Instinctive.

Oh carnal woman, burning temptations

with the dark smell of musky monday mornings

a room filled with things, things, things

what secret senses are clasped between sheets

soaked with primal instinct and need

though love is absent in the suffocating air.

Two bodies are ruined by a single moment of

unwanted sweetness and light feathers

where he kisses my infinity and i kiss him goodnight

and then soon i am nothing.

Find me.

I've sort of lost you,

somewhere down my spine

in between my third and fourth rib

you've sort of sunken in,

and for the first time 

in a long time

i've sort of lost myself too. 

He is temptation.

it's torture every time our eyes meet

my ribs contract and my breath evapourates

and i dream of the way your hands wander on my skin

sketching constellations with your fingertips

lips laced with heroine, tongue full of addiction

you're a sinner baby

thank god i'm a sinner too

you don't know what you're doing to me.

Not an artist.

If someone gave me a paintbrush and told 

me to paint my feelings onto a canvas,

i'd choose to paint the stars and the northern lights 

because I could never capture your smile the 

way you capture me and the stars are the 

closest thing to how bright you are

so don't burn out, not yet.

3AM

And she tells me to write between the lines

to confine myself between barriers

broken down into words

not slanted, but p e r f e c t

i'm tired of being perfect.

Wash me away.

there are meteor showers in your eyes

and i'm a desert around you

drinking in your oceans

but the tide is low and you're gravitating

towards the eclipsing moon

 [ maybe i am crazy and maybe you don't know

and maybe you will never but you need to know

that i need you ]

so don't go

pleasepleaseplease

i fucking need you

here

( dedicated to juniper
it's been a while )

I love you as dark things are to be loved...

Te amo como se aman ciertas cosa oscuras,  secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

And sometimes it gets hard to breathe around you, when your fingers trace letters into the palm of my hands and your eyes whisper tantalizing secrets into my heart. When your warm breath plays around my earlobes and your chest thumping love into my back. My body you say, my curves are beautiful but what I find most beautiful are your artists' fingers -- softening the harsh edges of my being. Melting my demeanor into nothing but shadow, satin and water, child's play for you.

Break me, for I'm yours.

The power of listening.

You've seen her. 

Perhaps you've never acknowledged her existence and perhaps you never even knew her name. But she's there and she's always been there. She's not "beautiful", or "sexy" or "perfect" in any way. She dances at the corner of your eye and she was always standing in the background of photographs. Never in front, never taking the limelight away from others. Her family oppresses her and she didn't have a multitude of friends and she never went to any parties (nor was she invited to any). Some people told her that she wasn't enough and that she would never be enough and some people avoided her and some people, some people kept bringing her down. 

You've seen her.

But you haven't seen her.

You haven't seen the way her eyes light up and dance at the mention of literature. You haven't seen the way her pen skids across paper, curvaceous, tempting onyx ink seeping through the white. You haven't seen the way words seem to burst from her fingertips and the way they dance and open doorways into worlds never ventured before. You haven't seen her talk about her dreams and ambitions, her face settling in determination at the thought of proving everyone wrong. You haven't seen her face soften, eyes glowing with passion at the thought of her loved one. You haven't seen the way she's planning her future with those she loves and the freedom from all the oppression she battles everyday.

And that one thing, that one single thought kept her alive..She loved him and soon enough he will grow to love her because she loved him and will continue to love him for as long as she lived. She knew that this was a fact and that it was true. She knew that no one but her few friends would ever understand.

You've seen her.

And soon enough, you will hear her.

Because sometimes just seeing things, isn't always enough.

dedicated to juniper <3

Butterfly Kisses

Diamonds glimmer behind veiled lashes,

 flutterflutterflutter on by

sketching constellations in my eyes

[ "stella" ] you whisper under your breath

press your love against my lips,

and i'll press my wishes against your heart.

Far Away.

there's an ache in-between my fingers

begging for your warmth to seep through the gaps

and grasp on tightly, bruise me if you wish

but i just need you right now,

in-between me.

Mermaid.

and you're aqua,

b u t

the swell of the tides are never as soft as her breasts

milky-foam chest rising and f

                                     a

                              l

                      l

              i

      n

g

like the gentle ripples

elegance never failed her--the simplicity simply illuminated the night

the crescent moon seems to giggle at you

with a cheshire cat grin

&

who could forget her laugh?

the sweet bells that led men to madness

dragging them under to effervescence slumber

[ my smile is a little  o f f  don't you think? ] 

She is.

