mypoemattic

poetry, art, sky, & winters. wattpad, ig: @mypoemattic.

[mypoemattic]

falling in the worlds you’ve made in your head, ‘cause there’s nothing prettier than the fallacies we’re fed, like diary entries reminiscing the madness you’ll forget, & i’ll scramble to find the goodbye we never said.

when incessant stars linger in the sky, with all the wild freedom of a rainy night, we’ll run till the sun fades with the breeze, just a frail state of mind & being exactly where we’re meant to be.

until monsoon ends, until the longing dies, until a hundred more poems & letters to write, we’ll keep falling for the worlds we made up in our minds, ‘cause there’s nothing prettier than these fallacies & lies.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

like orchids and obsession, and love in condescension, / he kept all the polaroids of our first summer escapade, / the wilting flower bouquets, the broken cassette tapes, / the sprinklers fading behind a smiling face, / all the trifling promises that became cherished mistakes. //

is it hopeless reminiscing

or should we try again?

because when sunsets start turning ambrose, / & fireflies litter the way back home, / i remember it like my favourite movie scene, / then all at once, it was the summer of twenty-seventeen, / and it still felt like orchids and obsession, / and love in a fever dream.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

in the summer, there were days that felt like the light would stay with me forever. there were days when i thought i’d always be enveloped in the soft embrace of my sunlit childhood rooms. but then the years wavered away in the blink of an eye and suddenly, i had lived half of my life. i mourn the times i could have had, the people i could’ve loved, and the fragments of the person i almost became. but there is nothing i grieve more than the peace i was so desperate to seek. in the ocean blue waves as the sunlit rooms drowned in my memories. in the facade of the smiles i put up when i have company. in the laughter i hear and prayed that kind of grace should’ve been given to me. in the person i see, everlost, wandering through life in winter frost—barefooted and teeth clattering.

it is friday and the week is going to end. it is the 18th of october and i can’t recall how my summer went. and i’m speechless in the present, in the moments that i once used to seek. i have yearned a little too much for someone who wants to wither away with the breeze. and i like that the rights and wrongs are clear to me, that i have the clarity in a misty haze. like my eyes were granted a gift that no one else was relayed. so when i trust the dampening trees and the knowledge of monsoon’s reverie, i know the person i’ve become has been reaching out to me.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

a lost nymph, a fairytale / roses burnt in an apocalypse / like a firehouse on a rainy day / and letters written behind a barricade / for a wonder-filled lover's lake / with paperboats that set to sail to the ends of dawn in ghostly towns / on empty roofs with poetry scratched out / romantic rage where love is often found.

when we sing lyrics everlost in these misty graves / reminiscing a summer we once lived all the way / i love you, my guitar riffs, i miss you, i forget the higher octave / trust the kids that never come back / anger your mother with everything you lack / a house of your own making awaits / i'm singing this song to you who's so afraid.

and may that city break your fall / may running away be finally worth it all cause you and i live like nymphs lost in some fairytale / an old film shown on the big screen near our school's driveway / like we're firehouses burning down on a stormy day.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

tw: sensitive content/ body image/ ed.

starve. starve. starve. words you never plastered on my face but the ones you charred in my eyes every time i looked into the mirror. starve. starve. starve. said when i asked for more rice and you gave me a tea-spoon bite.

starve. starve. starve. when i fit into my clothes and felt quite exquisite for once in my teenage life but the side-eye, ‘what are you even wearing?’ war-crime, fairytales don’t tell us that monsters never have love at first sight. belle learns to love someone the world called hideous enough, but the prince was hiding inside all along.

starve. starve. starve. slowly i wonder how a size could be wrong. when did shopping become my archenemies and the gallant burn of hunger become my favourite song?

starve. starve. starve. because in a world like ours, who are you if you cannot belong?

carve a place into the lucid shape of the earth, let me lay there and i’ll tell you how much these insignificant sizes are worth- watch the galaxies cluster and unravel and change, lay on this place in this shape of our graves, and eat eat eat dinner with me tonight. i want to know you. i want to know the meaning of your name and tell me what makes you smile.

please don’t starve. starve. starve. ‘what is your favourite thing about yourself?’ and breathe, and make out the constellations your skin carries.

you are a figment of the finest fantasy because here, no one is ever hideous enough and love can last an eternity.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

you savour nostalgia in pages smelling of old coffee houses and cigar shops. in the crypt of the shakespearean words scrambling at each other, you sit there reminiscing stories untold. winter, summer, spring have all passed you by yet only monsoon ever mattered enough, so you live your life. your smile is ashened from the atrocities of men who have long died, but you hold a simple rage in your heart. it is easy, you say, solidarity is also revenge. and i understand, because i’ve watched you scribble the flock of flying birds past a sunset. some fly ahead, some follow behind. you leave footprints on the beach, secretly hoping the waves make them reach the moon. let it be decades ago or just today, i think there is only one of you.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

you always had those dim-lit sonder eyes. honeysuckle flares like a candle's flame. and white daisy petals seem to caress your hair when you pull your head back laughing. swans flutter at the sound of your voice. and the mist of london is suddenly clear when you turn around. i've been searching for you for forever now.

tonight a full moon hangs outside our balcony, but my gaze finds yours anyways. our city is the quietest at two am, yet the galaxies and nightingales are awake. just like us. we sing along to a cassette tape your mother once bought you with silly smiles escaping and giggles a few. i just wish to photograph this moment on a film that i know i'll always hold onto.

