i. I’m uninteresting.
I’d rather listen to
country music and indies
than to the music you like.
I’d rather drink hot
coffee than liquors
that burn every inch
of my throat.
ii. I’m boring.
I’d rather write poems
during my freetime —
letting my pen
bleed on a piece
of paper. — than
talk and talk to
I left kissmarks
on your skin.
Maps of lust
inch of your
Hello there, anon. To be honest, I’m not okay. :D Hahaha.
I wish I was someone interesting.
i. You taught me how to write poetry.
I defined you using complex adjectives
and sooner, you’ve become someone
even the stars cannot fathom.
Your pores became black holes
that vacuumed me inside you.
Your smell became intoxicating
that made me wanting more of you.
You’ve become my drug — and I
can’t get you out of my system.
ii. You taught me how to love.
Those peculiar heartbeats you gave me
on our first kiss under the July night sky
— they were the lectures that scarred
my heart forever. From burning fingertips
upon my skin to uncountable stars in my eyes,
you were the reason behind every
crooked smile on my face.
iii. You taught me how to cry.
Those teardrops turned into waterfalls on
those September nights — Oh, those sleepless
nights when our skins touched. I want to
relive them all — and my creaking voice telling
you I love you’s that never returned.
Indeed, you are a good mentor when it
comes to giving horrid lectures.
iv. But you never taught me how to move on.
Your kisses are still burning in the corners of my lips.
Your embraces are still giving my spine unending lightnings.
Your scent is still lingering on the tip of my nose.
And your haunting touches are still looking for
their place beneath my skin.