by xmrys

isn’t time a funny thing?

September 10, 2019 in Poetry/Puisi

the first time you said “I love you”,

you thought I wasn’t listening


sometimes I close my eyes in the

dark and quiet, I can still hear it

the giggle after- like you spilled a secret

over the kitchen countertop

and it washes over into the sink


maybe I remember it differently,

but I thought it sounded like your heart-

like a whispered love letter


what would I not give right now,

to stand right where you were

in front of the coffee grinder in IKEA;

you let me smell the beans after

I did not know then, why something so bitter

had the sweetest aftertaste


you were the best and the worst;

still, I wear the perfume you gave me

on important days,

keep your name like a good luck charm

on difficult ones


the first time you said “I love you”,

it almost sounded like a whisper-

if I didn’t like the sound of your breaths

too much, wouldn’t I have missed everything?


I closed my eyes and thought I’ve seen

the resemblance of your heart-

the fool that I am carried it like a truth;

isn’t time a funny thing?

how one moment ‘you love me’,

and another ‘you tried but you couldn’t’


I can still hear it,

all the times you took back that

I love you’ and replaced it with apologies


the last time you said ‘I love you’,

you asked me if I knew French-

said Je T’aime, if translated directly,

says ‘I, you love’

the fool that I am carried it like a truth

by xmrys


July 28, 2019 in Poetry/Puisi

I want to wake up in a different city

fall in love in a different time

come back to a different heartache,

I want to find myself again-

the person who I can be

when I do not anchor myself to the deep sea,

to a person, a memory,

ghosts of men who once said

they love me


I have put myself in places

that burns from the insides of my bones,

find different faults in different corners-

why do I love people only to hate myself?


somewhere, a different city in a different time,

there is a version of me

who knows how to hold herself,

knows there is worth in her body

without leaving it in the care of someone else-

so what if it feels good to be wanted?

so what if there is a person

like a band aid to all these wounds?


don’t they hurt when it has to come off?


but here, in this city and this moment,

I let myself cry

it is not a sin to feel-

my heart is made up of a room so big

it fits the whole universe,

so I let the world in, let longing

take up the space I saved for someone else


I read once it takes 24, 901 miles

to go around the earth,

seems like a long way to go

but if I walk half that distance

wouldn’t it be a 180°?

by xmrys

my poems

January 21, 2019 in Poetry/Puisi

this is how I build my poems;

gather all the sad in a bowl of

alphabet soup,

arrange the words in

whatever sequence hurt most


I do not know to do this

any other way,

my poems are not gift cards, presents,

or happy occasions,

my poems are just the leftover of

my tears-


after it all had been done with,

I sit in the kitchen,

crumpled napkin in hand

by xmrys

after Qayyum’s You Know Home Always Waits For You

November 11, 2018 in Poetry/Puisi

but do not misplace yourself,


it is easy to want to make a home

out of something good,

it is not always easy to recognize that

something good might not be

something that lasts


you move away sometimes,

you leave a place of comfort

into a jarringly unfamiliar neighbourhood

& it is okay to want to cry,

to want to go back into a home

that belongs to someone else now


but look, unpack your boxes

plug in the bedside lamp


home is wherever you choose

to put yourself down,

even if it is miles and miles away

from the people you love


and then home waits for you again

to return after a long day

& find shelter in it

by xmrys

This is not it

October 27, 2018 in Poetry/Puisi

Maybe I’m putting too much thoughts into this,

what kind of a woman begs-

and still stay, unasked for


I guess I wanted you last night,

tried to milk whatever comfort I can get from a man

who finds no comfort in me


what kind of a woman that makes me


I only know how to be selfish,

and asks for things

so out of reach for the unloved


I will put myself down, gently

this is the most self-loving I can be;

to not let myself drown after breathing underwater for a while,

I knew my lungs can only hold so much air


with you, I swell and bursts all alone

by xmrys

if they ask, I still love you

October 25, 2018 in Poetry/Puisi

if it is not beautiful

what do I make of these months;

a giant crater, remnants of something

burning & crashing onto the ground?

still, I would write it off like a dream

I chased after,

a dream I would have given a whole lot more

to carry if it knew to hold me back


if it is not beautiful why did I bloom?

why did I pick up sunlight and grew

under his smile?

what is this body that listens to his sighs,

and dances to it, still;

stepping on gravels


and then if the earth would crumble before me

let me cradle this hurt one last time,

build poetry out of the dirt beneath his shoes

& worship how they follow him home

everytime; how they get to hold him up

the way I was always trying to,

the way I could not anymore

by xmrys

ask for his heart

October 17, 2018 in Poetry/Puisi

what changes, if I write more poems

will he love me for it;

pick up these words strung with hurt

and call it his?


