ballad to a love lost
As lipsticks and coffee stains,
your name is a memoir
scarred on the folds of my lips.
A favorite rhyme
from a poetry written a long time ago
in classroom desks and fresh painted cream walls.
Our stories are polaroids
tucked neatly in my sleeves.
Although for you, they seem to be wax statues
under the ticking of the clock.
But I wish I am mistaken
like how I usually was.
We have grown so much, so fast
like the cars passing by downtown.
And I wonder if anyone would
how we used to be.
The pictures of us reflected
on each window rolled up
went away with sweet summer,
and I hope I should have spoken something about them.
But the weather's always too fine
for regrets to be served at breakfast in the mornings.
And some sorries are better left off unsaid.
I say, I hope you know
that I am an open shed under a heavy downpour,
the blues on the safe skies,
and the basil green light.
Because you made me bleed
and the hurt felt good.
Yet, some pain just never really go away
even if there's nothing left of me.
You see, I fell hard alone.
Bumping through your flags and bombs
sticking out in directions
I thought were meant for me to take.
We were all so young
and we smelled of better tomorrows.
But my wounds are not yours to mend.
Still, I hope you would stitch me up again.
You left me with a couple of promises.
And I hanged them on the walls
of the home that I am,
so, whenever you feel like running away,
you'll find a familiar place in me to stay.
I do not need your love.
For I know there was none in the very first place.
I just wish you don't forget
the wishful thoughts and toothy grins,
and the tears we held back
the moment we realized we have gone too far
from where we have come from.
The dead and still years
behind us mean nothing to me.
Call me whenever you find it hard to breathe.
Or when you find yourself lost in a crowded room
with people who badly wish to speak.
I'll sit beside and listen with you.
Hold your hand until we get the right translations.
I hope my silence will reach you
As yours cradles me to sleep.
I wish you throw me down,
not with roses
but of tulips.
For your hands aren't mine to break
with my thorns and silly messed up state.
I am your person.
One of your life's what if's.
Please remember me.
(Hello! Thanks for reading. This is a poem that I wrote and come to really love and I hope you enjoyed it as well. xoxo)