reverse.january

my poetry is dead, the writer has been buried. take this back to january, there i shall be revived. Of poets, there will be lines, of stories, there will be dialogues. —Of this writer, there is only romantic tragedy and damaged hearts, broken minds.—

[mournfulroses]

Izzy Ravas, from her novel titled Disarm: A Forbidden Romance (What We Don't Say,)

[catalisst]

would love to hear this someday ...

[reverse-january]

I ink correspondence,

like paper through the mail,

a different color, a simple expression

nothing hidden in the details.

I do it weirdly,

like coincidence without prose,

though contrary to belief

hate it with passion I chose.

Some made with honesty,

of romance, not always love

others compiled with loathing,

hatred, however involved.

I only coined these sequence

in hopes of getting them to you,

deep down, unable to be denied

me reaching you is undeniably true.

as they like to say,

I only threw whatever this is,

for you, for me,

for what is left between us two.

because my sadness is present

you could careless for me,

my mind is ever hurtful,

rejection is my reality.

stop trying to reach me,

we’ve been over this before,

if this is all just a ploy

leave the name calling by the door.

I do not wish to resent

how much my hands sweat

the musings of your ghost,

haunting of a life debt.

are we not only

moving in passing?

Am I not slowly walking

to begin forgetting?

If you so much as wish,

call me by my name,

tilt my head, hide my smile

let us end the game.

i’ll reach the staircase

so ignore me from the top

we’re replaying the same scene,

so remain unmoved by teardrops

we’ve already seen

how the story ended,

let it stay there,

untouched as intended.

“of damaged hearts & inking minds: pieced together”

— reverse.january (formerly unrequitedwriter)

[reverse-january]

Too busy to run around

still I find you everywhere

from seconds to seconds,

a memory of us to spare.

In between awkward smiles,

hallway greetings, acknowledgments

honestly, what are we doing

with all these useless moments?

Did I not write for you,

before, during, and even after?

must you trigger memories

that used to end in laughter?

Oh, A, we’ve done enough,

I’ve composed all there is to be,

there is no more to be said

of your silences, my pleas

months have passed

of those feelings in text

the last one is written

there won’t be a next.

though, a goodbye was said

the recent decision stays,

the latest rhymes, still

speaks of you that remains.

so truly I cannot deny,

the one not for you,

rephrased, rewritten and revised

is still about you.

“Of damaged hearts & inking minds: relapse”

—reverse.January

(formerly unrequited writer)

[mentallyunstablebaddie]

The feminine urge to slam your head against the desk untill blood is all over it

[reverse-january]

I hold a pen again,

An imaginary once more,

cause typing a stanza

needs more than a ‘but’ and ‘or’

Ironically, it’s those two,

we always, always find

it’s never ‘yet’, never ‘will’

forever fine but unkind.

I’ve been meaning to ask,

sadness is an adjective,

but attention-seeker, an insult

and desperation, unattractive?

Is it not human,

to be all at once?

You mentioned about obedience,

And I’m suddenly to blunt?

I can keep up these fantasies,

of slashed up wrists.

I can continue do so,

if I weren’t a loves addict.

So tired, so intimately broken

I romanticized love as salvation

a sinner, with no honor

who believes in conversations.

I’m already damage,

You need not fight for me,

But please do so,

if you ever, but I won’t ever agree.

I love my sadness,

full of loathing for my pain,

I idealized romantics,

As if a martyr, unsustained.

would you be interested?

In continuing to view, to discover

what else supposedly helps,

a broken, insane writer?

“Of damage hearts & inking minds”

- formerly unrequitedwriter,

— reverse.january

[reverse-january]

This isn't a love poem,

but a grievance all the same,

I have to ask, will somebody answer

Before i go insane?

"Does my mother love me?"

"Does she ever ask if i'm okay?"

She tends to snap at me

but she says it almost everyday.

Nurtured myself as a child,

My parents worked hard to provide

So i never thought to question

If i was lonely or traumatised.

Neglected would be a presumptuous word

I was always given what i needed to live,

however, a little child chose to inquire

and her memories were never retrieved

Salacious images, adulterous videos

did it curve the loneliness?

a decision to fill the silence

and there it took her willingness

Is she dead? Who is she?

the child who had seen a lot

the young adult who suffered the impact

That little girl is me.

She wants to see heaven

where she'll never be.

All because she's broken

she never wanted to be.

"I love you."

- UnrequitedWriter

[reverse-january]

You'll keep breaking my heart,

You don't really mean to,

It's me and my feelings,

Beating into me, purple and blue.

Thanks for the companionship,

the joking, the banter,

the type of exchange

We'd never expect from the other.

It suffocates me, you know?

How much I feel for you,

can't hold back the smile

when it comes just for you.

It tickles my throat,

like flower petals on the skin,

hints of an unrequited love

that's unkempt, barely even hidden.

It's the avoidance in your eyes,

the nervousness in my lips,

always in the halls,

moments only I will keep.

we never fill the blanks, only

indirectly through sarcastic remarks

as if a hidden secret

is waiting, wanting in the dark.

is it just me?

who finds it difficult to reach out?

to be able to joke

just everything we know about.