I would have crossed oceans for that man-

make a haven out of my arms

and let him stay so long as he wants


but here, there is very little comfort

in a heart that knows no home,

knows no way to settle down-

they wander and make an airbnb

out of your body,

mold themselves into your life temporarily


what changes, there is only so much

a man can give-

ask for his heart and he leaves.

by xmrys


September 27, 2018 in Poetry/Puisi

I do not know much about love stories but once, a boy gave me his tears when I was eleven and I looked at him until we were eighteen.

once, a boy gave me roses and I looked at him until he gave someone else a ring.

once, a man gave me his time and I am still looking at him even though he stopped giving.


I do not know much about love stories but ask me about heartaches


I will tell them about you.


Remember the quiver in your voice the first time,

remember the surrender, how it felt

like the floor was collapsing beneath my feet,

remember the way it sounded like the end,

but I woke up and you were still there


remember that relief, that surge

of hope, that morning

my heart bloomed like a dandelion

in June



these days all I think about is how lonely

the sun looks like,

how I have seen the hues in my heart;

that same purplish-orange bruise

by xmrys

Difficult days

May 26, 2018 in Poetry/Puisi

There are difficult days;
days I do not want to open my eyes
but I do anyway,
shower, put on clothes,
throw a small smile when I meet people
& hope they miss the emptiness
of the simplest gesture-
the way I’m programmed to appear
like I’m not always falling apart

you see, there are many difficult days;
days where bile rises at the back of my throat
when I look at myself in the mirror
& I recognize myself less,
what same set of features, but a different skin-
red, angry & peeling off
at the edges

The other day I cut my hair off,
held the strands loosely in one hand
and scissor away with another-
resentments falling off to the floor
in bunches,
& I bawled afterwards,
all the light felt heavy-
and a special kind of sad

These are difficult days;
days I lie alone in bed all day
& wonder if my body will settle down,
if it would stop fighting itself,
If it would stop hurting

all by itself.

by xmrys

Double shot espresso

January 27, 2018 in Poetry/Puisi


hadn’t drank coffee in year
I think the sequence goes a lot like
heartbreak, coffee and then chest pain;
I think I loved you so much
a part of me resisted our common
refuses to acknowledge the way
every coffee cup feels like your fingers,
will not hold them the same way


I saw your back hunched over the countertop
hot water boiling in the kettle
you said, “coffee?”
I remember this in slow motion;
the way you turned around
and beans spillled across the floor
I think I loved you then
the way you gathered each, one after another,
into your soft palms
the way you cradled my heart in
your delicate hands


the futility, how it almost felt like a blessing
until it’s not;
I mean the coffee making,
I mean the art of consuming bitter things,
the art of letting it consume you


I found you cuddled to the sofa at midnight,
snoring soundly
I did not find the words;
could not say “come and sleep next to me”
so I turned the tv off
leave your body wrapped in a blanket
went to bed wondering
if we overstayed our coffee date
how did it get this way?


our relationship felt like
the exact amount of sugar and cream
and bitter
I remember how at the end of it
passing by starbucks started making me
sick to my stomach
how it pinches my gut, says
the person who does not love me anymore
drinks a double shot espresso
remember how his kisses smelled like,
remember how it crawled down my throat
a familiar warm


hadn’t drank coffee in a year
it felt like the right thing to do,
not layer different tastes on top of yours
not forget

by xmrys

The next best thing

January 16, 2018 in Poetry/Puisi

my lonely cannot stand the cold
it settled for the next warm body
that offered himself up,
called him the next best thing
in line;
convinced me that it is better to
be stripped off contentment in
someone’s arms at 2 a.m.
than in front of the tv

