the world gets quiet.
When a certain smell or a voice
Drags me back to that day.

You see me laughing now,
Building a life,
Writing my poems,
Showing up for people who need me—
But you don’t see what it took just to get out of bed some mornings.

You don’t see
How I clutch the sink when the memories hit out of nowhere.
How I have to remind myself that I’m safe now,
That you can’t touch me anymore.

You don’t see
How I’m still stitching myself back together.
Threadbare in places you’ll never see.

You don’t hear the whispers I say to the child you hurt:
You are safe now.
You are allowed to take up space.
It was never your fault.

You don’t see
How I survived you—
Even when I didn’t want to.

You asked me how I’m holding up.

I’m holding up
By breathing through the days I feel like I’m drowning.
By writing 500 poems
To remind myself that my voice
Is stronger than the silence
You tried to bury me in.

I’m holding up
By loving myself
In the ways you never could,
In the ways you never wanted me to.

By letting the wound breathe.
Not hiding it—
But honoring it
For what it is:
Proof that I am still here.
That I am still alive.

So yes,
Old wounds never really heal.
They stay,
Like a faint echo.
Like a scar under skin.

But I’m learning to live with it.
To hold it
Without letting it drown me.

I am still here.

And you don’t get to take that from me.

A pause. I look you in the eye.

I asked him this time:
Tell me something.

Why did you do it?

Because it was easier?
Because I was there?
Because I was depressed, quiet, vulnerable—
And you knew I wouldn’t fight back?

Because I looked tired of life,
And you thought I wouldn’t tell?
That no one would believe me?

Was it worth it to you?
Taking from a 15-year-old girl,
Leaving her to break herself apart
While you went on with your life, untouched?

Tell me.
Why did you do it?

Without hesitations, you held your breath and answered it:
Because you were easier to capture,
Easier to fool,
Naive enough to follow.

You:
So it was about power.
Not desire.
Not accident.
Not confusion.

You picked me
Because I was small enough to silence.
Because I didn’t know how to scream yet.

You fed on what made me soft—
Turned my quiet into consent,
My loneliness into opportunity.

You knew exactly what you were doing.
And you’re still trying to call it a strategy
Instead of a crime.

But I am no longer quiet.
And you don’t get to name it anymore.
I do.
And I name it ****.

for the longest time, I thought my rival in this fiasco was Medusa, but I was wrong.
I was like her too. Misunderstood. Judged. My reasons weren't heard.
easy for everyone to say, quick for everyone to judge
coins have two sides, so is the truth too. it is not always one sided.
Like smoke, it cannot be consumed. it comes out on its own.

He did not make a sound. He just smirked and keep his head low.

I was so angry at myself. so angry that I did not tell a single soul about it. afraid you will haunt me and **** me.
I forgot I was the predator but never the prey.

He said in a low monotone voice:
“…I know.”
(He bows his head, unable to meet your eyes.)
“You’re right.”

I smirked and continued...

There’s nothing you can say to fix it.
This isn’t about you finding peace.
This is about me finding mine.

You asked me how I’m holding up?

I’m holding up
By speaking.
By facing you.
By refusing to carry what you did
In silence anymore.

And now—
I am holding up
By letting you carry the truth, too.

I said calm, firm:
You know, I forgave you.

Not because you asked me to.
You never really did.

Not because you deserve it.
Not because it erases what you did.

But because I owe myself an apology for that day too.

I spent years thinking it was my fault.
That I was weak.
That I should have screamed louder.
That I caused it.
That my naïveté invited it.

But I didn’t.
I was 15.
I froze because I was terrified.
Because I was a child.
Because that was the only way my body knew how to survive.

I forgive you
Not to free you—
But to free me.

So I can breathe
Without your shadow choking me.
So I can live a life that is mine,
Not something you get to own forever
Because of one choice you made.

You will live with what you did.
Whether it haunts you or not is your burden.

But I will live with what I choose now:

I choose freedom.
I choose peace—
Even if it comes slowly.
Even if I have to remind myself every day
That I am allowed to have it.

I forgive you
Because I am reclaiming the power
You tried to take from me.

And I am done
Letting you define who I am.

I am still here.

That’s how I’m holding up.

I was meant to be yours before we met
It's your face I don't want to forget
I have felt your presence everywhere
As I have looked for you in everything

It's your voice I long to hear
There's nothing left to fear
And you never left me cause you're always there
And this is such an unexpected meeting

The butterflies I have felt inside my stomach
Oh, I have loved you from the moon to the stars and back
From the time I wake up, it's you I always think of
Up to the time I go to sleep, you're the last person I'm praying for

It's you I always dream of
To be with forevermore
No matter what I do
No matter where I go

There's a smile drawn on my face
There's a constant happiness painted in my gaze

You are and will always be my angel
You are and will always be my only love
You are and will always be my priority
You are and will always be my only choice

How you loved to see me in the best angle
I can see it in your eyes, love
That I am more than a fantasy
That explains why I became your first choice

Angel of mine, Angel of mine
I love you; I miss you
Angel of mine, Angel of mine

Distance is just a matter of challenge we face
But always remember that my heart only belongs to you
From the time I met you up to the time that you're already mine
Cause I knew this feeling is real the second I saw you

And everything fell in its place
The way our souls intertwine
I can't promise to solve all your problems
But you won't have to face them all alone

Even if your life has hit rock bottom
You'll never be alone

I can't wait to wake up next to you every day
Be with you every single day
Please don't forget how much I love you so
I just had to let you know

Even if I never let it show
I hate to see you go
I was meant to be yours even before we met
And you were an angel of mine I’ll never forget