#inksandwords

inksandwords replied to your post:Collaboration please?

i. Write when it's raining and you need solar power to get your pen scribbling. Write when all the plants you've watered has died from too much sunlight. Write when you're running out of paper. Write when electricity's gone and your computer's dead. ii. Write when all the colors has left you. Write black and white. Write gray. Write clusters. Write spaces. Invent new words. Write questions. Write conclusions. Write assumptions. Use words everybody uses. Use words nobody has ever seen. iii. Write when you're better. Write when you're worse. Write even when someone is better. Write when you're not the best. Write things that don't make sense. Write what nobody reads. Write how everybody reads. Write when no one cares. iv. Write about tragedies. Write about being hopeless romantic. Write about crushed hearts and broken bones. Write about rainbows and butterflies. Write about poverty. Write about violence. Write about world peace. Write what everybody else writes. Write anything other than love. v. Write what they say about you. Write what you want others to say about you. Write of things nobody has ever told you. Write when they stop writing. Write when you feel like stopping. Write about writer's block while you're at it. Just write. Just write. Just write.

inksandwords replied to your post:Pansinin nyo ko.

I want you to love me like the way the sun bids a short farewell so the moon can say hello to the sky (still, the sun never truly fades away for it is still seen somewhere in the world). Like how some people trace the spines of books, hold each page as though it’s made of silk, and reread every word front to back after a while just to relive that moment of reading a book for the first time. I want you to love me like I am the morning breeze you adore at five in the morning. Like how a mother’s eyes glimmer when she sees her newborn child for the first time. Love me like galaxies colliding to each other. Like I’m a familiar shirt in your closet that you never seem to outgrow. Like not the attraction between two magnets (I want us to always find our way to each other no matter how far we’re pulled apart). But if all of these have failed. I want you to love me when my chest seeks comfort in your arms at three in the morning. I want you to love me when I have failed to love myself. I want you to love me in the morning when I just woke up and all of the bruises I have made last night are still seen and when my eyes have failed to see the bruises I have made on my skin. I want you to love me. I hope you can. I’m bleeding words. Can you hear my heart? It throbs. It shouts. It calls out your name and sometimes you can feel the vibrations rattling beneath my skin. I want you to love me. I hope you can. I’m already out of words. Can you feel my heart? It beats. It sings. It murmurs your name and sometimes you can hear it in my bones. Love me like an unforgettable memory. Like the way the waves kiss the shore. Like how painters cherish every detail of their masterpieces, how writers bleed with words, how photographers try to capture beauty without words, and how musicians fall in sync to the beat of their hearts. I want you to love me like you’ve realized home is not a place, but a person (I’m your home). I want you to love me. I don’t care if my palms will hurt. I don’t care if I get more bruises and scars. I don’t care if it brings pain when you love me (besides, I have bandages in my pocket). Just love me. I just want you to love me, that’s all.

because it turns out that our time together has come to an end. our hourglass sand’s has been drained and gone. i will no longer see that glint in your eyes whenever you smile. i will no longer hear your voice as i plead you to recite an excerpts of a poem you’ve written. we may not know each other for a long time. it doesn’t matter how short or long it takes, what i know is that you have spill your ink in my heart and your words are left scribbled in my tattered skin, your poetry had stitched a part of me, you’ve given me confidence and made me go on. you were a painting on the canvass, left undone. a poem on the notebook left unfinished. a song that had lost its melody, but you we’re never forgotten.

Thank you for the memories.

Dear Sab

This is for every girl who borrowed skin from women posed in a magazine. This is for every girl who wished for slimmer hips, thighs and perky breast. This is for every girl who got bruises instead of tattoos on her skin. This is for every girl with scars on their wrists instead of bracelets and watches that are made of silver and gold. This is for every girl who covers their faces with hair that smells like dry leaves and who never praises their naked body in front of the mirror. This is for every girl who believes that they are grotesque or even hideous. And also, this is for me. You are beautiful. I saw myself in front of the mirror once. And it never happened again. I was too afraid to see how unsightly I am again. Because for once, I saw the spine that got tainted with bruises, I saw my face slowly turning into grotesque to more grotesque than ever, I saw the craters that painted my face with hatred and sadness, I saw my chest filled up with withered flowers and dead leaves, I saw my heart; my tiny heart, withering at the sight of my eyes and at the reflection, I saw my lips and how it whispers things like my insides are filled with monsters, I saw my whole body slowly crumbling into pieces and it smelled like a graveyard of people like me. This is for you, for us, who’s been afraid to stand in front of a mirror, again. Hold a mirror or stand in front of your closet’s mirror and watch your own reflection, once more. Uncover all the brand new secrets hidden beneath the layers of your tainted skin. See the changes you’ve made. See how you’ve grown and step outside your cocoon and be the butterfly that you’ve always wanted to be. You are beautiful. We are beautiful. When looking at the mirror, I can no longer see the hideous creature from my past. I can no longer see the reflection of the girl who wished for slimmer hips, thighs and perky breast. I can no longer see the girl who’s embarrassed with the scars she had acquired from the past bruises. I can no longer see the girl who slashes and cuts her wrist every time she wanted to back down. I can no longer see, the girl who hides her face beneath her hair just so no one could see how hollow and pale her face is. Every time his eyes averts into my eyes, a smile would form into his lips and words of “i love you’s” would sprout. I feel beautiful because he makes me feel one. He showed me things I never quite believe back then, that I am capable of loving and that I am capable of being loved. On how he gently kissed every mole that’s visible on my face. How he caresses hundreds of tiny little scars on my spine. How he plastered different shades and added happiness and love on my canvass. I saw my heart, beating again, growing with his touch. I saw my whole body slowly healing from all the attacks that my demons have caused. And when he tells me “you are beautiful” I believed him, because I can feel I am. I am, indeed, beautiful.