“Moving Out of the Dorm”

I have to move out from the dorm. Engineer’s brother will gonna move in the house. Everything’s happening so fast. I can’t even get a grip of myself. I’m crushing down in this one corner of the room. It’s so hard to let go of this dorm. Too much memories that I’m not yet ready to let go.
I’m crying.
From that day he left,
I haven’t yet moving from where he left me.
My body may not be there anymore but I’m still stuck in that place. In the front of his window. It still hurts. I’m forcing myself to move forward. I have to move forward. I still need time. But these things that I should do, like move out from this dorm is so fast. I’m dying.
It’s hard. And it hurts. A lot.

A lot.

—April 25, 2018(Monday)



Sometimes, I want to just run away from our house, leave everything i was used to have and used to live since birth.
Sometimes, I just want to lock my self in my room. I just want to cover my self by blanket and pretend that i’m a carrot on that day.
Sometimes, I am not me. I smile because it is needed not because I want to. I eat even I am not hungry cause my family will be curious about my eating behavior.
Sometimes, it is so me. I laugh at the things I find funny. I do things I think will makes me happy.

A lovers day, someday.

Someday we will travel the world, we will travel each others wonderland.
Someday we will gaze and swim to the wide ocean of stars and dreams.
Someday you’ll be with me, in these arms you’ll rest your tired body.
Someday this poetry will not just remain in words, but it will be written in the history of our lovely memories.



The Night We Tried to Get a Poet Arrested

Vox Populi

I remember the night my friend and I tried to get a poet arrested
for his crimes against literature, his hiding
of horribly sentimental lines by speaking like a seller
of cheap real estate, those broken down houses
where everything and everyone leaks, in neighborhoods
divided by the tornado roar of long, slow trains, night and day.
It was just poetry, I know, words arranged like a landscape
of dark trees against the, whatever, azure sky,
but why should he escape punishment like the stealers
of poor people’s minority fortunes, the rule makers
who make us break our backs at hard labor
while they sit up high in penthouse suites
eating their feasts, drinking the best wine,
as they sneer at the riff-raff drawing heavy strings
and pushing square wheels along concrete floors
in the moldy basement, thump thump?
We called the police. “There he is,” I said,
“at the…

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I’m a mess…

I always wonder why do I need to live? No one benefits my life, neither I. I’m always alone every time since I was a child. Then I seek love and accompany with the circles of friends that I have.
I always depend on them, that I forgot they’ll also leave anytime and I will be alone again.
They can’t live for me. They have their own life to run. I can’t always depend on them, my mess, it will just be my mess not ours.
I’m so sorry for a friend I messed up with lately. I don’t know how it became so disastrous to be with me. I think it will never be okay or safe for anyone to be with me again, cause I’m a mess. I’m a complete mess. A living proof of a nonsense breathing human created to occupy such place in this planet to do nonsense things and waste oxygen.