She's b e a u t i f u l,

illustrative strings of librettos waltz on starched paper

from underneath chapped lips and ink-stained fingertips

she passes time counting the caress of the second hand

eyes as empty as the broken glass-face.

a name is sighed,

and suddenly mud-dull eyes become burnt sienna:

love, fire, flames of desire sear at her irises

melt a hole in her icy walls and suddenly,

Pièce de Résistance is rekindled.

i stare at her script,

and i become green-eyed

[ she is everything i'm not and everything i wanted to be ]

* Dedicated to Juniper, my dear friend.

It's so sweet.

Dear You,

I drank in your love(?)

and vomited rainbows.

Love(d),

the girl you pushed away.

Letter 06: A Stranger

Dear Beautiful-Stranger-with-the-most-beautiful-eyes-i-will-ever-see-that-will-render-me-senseless-speechless-and-invade-my-dreams-and-seize-hold-of-my-darkest-desires,

Take me away, into your world.

Love,

(maybe even at first sight) 

To-be-Stranger.

Rollercoaster.

And it's wonderful, exhilarating even--you can feel the winds chasing each other through your hair and the warmth of the sun bathing your face in a golden glow as you race up towards the breaking clouds. She tells you that it feels like flying, and you tell her that maybe if you stretch out your hand and reach upwards, you can almost touch the sky [and sink into it's infinite serenity.]

Almost.

Simple regrets.

"I thought you said you'd never let go."

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"But you let go of me."

"I wish you grabbed my hand and stopped me."

" I guess... I was just tired of holding on to empty air."

Letter 05: Your dreams

Dear dreams,

i've had enough

of you tugging at my heartstrings

and snapping me awake

dangling fragments of glass

inches from my spilling eyes

i thought i knew/dreamt/hoped/wanted heard

"i might actually just love you"

you're too cruel.

sincerely, your nightly prisoner

ps. i miss you, where did you go?

He'll just say.

"내가 '사랑한다' 말하며
그댄 '미안하다' 하겟죠"

I know that you still have feelings somewhere,

just buried deep, 7 feet under that smirk 

(i said seven because i'm feeling lucky)

I just need to keep digging deeper

until i strike gold.

i believe in you, you know?

A heart is like a piece of paper.

It comes out white, pure and innocent. Blank to the onslaught of those around it. It’s defenseless--delicate, vulnerable and prone to be easily ripped, torn apart and trampled on. You can make a mark on the paper and the mark could be rubbed out with enough patience and time.But once you rip the paper, once you scribble on the paper with ink; once you cover the heart with blackened ink; once you drown the heart in blackened tears… you can never get it back the way it was at the beginning. 

It just lies there, forgotten, and once remembered, it’s ready to be picked up and awkwardly fitted back together again just to be torn apart once more. It suffers many wounds and once the heart has finished bleeding and crying out, it heals. But once it heals, it leaves a scar--just like when a piece of paper is torn apart, you have to tape it back together again and those torn and jagged scars will remain forever--an ugly reminder of the pain.

So how is it possible for my paper heart to keep beating?

We have to just keep picking up the pieces over and over until you meet that one special person, who’ll kiss the wounds better and heal it. The one person who will take forever if he has to, carefully piecing back the puzzle pieces slowly and surely with masterful fingers (so gentle, that it almost hurts) to glue the you back together until you're almost whole again.

That one person is out there,  

I just need to look harder.

Until then, my fragile, vulnerable and prone-to-be-easily-ripped-torn-apart-and-trampled-on-heart will just have to keep on beating.

She dreams.

She dreams of you.

She dreams of midnight walks along the shadowed banks where the moon ripples gently in the ever-changing waters. She dreams of awkward silences, fingertips brushing against each other hesitantly--wondering, searching for the warmth of each other. She dreams of locked eyes, the beating of her heart in her ears, the way your voice would whisper countless, no, endless promises and dreams. She dreams of the way your dry sarcasm and wry humour would make her smile--just a little before she gives in to full out laughter. She dreams of your hand brushing her cheek, soft skin upon soft skin, the tips of your fingers making crossroads. She dreams of your onyx eyes, boring into hers, gazing into the corners of her soul. She dreams of your warm breath near her jawline, as you slowly and fearfully move closer to her lips. She dreams of your gentle mouth encasing hers, wrapping up her fears and lust-torn desires in a blanket of serenity.

She dreams of happiness.