I just wanted to let you know that I will be deleting my blog shortly, but I wanted to thank everyone who has supported, commented, or contacted me throughout the last couple of months. You all are my inspiration and I love you immensely.

This blog is where my passion for writing poetry started. And do not worry, I will always continue to write and bleed poems for as long as I live (hopefully..)

If you want to read my future poems and stay updated, please follow my instagram account. I’d greatly appreciate it!


Love you all and always remember to keep on writing.

The Hardest Truth

i. my grandmother used to tell me stories
about my dad growing up in a small dusty city.
one time, he was wearing his favorite hat
and a large bird flew down and snatched it off his head.
he has had trouble trusting large birds ever since.
so every time we go out to the park,
he walks with caution,
his face towards the clouds,
with fingers twitching,
and reminds me that nature is a force
not to be reckoned with.

ii. my brother is six years old,
and has eyes that are too big for his head,
a smile that permanently stains his face
like a promise he made to God before he was born,
that he would always cling to the good things
before they become dust.
one time, we went to the zoo and lost sight of him.
we found him sitting next to the gorilla’s cage,
giggling at the hairy beast and tapping on the glass.
you have no need to fear something,
that has never caused you harm.

iii. when the boy i loved told me he loved someone else,
i gently laughed and left the room,
my eyes replaying all the times we had spent together.
like a movie reel, i found pictures in between
where i was smiling innocently.
those were times i didn’t know what was stored
for me in the future.
love is a sincere emotion,
that attacks you like a drug,
and leaves you with withdrawal symptoms,
but my daddy never told me,
i should steer clear of it.

iv. the thing is,
only the ones who’ve felt the pain
can understand the blessing of living without it.
and if so,
those who have never experienced
will never fully comprehend
the idea of love.
so you see, my dear?
the bittersweet truth is,
you can’t have one without the other.

Facing Myself

my hands tremble as i type

words i never meant to write

but they keep on forcing themselves

through my veins to my fingertips.

they know all too well about the pain i carry

with myself everywhere i go.

it’s like my body knows that

keeping it in won’t be good for me,

so it makes me write your name

over and over again

trying to convince me that maybe

facing my problems will help me

face myself

at night

when there are no sounds,

but the crickets,

and no light,

but the moon,

and nobody

but me to tuck me in goodnight.


To Katie.

the last time I saw her,

she wore a batman shirt tucked into a floral skirt

her hair pulled back into a soft braid.

she ran towards me

as if running away from something

with such fearlessness in her eyes.


on the days darkness

poured down from the sky like

blood from an angel’s wrist

she stood tall

even when her spine caved inwards

and her knees shook like earthquakes

i swear she was magic.


in the way i could see the fire in her eyes

lighting the path to lead everyone else but herself home.

she refused to follow the yellow brick road

for there was nothing ordinary about her.


her bones heard revelations telling her

she was weak

and her scars played music that sounded like

death knocking on your door at night

but her smile was a bullet

shooting fear in his throat.


when the coldness bit her tongue

she wrapped her arms around herself

and wrote about the summer,

about flowers growing in places

they weren’t supposed to.


dear katie,

the nights now feel

a lot longer than the day

and the sun feels a lot colder

than the moon,


but you are a miracle

science can’t explain,

and if this doesn’t stop you

from letting go,


i will hold onto you

till you can see my heartbeat’s

indent on your skin,

till you can hear my voice

echoing in your ear


you are so much more than what you were told.

















Naked Soul

although we cannot always see
pain with the naked eye
it can always be seen with a naked soul.
your laughter may be echoing from these walls
but i can hear your organs crying.
when you too have been torn open
and left to bleed in secret
you will recognize everybody
who is crying for help
by the warmth of their voice boxes
and the spirit in their eyes
and whilst everyone calls them
beautiful and happy
you must go on over
and try
to heal their brokenness.

A Letter from the Body to the Heart

i am sorry there is too much of me

that you don’t like the way i look

the way i always seem to be getting in the way of things.

i am sorry that he doesn’t like the thickness of my thighs

or the scars on my wrists

but as far as i’m concerned

beauty has never been about me,

it’s always been about you.

i must admit, there are days when my knees buckle so much

i feel like i’m falling

and falling

and my eyes feel like sealing themselves in.

shut down for good for

i do not see the greatness around me,

and there are days when my arms feel lonely

like there is no one left to hold on to from the storm

or rather

no one left to hold me,

but on those days, i feel you

pumping a song inside of this fragile thing

a song i have long forgotten the lyrics to

but its tune is all too familiar

and i start to dance

like only the stars are watching

and even so, they continue to shine down.

i am sorry that sometimes you feel the burn of other people’s stares

the sting of their words

but despite all of this

you have never given up

i know that this might not be what they were looking for

not what the magazines wanted for their cover

but you’ve got more love for me than anyone else.

and you pour existence

into me like a love song

written to prove to someone

that they are worth everything

and more.



Peace in Poetry.

the night after you left, i wrote a poem

about how the room was so quiet

i could hear my heart beat

and how it hurt to hear its rhythm.

i left the poem underneath your pillow

so it would be waiting for you

if you ever decided to come back home.

you did not.

instead, you wrote me a letter from the  train station.

something about how it was so hard for you to do this

and how you really wished you were here with me.

you did not tell me where you were going,

and though i looked, i could not find you anywhere.

ever since then, i go home alone.

lay in bed with my hands underneath the pillow,

so i can feel the paper in between my fingertips

lonely and neglected.

my body aches to grab the poetry and slaughter it by the throat.

so i can forget everything,

and convince myself it isn’t worth it anymore.

but tonight, i take out the poem i wrote to you,

read the words over and over again in my head

this time, i tuck it underneath myself.

let my hair fall on cursive lettering,

let the silence sing my heartbeat,

and finally, after years of silence,

i feel comfort in its rhythm.