When it’s over

Every ending leads to nostalgia

Inside her lives a mountain of memories and a lifetime of hopes and what ifs.

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For the stars

I like to think of us as two stars learning to be.

Part of the same galaxy, forming a constellation.

We are where lovers go for evening wishes.

We are the freckles of the sky.

We are light years away but yet we still share secrets.

You tell me that I will still shine even when I die.

-A love letter to the stars

Writing about someone you love 

How easy it is to write about you 

You placed the words inside me 

I just construct the poems

And just like that there is a garden of words ready to honor you. 

Social media 

Who you want to be needs to meet who you are. Not the you that is filtered. Not the you that spends more time on captions than on love letters. Not the you that scrolls more than speaks. Not the one who forgot how to smile unless it’s for a selfie. Not the you that appreciates the sun only when it gives good lighting. The you that just is. The you that will be without a for. 

I refuse to be like your mother….

Not because she isn’t resilient but because I cannot survive the pain she decorates in lace. She cries alone and your father wears the smell of alcohol like cologne. She puts on her smile like makeup. Her shirt is a mask that covers the bruises. She sometimes breaks down to the ground when she thinks you’re in the shower and cannot hear. She brings you your folded clothes like she’s bringing the parts of her that haven’t been destroyed. She asks you to put it away right away. Just maybe, you have the parts of her that have not died. Your mother like many women deserved a happy ending.