Each poem I write
is a piece of my heart,
my soul,
my humanity—

I wish you’d understand
I die a little inside
whenever you decline
to read my poetry.


Butterfly Kisses


The sound of rain tapping hard on the roof and the howling wind against the window pane sound like a classical music to her nerves that stimulate all her dying senses. She looked up at him as he drifted off silently. How peaceful you are, she thought, like a sweet child unknown of the harsh blanket clouting your little playground. His shallow breathing formed a light moist against her forehead; sweet and tender with a tinge of grapes. She closed her eyes as she reminisced about how she loved it; nights spent in a cold and dark room as the two of them seek fire from each other’s touch. As though their skins are of great combination to ignite flames through a delicious friction only them could make. She gently skimmed his bare chest with her candle-like fingers, savored every inch of his flesh, every chest hair that seemed like unstrummed guitar strings. She left butterfly kisses on and felt the warmth of his soft lips. Continue reading “Butterfly Kisses”

One May Not Had Seen

One may not had seen

the incite of sunrise

surely, a soul won’t miss

unruffled sunset.

It does not matter

how it started,

a story begins

when another has ended.

Roses Torn Apart From Earth

Roses torn apart from Earth

Not for human consumption,

Nor someone’s decoration,

But rather

A gift to another seed

Glow its own kind of flower.

Does it Rain at Night?


Does it always have to rain at night,
When I drink of my own tire,
Shallow breathing obliviously,
Eyes close lying steadily,
Vulnerable as a petal can be?

Does it always have to rain at night,
When mosquitoes start biting,
Icy air blanketing,
Shadows float around freely,
Probably laughing beside me?

It seems that skies celebrate a sacrament,
Boxing me out for the fun of it,
In moments of my rehearsing death.

But to hell with all the storms,
I deter to get offended.