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air doesn’t make

a soul alive

as much as it does

to a body.

it feeds with love,

kindness,

compassion,

and passion—

‘cause we are just

bodies seeking

to be home.

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my humanity is beyond repair electricity runs my dysfunctional heart to pump ions in my copper veins; and governed by the law of attraction, that gravity can’t ground my soul in my body— fate is pulling us together. i trace your skin with my fingertips it sparks in my touch as our hands intertwined, love strike me like a lightning thief 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒅.

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𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙣 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙡 i’m caught up wandering in your depths; your mind constellates a system of thoughts—stars tightly hanged on the sky until you speak. i looked in your eyes and reached far beyond your words; with your stares and gazes and the zero gravity of your touch, i’m diving in the space and i’ve loved you to the moon and back. ask me i’d hold my breath again. your beauty is embraced with dusk and splattered stardust—a byproduct of an overnight synthesis. i can see a thin loose thread from the night sky that continuously weaves your skin like a fine linen cloth; a fashion that’ll never run out of style. 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑎 𝑐𝑦𝑐𝑙𝑒, you told me. 𝑖 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡. then i can’t forget how my cheeks flushed red when i realized—all those night talks we had, you were naked. so far, this is how much the world missed to record in the theory of the creation of the world. reconsidering your soul a living artifact covered in flesh and bones. i’ve seen a glimpse of it itched on your skin, buried in your eyes, and scribbled in your words—how old is your soul.

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𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

watch how a woman

become one with earth

that she can grow a mountain

and makes the earth abundant

with rare gems—

you are a one of a kind soul.

ask her, she would do it again

for the world.

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your skin is knitted of

human tissue and veins.

if i look closely

and follow the marks,

the way it is stitched

is very detailed

especially the part where

the thread is tied off—

even your scars are well done!

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𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣

at a later time people will detach themselves from you—like autumn does to trees. there will be days they will fall one by one, and days they'll walk away at once.

then you will know winter has come, your days and night will be colder. loneliness will sip through your pores—in the  traces of their detachment, and yearning will hug your soul. you'll go running into your bed, grab the thickest blanket, and jam yourself for warmth.

but what i've learned about what happen to trees during    winter—they don't die. it's just that everything in them  slows down; their metabolism, energy, and growth. until  spring comes again and they will grow new leaves and have new flowers. 𝒔𝒐 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏!

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sometimes our life starts in autumn, winter, to spring then summer.

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on second thought—if our eyes can see through flesh and bones, are you sure your soul is better than your body?

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𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙫𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙚

𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗

𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚒𝚕

𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢.

𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠

𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢

𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢.

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“The two most important days of your life are the day you’re born and the day you find out why.” - Mark Twain

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𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

it always begin

with an appetizer

that salty taste

that burn wounds

but makes you

want for

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵?

the main course

bitter, sweet,

sour and salty

the last but not

the least, dessert

the satisfaction

it doesn't matter

how love tasted

as long as it will

fill your soul.

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𝙗𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚

you don't have to be

the kind of beautiful

that makes people

pick you for no reason

when you bloom

butterflies will stay.

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𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚

dear candle,

i know you don't trust

your light

it's little and fragile

and how you're

slowly melting

like tears

that eventually dries

when it touches the floor

i know how it scares you

to be left alone

in the darkness, lifeless

but i will try

to shape you again

and again

and again.

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𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙮𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙢

i thought it was the calm before the storm

the day you knocked on my door

i should have known

that i've welcomed chaos with open arms;

love is in the palm of your hands and

destruction lies on the palm of your feet,

you are a paradox—the eye of the storm.