It seems I can only write about love.
Which is weird because I am completely alone.
There is no one in the world who I want to hug
And not a single person, place, or thing I can call home.

Maybe it's that I am writing for someone else?
A stranger who needs to read loving words.
I think I write for everyone but myself.
I can’t pretend that being this lonely doesn’t hurt.

I think this is irony, but I am not sure.
My life feels pitiful and stupid.
There is not much more I can endure.
Perhaps love is just not something for which I am suited.

Alas, I will continue to write.
Because it is the only thing I can do.
My silly little poems give me life.
Even though reading my beautiful words make me blue.

(Before Covid 19)

I distance you
Because I hate you!

(After Covid 19)

I distance you
Because I love you!

Fact is stranger than fiction.
Quentin sits for days trying to think of a plot,
As dazed and twisted as his.
And should the Tiger King take Quentin under his wing,
I am sure that Quentin's mouth will be searching for teeth.
(but then again, don't you think Quentin is a tad bit
old?)
Benevolent monarch, with peasants made of fur.
Boldy he strays upon a kingdom never his.
And the peasants,
They have no choice
Have no voice,
Nothing but the strength to look the Tiger King's
Advisor in the eye
as they say
"Goodbye".

i'm doing
this
for me

right?

i don't need
your
opinion
to know
that i am
valid

right?

i am capable
of deciding
what
i want

right?

i am sure you are tense
i can feel it
should i say
you have my heart
that is why i know
what you are feeling
i just wish
your heart is with mine
coz i could assume
but never consume
this feelings
this being
we were once in those state
why can't it go back this late
hey mate
can you be my playmate
is this a date
let's call it
a night

xoxo

tears drip from my eyes
while a laugh escapes
from my mouth,
this isn’t sadness,
this isn’t joyousness,
this comes from knowing
that people leave,
life makes you go through changes,
yet my poor heart
keeps on hurting.

Ironic.

What a laugh!
I looked in her eyes
and saw that she was broken.
No one in this world
ever gets enough love.
We bleed our feelings
and silently beg others for help,
but no one ever comes.
Or if they do,
we smile and nod
and bandage our wounds ourselves,
afraid to be vulnerable,
afraid to be human,
afraid to give others the love we so crave.