But none of us are brave

enough to send a normal message

but reading between the lines

is reserved for other pages.

Not a smile or a grin

only the faraway gaze of yours

why is it so easy for them

while I'm stuck between the hours?

I'm not one to assume

I've been through this before

yet never quite the same

that once shook my core.

the most unexpected things

are always memorable enough to hold,

but as you walk by me

your chapters are ones I'll fold

Cause even from afar

you ignite a spark in me

for simple admiration

won't be written this unruly.

the longer there is

to the stanzas I write,

the easier it is for me

to finally let go of this fight.

not the header of a written paper

not even the body of an essay

a footnote to complete it,

the sources of what you say.

Never the credible reference

just an afterthought in between

A little more waiting,

until we've been left unseen.

I'll start avoiding you now,

I'd like to apologize to you

for having such thoughts

of memories we'd never do.

Taking my leave, as I pen this

please don't forget,

Making you smile or grin

is something I won't regret.

Though never said out loud

—maybe to myself just once,

my feelings aren't something

I'll ever share or announce.

So I leave all of this here,

with the unshared, unwritten two

almost reached, but ungrazed

of the incomplete ten poems for you.

"Till next time, A."

10 Poems for A collection

- unrequited writer

[reverse-january]

It started with you

and a racing heart,

just a simple smile

I may need a crash cart.

To exaggerate my feelings,

with honesty boldly true,

I search for your presence

when the clouds aren't blue

a crush, I'd like to say

I certainly am in denial

It's been a few months

Still the same old liar

heaven forbid, I utter it

possibly in a heartbeat

maybe when our hands touch

I can actually take the leap.

Coward, perhaps afraid

because I don't seek more

not a kind of relationship

that can easily be torn.

Friends, am I able

to use this word as we are?

not on socials, only in class

where I admire from afar.

you don't speak,

let alone give me any glances

Barely sparing me a glimpse

when I'm in their presence

Are you afraid of the circle

that surrounds me?

am I simply reading too much

through things I can't see?

delusional I'd say,

I am simply mourning

a friendship to keep,

a distance to widen.

I keep composing

When I think of you,

it hurts and it aches

there's not much to do.

Oh, A

I want to draw closer

to be able to reach

to call and be braver.

will you avoid me

If ever this reaches you?

If so, thank you

heartbreaking, I'll make do.

"Call me by my name, A."

,10 Poems for A collection

- Unrequited Writer

[reverse-january]

It's been a while

Since I wrote like I'm drowning,

Maybe it's been months or year

But my feelings are still overflowing.

This time, for good

it's no longer for laughter,

I like you now, I like you still

But won't fall any harder.

Daydreaming is good and all,

But never one or the other,

I may look from time to time,

yet will never let it linger.

I may adore your smile

The dimples in your cheeks,

sound of your voice

Can distract me for weeks.

It's been months already

I'm moving along then,

It might be for the best

If I stop glancing here and again.

I won't meet your eyes

Even from across the room,

Won't match the wit

That once made me swoon.

I like you, I do.

I'll repeat it as many times,

it won't get any farther

when there aren't any signs.

Thanks for the short banter

even if it's incomplete,

the lines I've been writing

don't worry I won't cheat.

I won't skip to the end

As if I didn't feel a thing,

but sad to say, I'm sorry

we're already close to ending.

I like you, A

I can't really call out to you,

so I'll leave this unfinished

Hope it won't ever find you.

"A, Can I call you by your name?"

- unrequited writer

[reverse-january]

Hi, I'm writing again

For the girl I like,

Not a crush or admiration

But actually like.

It's been a joy to rearrange letters

To convey what I feel somehow,

But it gets harder and harder

To hide what I feel now.

I keep stealing these glances

Hoping you would look my way

What even is the point

Is it too much if I wished to be straight?

Liking someone is so damn hard,

Not good, not bad, but still worse

I hate so badly to just stand there

And wonder if it's worth these verses.

I keep my distance and wish

hoping to be farther away,

my feelings aren't permanent,

And it's not like you're here to stay.

This poem continued from two months

Of absence, of ignorance, of pretend

of willing, wanting, yearning, whatever

so I be done with it in the end.

Hopeless romantic, I call myself

my cousin said, "hopeful romantic"

It's not like becoming friends

Would make it an overnight fix.

There's no rules to letting go,

I don't even want to know if there is,

As long as I can hide these poems

so my feelings aren't risked.

Maybe the stanza ends here

love doesn't draw where it starts

The chemical reaction of us,

Is better when we're apart.

2 months : the heart dims

- Unrequited Writer

[reverse-january]

I think about my dreams a lot,

the buildings in the background,

the colour of the sky,

and a white noise that's always around

Often enough, there's chirping birds

where the trees are ever green

a cup by the bedside table

with lipstick stains on the rim.

An old read book, worn out pages

a flower bookmark beside it

an album collection of photos

a cover I want to be deleted

A body pillow no longer used

with bed sheets to never match,

a rubber band stretched, torn

locks that won't be attached.

