i collect my myriad thoughts at midnight and stash them in my left pocket.

      i am an organized catastrophe in the hours that i lay awake with my eyes open. my mind swirls and ideas beam nonchalantly as if internal destruction is a very shallow thing. i may have felt every bit of sentiment in this confusing carousel ride that we call “life”, but i am not naïve; i am positively aware that i can redeem my way up again and effortlessly lead my strangled self in a maze that i know i can pass through.

      i always thought that i was a puppet of my own maelstrom of emotions. i can hardly believe that i am still surviving despite it all. i see turbulent pathways of incandesence– that’s where i’m headed. i’m going to shine so bright that the sun will take a step back to personally greet me. i have dreams that are buried beneath the molecular composition of stars. i can do this, i have to do this, i will do this. 

      there’s no point in making an explosion that the world can witness, only to refuse lighting the sparks in the middle of the spectacle.

      (seize it. every moment of your life is yours.)

The Drunken Girl Inside

She wasn’t planning on meeting him tonight.
Her plans involved having a cozy Monday afternoon with her friends, catching up and doing the stuff they loved doing together. But life has a creative way of ruining plans. After hours of getting ready, she headed down to the mall and was the last one to arrive; unsurprisingly late. She met her friends at a familiar chicken restaurant and was convinced that she’ll go home early tonight. In the middle of their lengthy and juicy conversations, she was occasionally holding up her white feature phone to check if there was any message from him. There always was. That made her smile. So even though she wasn’t with him, she was all right.


“Now…?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said loudly. The speakers were booming in the background. “They want to meet you.”

“I’ll be there in less than an hour,” he said.

And so he arrived.
On the way home, he was gently holding her wrist the entire time. She was the talker and she talked about everything. He was steadying her when she can’t walk straight, sliding his hand down the arch of her back, guiding her, as they were walking along the pavement.

She couldn’t remember most of what happened (mostly because she got drunk). But what she could remember is him being there for her when she needed someone to take her home, him being the one who bought her favorite popcorn because she was kinda talking about it nonstop and him being the companion that she was lucky enough to have.

They halted in front of a small lilac gate. He looked at her, unappeased, but baffled by the sight of the woman standing in front of her. She was messy, but she was his. He leaned over to kiss her forehead.

“Goodnight,” he told her.

Before she closed the door, she was looking at him leave.
“Damn! I am a lucky bitch,” the drunken girl inside her said.


(image from: https://weheartit.com/entry/133173705)

Stages of Being Jelly

These stages apply to any relationship. They are arranged from calm to explosive. In this, you will be able to distinguish what kind of a jealous person you are based on the examples. Please be true to yourself. It is okay to feel things, you human. We all feel a little jealous sometimes.

STAGE 1 – The Bones That Are Made of Calm

The first stage is like the final stop of jealousy joy ride in a relationship. In here, you have already set everything free. You have feelings, but jealousy isn’t one of them anymore. You are calm. You are free. This stage is marked with the full potential of trust. This stage is also called as, “The Prestigious Stage of Nirvana.” Hallelujah, commitment is the key!

STAGE 2 – Almost There, But Not Quite

You have calmed your tits down. Your tight hold has loosened up now; you are beginning to trust your partner more. If it’s a friend, then he/she is now allowed to hang out with other friends without you feeling bad about it once in a while. This is the start of something new . . . you are slowly becoming aware of the fact that they love you, they really do. They just need some time with other friends, too.

STAGE 3 – The Silent Treatment Is a Façade

Lock the doors.
This is it.
“Hi, I am in no position to be jealous, but I am. Go; marry the person you chose to be with instead of me. Live a happy life, ok? No, I’m not jealous. But I hope you break your neck or something. Yes, I’m sure I’m not jealous. What’s your problem? I’m not jealous, I swear! Huh. Nope. What? Uh-huh. Not really.”

This is stage of denial; the stage where you’re so afraid to lose that person so you just don’t want to listen to the tiny jealous bitch voice inside you. But you are listening. You’re now feeling things. Little things annoy you, and it’s not getting any better.

Prepare for the next one. Cuz it’s fucking inevitable.



Relationships, whether short-term or long-term, go through this stage. This is that shit!!!! The! Shit! That! Makes! You! Go! AGGHHHHGHGHGHHHHH!!!!!!!!! You are a fucking bomb! Why are you a bomb????? What is this feeling??? Jealousy??????
No. Um, maybe.
Well, yes! You’re just really angry and scared and—you don’t know, you just want to punch someone in their fucking face.