I pretend that there aren’t certain ways
that your soul mate’s body is supposed
to fit next to yours;
pretend like we do not bump skin
and bones
in all the wrong places,
leave enough space in between
for all the empty we carry into bed
under the comforter

the thing is, I still love the last boy
who made me feel human
like flesh and
nervous jitters
I have his number saved up
as a profanity in my contacts;
the only way I redeem myself
is to bury the way that I care enough
to want to know if he is already in love
with someone else
the way I stopped myself
every time

my lonely knows there is impending
in this scene
ignores it for the temporary relief
of being cared for
until ‘the next best thing’ realizes
that I am the worst next thing
to carry into the future,
realizes the way that I zone out
at the mention of forever,
realizes the only reason I can cling
to him
is to pretend
I’m grabbing someone else

by xmrys

Let me come to you

December 17, 2017 in Poetry/Puisi

Come and wrap your carefree
around me like a safety blanket
I want to come home;
find the bed where I left it last,
all wide
and warm
and you

if you let me I will unpack my bags
stuff all the longing I carried with me
in your pillow;
they need to have a taste of you
to know that it is alright
to let go now,
to disperse into air

So be it if the words will stumble
on my tongue;
so long as they roll out
so long as you know
I have travelled many sorrows
to get to you
and this is it, all of my heart
reaching for yours

by xmrys

There are greater disasters than a disease

December 16, 2017 in Dan lain-lain

I am trying to think of a greater disaster
what could possibly be worst than
feeling my body rot with disease at 22
plenty of things, probably

and I know it is not much but
I have not been able to hold a bottle
my joint could not bear the weight of water
it reminds me of my shoulders;
the heavy of a diagnosis
left them sore and aching

It is alright, it does not hurt as much
when I swallow the pills;
My left thumb cannot stretch out,
it cannot touch the palm of my hand
I will never hold a scalpel in the future
and I am trying to be okay
with that choice pulled right from
under my feet

but I am blessed I am blessed
I am blessed

The red spots on my skin are just spots
are just bumps
are just my own immune system attacking
my own cells
It is not the end of the world
I put on the cream and pray
they don’t grow pray
I can see the brown of my skin pray
they become scars

I have never prayed for scars
this hard before

There are greater disasters
than watching my nails turn ugly
I know I know
I am blessed

by xmrys


December 10, 2017 in Poetry/Puisi

december rolls over
I miss him but
I write another poem;
bury my loneliness
between words, I forget
until it comes back
december will pass
longing shrivels with time
if I leave the vineyard
the grape does not become wine
loneliness does not become liquor
I hope he returns
I hope he finds his way
back to me but
if he does not
the hurt will pass too

by xmrys

He left me with 2 sticky notes

December 3, 2017 in Dan lain-lain

The yellow sticky note on the fridge says “don’t write about me”

swear to god, I am trying
but this morning I had trouble getting out of bed
and I remember your hands like a claw machine;
picking me up again and again
until I made it out the door

You were the kindest boy I’ve ever kissed
and when you had to leave,
you did it gently
peeled my splattered heart off the wall
gathered it inside a glass globe
and handed it back to me

Imperfect, you said
but still able to love;
still precious

So when my friends tell me that
you aren’t worth the tears
I tell them that this boy
taught my fingers to write soft things;
taught my heart to not gather hatred
when it is hurt
I tell them that these tears are of joy
that I was privileged to hold you

no matter how short,
no matter how fleeting

The pink sticky note on the fridge says
“but if you have to, then be kind to yourself”

swear to god, I am trying
but this morning I had trouble getting out of bed
and I remember my body like a sunken ship;
we struggled for years
to not drown

I was the messiest girl you’ve ever kissed
and when you had to leave,
I took it sloppily
cut my own heart out
catapult it against the wall
and sink, and sink into the blood

told you, look
at this disfigured heart
what will it ever do

So when my friends tell me that
I am toxic
I tell them that I don’t know how to not be
and even on the days that I feel good
I know I am not good
and he does not deserve me

No matter how short,
No matter how fleeting

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