So many things for my life,

both old, loved, converted and new

but on a little notebook,

boldly blue, there's always you.

"water—color mark."

- unrequited writer

[reverse-january]

Ask me, in word or silence

where did I put it all down?

the love, grief, haunting, daunting

Handwritten or hand drawn.

Do it, do ask me, I beg

how did I hold it all

the longing, yearning, for your warmth

gripped tightly in column halls.

Request it of me, I shall speak

of how you're in my dreams

tightly, unyielding, in your arms

every night that is what is real.

But never—never! doubt my feelings

I only reach for love

whether for me, or for someone else

and hope it is having and deserving.

dusty but there

- Unrequited Writer

[reverse-january]

From here, the love poem begins

With a whole heart, a true line

An honest to goodness imagination

A subject forever touched by time.

Near the pathways we walk home

Among the crowds we sing along,

Beneath the skies of crying tears

The lyrics we recite of a famous song.

A bridge intersects between walls

Cemented by roads long gone

an image imprinted with oil and water

None shall arrive within the rise of dawn.

There, it stills as the last resting place

A grave of a lake, a mourning edge

a tower for the living stands tall

Many shall utter the pledge before a fall.

To here, the love poem ends

With grief stricken lungs, unable to breath

A liar, full of mischief and incantation

An object of hoax now buried beneath.

“To give up affection, from here to here”

- unrequited writer

[reverse-january]

I have this girl I like,

She’s prickly at first

Affectionate at some point

But teasing all the less.

She’s excited when she smiles

Joking when she’s frowning,

Grumpy while staring

Loving when speaking.

Don’t tell her

But I adore her very much

Much being subjective

All the more cause it’s true.

She doesn’t know it

But I immortalized her

Through my words, my poems

All the songs are for her.

Everytime I sing,

She comes to mind,

She doesn’t know it yet

In a crowd, her I always find.

She doesn’t feel my eyes

I glance every now and then

Even if it’s unsaid

Forever an if, not a when.

For now, it’s just my feelings,

Someday it will be just these poems

Right now it’s her,

That rhymes all these lines.

She may not know,

She’s already my muse,

After some time, when everything is done

My feelings will be old news.

“News with Rhymes”

- Unrequited Writer

[reverse-january]

My eyes scan

I really can’t help it.

I want to meet your eyes

But never quite make it.

Now I wander in the hallways

Hoping to catch you,

Perhaps chat for bit

Talk about the things we do.

I linger for a bit after class

Hoping to get one conversation

Just one teasing joke

To satisfy my last reason

I’m going to deny it

For as long as I can

Even if it’s transparent

And I’ve already realized it by then.

My friends say your name

As if I would give it way

The littlest hints of feelings

That I’ll never say.

I don’t really want to

But I’ll start avoiding you

Wanted to be friends

Yet feelings broke through

Unreturned as they are

it is for your own as is mine

That I’ll stay behind

Admiring you from this line.

No boundaries were crossed

We remain as good classmates

Less than friends as it is

As if we never crossed fates.

- unrequited writer

[reverse-january]

I’m envious, envious

Of the people around me

Who can reach out calmly

for the person they want to see

Envious of the way,

They smile so easily

In tandem with a heart

That’s bared so plainly

Envious of the way

Their feelings are returned

like no heart was ever broken

And it’s all been foretold

Envious because I like you,

As more than a classmate,

More than a friend,

But not my soulmate.

I want to know more,

Beneath your smile, your heart

Too close yet so far away

it’s best to be apart.

I’m having a hard time

Staying away from you,

Bantering, teasing, or just joking

Just about anything we do.

I want to know more

Too close yet too far,

The distance needs to grow

So no one will ever know.

Perhaps more than friends,

Now less than what it’s used to

I do not wish to hurt you

But I can’t handle my feelings.

It’s overflowing with fear and doubt

And it’s only one sided

there’s no certainty that it will change

And so I remain undivided

I will stand here and pretend

I do not wish to feel your touch,

Or the comfort of your presence

Just so I can keep this.

Unlike the other poems,

This hurts more than words,

because someday I’ll have to look

And realize we can’t be friends.

As long as I’m this person,

You’ll never look, never linger

My love chord is ringing

But our silence is louder.

- unrequited writer

[reverse-january]

I live to speak,

I live to die,

I wait a day

Forever, and a while.

I hope to God,

My prayers are heard

It's really alright,

Even if it's unheard.

I hurt and hurt,

I cry everytime,

It's painful again

No more tears to dry

Will it stay the same

This broken old life,

The number of cycles

With no end in sight

The rope is an option

But so are the pills

Will it hurtless?

If it's my own will?

I wanna go,

I feel too guilty

I worry for others

I ignore my safety

If I don't go now,

When will I ever do?

If I pray hard it enough

Will this ever come true?

God would never grant

A wish that's so cruel

But my life itself

is too hard to continue

I hope they don't live

To regret or to see

If I don't rest now

My body will do it for me.

-writer of her unrequited reality