Liyana | 1998 | MY
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• Poetry - "shaken misguided voices."
• Poetry - "the phases of loving you."
• Poetry - "shades of paint on my skin."
• Poetry - "fictional cliches."
• Poetry - "the moon and the speck of dust."
• it is i
• 57. hey insecurities
• 56. life update
• 55. 18 things I learned in life
• 54. My Favourite Songs

29/4/2016 — Friday.

you said that,
everything will be okay in the end.
but mum, why didn't you tell me?
a few of couple burns later,
a little now and a little then,
the sparks of fire will bring back
those burning sensation.
although the matches were never lit
and the flames were never burned.
just the nostalgic and traumatic experience.

you told me about the ending,
“everything will be alright, dear!”
but dad, what about the rising plot
and the climax before we hit the
dead end of the road?
leaving me feeling like i am dead.
because never once you told me that
when i put others as my happiness,
that's how i fall into self-destruction.
so maybe alright is not enough for me
when i have been crushed into dust
and blended in with the poisonous air.

the teachers never told me that
the moment i reached the recovering point,
it will never be the last i will get recovered.
because hey, a few relapses wouldn't hurt.
the crunching bones from my spine
echoed for lying too long on the bed,
when i'm thinking about the boy in my class
who vowed to never leave me
and solemnly swore that he will love
every inch of me and my darkness,
but ended up leaving me as soon as he bleed
when his gentle hands touched my sharp demon-like claws.

so, i covered myself with the fur
from the beast that i can never kill
because it has forever lived
underneath my flesh, bone and skin.
the darkness has been inside for so long
that it feels like home when it comes
to visit me, when they heard every lies
that i said when people ask me,
"how are you?"

this is a battle cry.
i repeat, this is a battle cry.
the pain that comes and goes frequently
never truly left me alone
even when, even when i feel better
the bitter are bothered by seeing
my faux smile and forced laughter.
because it knows for a fact that
i am never truly healed,
i just left the scars
untouched, untreated, unstitched.
so when it pokes me in the wound,
i fall into my knees,
begging with a plea to never come back
and to please leave me in peace.

with trembling hands, i twist the knob
to let the demons in and decided that
it could stay for another few months
until i finally feel that i deserve
a whole another journey of recovery.
but i am wrong, of course.
because this time, i am fatigued
with all the long pauses and breaks
before the ending comes.
so i just fell into the hole of giving up,
“hey, welcome, how may i help you?
drugs, blades, alcohol, punches,
or falling in love with the wrong person?”
and i choose with whichever
that can overlap my pain the best.

my thoughts are filled
with perhaps and maybes, that
just like when we miss the wrong people
every now and then,
we miss feeling the pain that burns.
maybe that's why, that's why
people don't let go of something that
breaks,
bruises,
wounds,
and scars them.
because holding on to pain feels
much less hurtful than
relapsing into the a whole new pain of
missing them again, and again, and again.

so, i quit reaching to the end.
and choose to stay at the pauses
with the pain instead.

—L.D., “darkness comes to visit.”

Labels: my writings, poem, poetry, writings

29/4/2016 — Friday.

you said that,
everything will be okay in the end.
but mum, why didn't you tell me?
a few of couple burns later,
a little now and a little then,
the sparks of fire will bring back
those burning sensation.
although the matches were never lit
and the flames were never burned.
just the nostalgic and traumatic experience.

you told me about the ending,
“everything will be alright, dear!”
but dad, what about the rising plot
and the climax before we hit the
dead end of the road?
leaving me feeling like i am dead.
because never once you told me that
when i put others as my happiness,
that's how i fall into self-destruction.
so maybe alright is not enough for me
when i have been crushed into dust
and blended in with the poisonous air.

the teachers never told me that
the moment i reached the recovering point,
it will never be the last i will get recovered.
because hey, a few relapses wouldn't hurt.
the crunching bones from my spine
echoed for lying too long on the bed,
when i'm thinking about the boy in my class
who vowed to never leave me
and solemnly swore that he will love
every inch of me and my darkness,
but ended up leaving me as soon as he bleed
when his gentle hands touched my sharp demon-like claws.

so, i covered myself with the fur
from the beast that i can never kill
because it has forever lived
underneath my flesh, bone and skin.
the darkness has been inside for so long
that it feels like home when it comes
to visit me, when they heard every lies
that i said when people ask me,
"how are you?"

this is a battle cry.
i repeat, this is a battle cry.
the pain that comes and goes frequently
never truly left me alone
even when, even when i feel better
the bitter are bothered by seeing
my faux smile and forced laughter.
because it knows for a fact that
i am never truly healed,
i just left the scars
untouched, untreated, unstitched.
so when it pokes me in the wound,
i fall into my knees,
begging with a plea to never come back
and to please leave me in peace.

with trembling hands, i twist the knob
to let the demons in and decided that
it could stay for another few months
until i finally feel that i deserve
a whole another journey of recovery.
but i am wrong, of course.
because this time, i am fatigued
with all the long pauses and breaks
before the ending comes.
so i just fell into the hole of giving up,
“hey, welcome, how may i help you?
drugs, blades, alcohol, punches,
or falling in love with the wrong person?”
and i choose with whichever
that can overlap my pain the best.

my thoughts are filled
with perhaps and maybes, that
just like when we miss the wrong people
every now and then,
we miss feeling the pain that burns.
maybe that's why, that's why
people don't let go of something that
breaks,
bruises,
wounds,
and scars them.
because holding on to pain feels
much less hurtful than
relapsing into the a whole new pain of
missing them again, and again, and again.

so, i quit reaching to the end.
and choose to stay at the pauses
with the pain instead.

—L.D., “darkness comes to visit.”

Labels: my writings, poem, poetry, writings

Sometimes I wonder how people see me and what they think of me. It scares me a bit, honestly. I am sure though, that what they think of me, what they think my life is, is a complete misperception. I have always tried to show myself as a carefree person, as someone who wont get bothered because of public judgements. I am sure my friend and family think there is nothing going wrong in my life, that I do not worry enough, that I am always happy. And I am sure they probably somewhat hate me for it because, lets admit it, there is nothing worse than seeing someone who is life seems so perfect while yours is a complete mess. Truth is, I have become an expert at pretending. I think we are all experts or at least we are getting there.

links exchanged opened! just tag me but link me first

coming soon....