#mosaicpoem

[mochasandwich-blog]

i wrote this on may 2021, im 22 now i do not think i feel the same way as my twenty year old self.

I make sure not to give anyone the same endearment because my best friend told me it was weird to call someone that reminds you of another. i do not care about pet names anymore, people exist just the way as they are in my life. the space they take up does not need to be labeled, what i call them does not matter anymore.

When I chop onions, I cut the roots last because my ex told me when you hurt the onions the onions hurt you back. Thus, the reason you tearing up. fucking NOT do it anymore. i do not want to be influenced by a person i killed so many times in my head; i cleansed myself of his existence to the breaking point i do not remember the pain he inflicted on me and the reason why this rage still lives within. i pretend he does not exist, my 16 to 19 self was my defining moment at the same time it never existed (a facade i put on everyday to keep me sane).

When I see someone with scars on their wrist, I make it a habit to never ask why. When I was in 12th grade I remember my best friend sobbing on my shoulder with a cast on her left wrist, asking me repeatedly "baket" and both of us did not know the answer. my being is wounded and scarred, renewed birthed to hardened. coldness does not mean it is tough, it is a precaution to not let anyone slide in carelessly ever again. Still, my heart would forever remain tender for this girl.

I always pinch someone's pinky when I'm comfortable with them. My mom always do this to mine when I was younger, it has stuck to me ever since. NOPE CREEP, I STOPPED DOING THAT HONESTLY WHATTA WEIRDO

Whenever I eat jjampong, I always remember the guy that I owed a jjampong cup noodles to. I was 12 and we spilled it while laughing in the tricycle's passenger seat, swearing I'll make it up to him next time. I'm 20 now, both of us still remembers that I never did. BITCH AHAHAHAH dudes a fuck up now, honestly never changed, his parents even hated him or so i heard. hate is such a strong word, but its like how your parents could loathe you at a certain degree and you still would be their son anyways typa way.

I already knew artic monkeys in 11th grade because another friend of mine introduced it to me, but was never keen on their music. I started listening intently because the boy I liked was a passionate fan. We dont talk anymore (char we still do pero we'll presume him dead) but I still listen to the band. I make it a notion that I liked them because I just do, and it was not for him. OHMYGOD THIS DUDE I COULD NOT EVER SHUT UP ABOUT THIS DUDE fuck i am twenty-two now??? AND hjdfcjsbhfesh god, pathetic. i still love his song recos, ngl. how do you want it slaps so hard i cant even. unfriended me on facebook, does not reply on insta anymore, yet stalks me religiously on tiktok. dude, please. AND WE'RE MEETING ON NOVEMBER fml.

I remember my bestfriend telling me she does not write her poems on paper because she felt disgusted by her thoughts that would forever be etched onto something. I realized that I also do. I now hide my little scribbles of typed poems and prose in posts, pictures and my phones notes; never written it on paper ever again. true!! i still do. though she is not my best friend anymore. funny how i used to call her that, maybe we really once were inseparably close. maybe part of her life i shared and we'd rely on each other so heavily upon. we grow older now, funny how now we’re so alike than ever.