Am I ugly? Are my thighs too big? Am I missing a leg? Do I look like a person cut in fucking half? Is my mere presence not enough? What? WHAT??!?!?!??

That motherfucker. I am a fucking gem.


This is the stage where you realize that you were just too hungry.
And you just needed to eat.
And Eat.
And Eat.


((image source:

78.media.tumblr.com/0f2408030fe15c0ce229fd7b9f50fec5/tumblr_o5ydyoS0sh1v28gj1o 1_1280.png))

A Star That Knows How To Wait

Warner is good,
Warner is great.
Warner knows why I’m always late…
He’s neither a crush nor someone I hate,
He’s a star that glows and knows how to wait.

“Stars are not here to be pretty,” he said.
“They’re here to guide us to what lies ahead.”
His words of truth remain with dread,
But lights me at night when I lie in bed.

He’s bossy, arrogant, and misunderstood;
A whisper at noon that searches the good.
Look at his eyes, they will tell you his mood.
He puts secrets in sleeves and trust in a hood.

His sword weighs too much, he’s anchored by the pain.
His body falters and drips with disdain.
He sees everyone taking two steps away,
He’s a thought—a clamor—with nothing to say.

Warner laughs when I tell him my dreams.
When he smiles, he can’t see I’m at the seams.
Warner has a voice that beats the sun’s gleam,
I think he’s the captain of the football team.

Warner hears muffled voices and a cry,
He sings to the trees asking for a reason why.
He laughs at his own joke and will look to the sky.
He’s a bird with broken wings, still learning how to fly.


You feel too much, young girl.
Nobody ever fathoms the shallow sense of emotion you have.
They all look at you with amusement and pity;
whoever notices seems apathetic anyway.
You are in your self destruct mode,
please do not go haywire there.
Because they will not care
or will be too busy to even see.
You are not alone, young girl,
but others are hard to find.
They crawl beneath their own skins,
screaming in shades of fervor and anguish
to satisfy the guilt of being alive.
You see, others don’t listen.
Even if their tear-filled eyes will continue to glisten,
just like you, they will retreat in their shells.
Stop asking why, young girl.
They do not feel what you feel because you are special,
and you deserve to be punished
for being who you are.
Yes, they see that rope too.
Don’t be afraid to wear it,
no one will ever notice even a bit
of how swiftly this will go.
Alas, they will now be asking questions, young girl.
And then they will suddenly care.
And then blame themselves for not realizing
how you were so different
and special
and unique.
They will put on their plastic frowns—
the same ones they wear twice a week.
Time will pass, enough to know
that time itself provoked your will to grow.
They will visit and grieve
but it will be too late.
You once tugged your mother
at the hem
and you feel nothing now, you’re just like them.
Aren’t they proud?


When the music starts,
it doesn’t feel like something nice.
The trees say hello
but the doors bang louder.
It keeps on telling you
you can’t
because you’re blue,
you’re blue,
you’re blue.
The tides splash in unison
that swallow you whole
down the seabed,
around the ocean floor.
When you tell yourself it’s time you do,
they remind you that  you’re blue you’re blue you’re blue.

The streaks of your long, vibrant hair
fall under your lower hip.
But why do you sell yourself short?

The color of your eyes begins to fade
and your life has been miserable for the past decade.
When the only person you can trust
is you,
it’s hard to forget
the blue,
your blue,
you’re blue.

(Artist yet unknown)

You are afraid.

“You are afraid to be beaten, to show up unprepared, and to lose in the only game you were winning in. You hate it. You suffer from a creative constipation and you don’t know how to get rid of it. It carries an unwanted feeling that itches inside, and the ticking of the clock reminds you that it can fly right between your eyes. You don’t want to give up. You don’t want to settle for less. Because you know you can do this. You know that when you stumble, you can rise up again. You don’t want to pressure yourself, so don’t. Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody learns the hard way. You need to set it all free. Remember the days when everything around you inspires you. Remember every little detail of your favourite song, or movie, or book. Remember everything that once inspired you. Because I’m telling you, if you don’t show your ass up tomorrow, or if you show your ass up tomorrow with an unfinished or not memorized speech, I can guarantee that you will regret it your whole life. Do things your future self will thank you for. Isn’t that what you used to tell yourself when you were feeling so lost? So go and do it. You cannot just sit there and wait for the perfect moment to happen to you. Go ahead and make it. Be resilient. Be confident. There’s no one else I know that can do this but you.”

Shizama Utami, “A letter I wrote to myself”