like the slight crack on my desk back home, the taint on my curtains, the ink spot on my pillow, or the other mundane things that i call mine everyday- i wonder if you knew my heart, would you stay? like blue tones blended on a canvas and steams of my morning chai, like the thrilling of a loud train or the hush of a lover's 'goodnight'- i wonder the life i would live if you were here mine.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

when people ask me 'are you afraid?'/ like rainflowers burning, i hesitate, /because i've never thought of the future like that, / i think about the dinner i'll make tonight, /or the scallions i forget to buy, /the planetarium i want to visit when summer begins, / but i never think of the years that will come when today finally ends, /because i never really thought i would even make it this far.

and the moon is really beautiful tonight, /sinking in an ocean where poets said love hides, /they ask me, 'where will you go?' / but i don't even know where i have been before, / because i've never thought of the past like this, / i reminisce the yellow flowers on the sidewalk, /the air fallen down the barren beach, / but never the child i used to be, /even the love-sick songs sung by the couples i passed by in town, / because when i think of life, / i often think of the moments i am around, / and i think i forget myself too easily, / april is the treasure for tragedy, / and i wish i could remember the places where i lost the parts of me.

-[forget myself/ parts of me] 28:04:22, mas.

[mypoemattic]

like ghastly summers in childhood rooms. friendships that fade away with the pass of june. & like cherry breezes winding down an eastern road, i come home alone. when i wake up, i think i've forgotten most of the night. and the day blurs out when i stay up, insomniac in a big world made of little fights.

laughs of the working hours echo in the kitchen behind me as i eat. memories are made and forgotten so easily. i've heard that to know a summer day, you should take to the street. vendors, children, couples and a scenery- and all things that we were too villainous to feel. but i knew summer was here when i visited you that day. one happy moment to shed a thousand sad days. and the thought of you threatens to linger till the ends of the sky. we've colored the sunset, you & i.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

but if you hold me, i'll fall in love, it is one of the many tragedies of a soul that's never been touched.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

on the verge of a vengeful cry because oh lord is the world so big and people are so difficult to deal with.

[mypoemattic]

but so much of love is out of obligation. when my mother cooked me a meal at 7:30 in the morning just before school, or when my father unwillingly woke up from his sleep to drop me off at a friend's one afternoon, or the way my elder sister offered to by me food- it's one of my many follies to be wondering out so loud, the intentions behind such good deeds but it haunts me that whatever love we had was never real. like, are you here because you want to be or because you have to be? am i a blessing or an obligation? are you grateful to have me or burdened?

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

the past is like withering autumn suns falling on deserted moors. encompassing, vast, and greater than me and you. when gypsies trace the evanescent stars until they’re no longer in sight, akin to the thousand memories we lose with time. perhaps my childhood’s clothesline is a hem stitched into the sky and bleeding moons look over all our smiles.

soft overturned clouds hung so low that afternoon. and rage is the red wine spilled on the carpet by you. home will always be the cyan blue of my mother’s shawl. brazen as the changing colors of dawn.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

on a side-cut wayward highway, i drench the metallic front of my car in caress of the wind. we take off to a sort of neverland on a mere childish whim. skies turn silver and the show of day slowly fades, the reigning angles chant their choirs by the lakes. the engine steers ahead with the ashes of my father's youth. it's been quite a few years now without you. the graffiti on the right hand lane is of poets that died and people left estranged. wonderment is often the price of being vain. yet i'll indulge in the open air escape from our small town. the skylight doesn't bind me here, and there's more than the stars that i can frolick around.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

I don’t know how it happens. How the air in my lungs becomes solid and suffocates me. How the dust in my bones feels like the beach sand drenched with ocean water. It gets heavier, and heavier. Nothing stops it. I wake up with unscathed skin but sullen veins. I feel as though someone is out to get me. It is a vague terror that builds up in my throat, as if I had just eaten too much but I didn’t. There is something burning inside me but my feet, fingertips and face are freezing cold.

There are many questions that persistently go on & on in my mind- What am I doing? Am I doing something wrong? What if- and a thousand 'what ifs' haunt me in sheer daylight. It is a shame that I am as afraid of nothing as I am. When it first happened at an age I can’t even recall, I felt like a culprit of a crime I didn’t commit. Guilty yet so innocent. And no one prepares you for this. It is not mentioned in the alphabets they teach, or the textbooks they have you read, or in the speeches they give- no. On a surface level, it is invisible, and they never teach about it, so you can imagine my surprise when I first encountered it. How many years has it been since then?

I am older now, wiser too, I would like to think. And as capable as I am of taking care of myself, it still bubbles up sneakily on the corners of my eyes or the crinkle of my neck, and it weighs over the edge of my sinking smile and the slow hurting blue of my veins. It flows through the ink I use to write and sometimes it smothers my words into a distorted scream. I don’t know how it happens. 

–anxiety | 14/12/21.

-mas.

[mypoemattic]

reminder: taking a break, watching an episode, writing, painting, cooking, eating, reading, taking it easy one day doesn't mean you care less about school or work :)!

-mas.

ps: enjoy suna across the net lol

[mypoemattic]

i'm waiting for the charades, of drunken city lights and mulberry painted days. they've started calling it love now, i'm afraid.

-mas.