Anxious, because


Because I feel like I am about to do something good,

something different,

something right… again.


Because I’ve been here before —

Felt like a bird finally feeling

the strong wind that would carry me home.


Because I felt it many times,

Trusted and followed the wind,

But ended up falling just the same.


Because the strong wind feels good again

And nothing good lasts for a long time

And would just wound my wings again.


Because I’ve been here before,

And all that didn’t kill me

Just left me in greater pain that before.


Because nothing makes me stronger.

Not the pain, not the failure,

Not the hard lesson learned.


Because I’m tired of feeling strong,

Flying just to end up hitting the bottom

As if my wings were never mine to begin with.




Wonders of Stories

When everything I see makes me want to cry,

I ask myself,

Is there something wrong with the world,

Or don’t hee right things simply repel me?

I see those perfect little families,

Dads and Moms and sweet little babies,

And I wonder how they came to be,

What is the secret ingredient for being a family?

I see the lovers, so true, so in love,

And I wonder how they fight, stumble, fly,

How they spent years and years together

Falling in love and not falling apart.

I see those people who do what they love

And I wonder how on earth did they find that job

When I struggle everyday trying to find my socks

While trying to save up for a future that’ll probably suck.

I see rich kids, living the life with money

And I wonder how different my life would have been

If my family only had what they are enjoying–

Car, house, pools, travels, food, gifts, medicine.

I see success stories of people from rags

Who worked they way up to riches:

Some with hardwork, some with luck,

And I sit here with my dreams and a couple of bucks.

I see things and I wonder

how my story would one day end.

But I hope, more than anything else,

that my story –whatever it’ll be — 

would be a source of strength, and not of envy.

– H.


The Witness

It will always be painful

Remembering the way it felt —

Her hands stroking my hair

Or my head against her arms

Or my hand holding hers

As we walk under the blistering sun

Or the way she cooks

My everyday meal,

Or the way she washes

My dresses and jeans

Or the way she laugh

With all her heart

Until everybody around her

Laughs just as hard

Or how she tells me

The places that I would see

If I work hard enough

Or the dreams I will achieve

Or the way we plan our future

The vacations we wanted to have

Or the words she poured on me

Whenever my days were bad

Or the way she tears up

When I cried with a broken heart,

Or how she hugged me so tight

When I felt like falling apart

Or how I hear her cry in pain

While there’s nothing I could do

But ask what’s wrong and stay awake

And fetch her meds and just cry, too

Or the way she tries

To laugh it off

But still ends up

Cringing in pain

Or how she asked me

To stay strong for her,

To take care of her family

As if I’m as strong as her

Or how I’ll give her massage

That is just too painful to do

Coz I feel the skin and bones

Of the strongest woman I knew

Or that final task

I was asked to do

To make her milk

And add the pain relievers, too

Or how I had to feed her myself

Through the tubes through her nose

And though my hands were shaking,

I gave just the right amount of dose

Of the medicine that would ruin my life

Why I wanted to stab me with a knive

Because I  know exactly what I did back then:

I’m the reason why she never woke up again.
– H.


Tired at Twenty Three

I am tired.

I am tired of wanting to cry every waking moment.

I am tired of having bad dreams every night.

I am tired of being in a battle that isn’t mine.

 I am tired of being an audience and not doing anything about anything.

I am tired seeing people lose.

I am tired of watching the scenes happen over and over and over again.

I am tired of all these shits.

I am tired of not having the answer to all the problems.

I am tired of not progressing.

I am tired of being poor.

I am tired of seeing unhappy people around me.

I am tired of my hand twitching and my heart pounding.

I am tired of me dealing this this daily battle while people around me fights important wars.

I am tired of wanting to hurt myself.

I am tired of the attacks.

I am tired of the silent words that nobody else can hear.

I am tired of not knowing what else to do.

I  tired of settling for the life I don’t deserve.

I am tired of self pity.

I am tired of being tired all the time.

I am tired of me.

I am tired.

Good Night

I live for the night.

I live for the life between being awake and being asleep.

I live for the peace that Midnights bring.

I live for the bed night thoughts.

I live for the 2 am conversations.

I live for the open lamps.

I live for the silence.

I live for the night.
– H.


The Wish

I wish for you to stop

Being uncomfortable with your skin,

Being jittery when someone stares,

Being nervous when asked how you are.



I wish for you to stop

Hating your brains for not functioning enough,

Hating your body for not moving enough,

Hating your heart for being more than enough.


 I wish for you to stop

Choosing to chase,

Dreaming the dream,

And living the nightmare.


 I wish for you to stop

Planning your motions,

Plotting your option,

Forgetting execution.


I wish for you to stop


To be having



 I wish for you to stop


Like what I’m doing

And start doing something

That would make you stop 


And start living

The wish.


– H.