My mother likes the word tender

She cooks for my father that way on the counter

With love in her heart, a spoon of salt, and the pepper,

She’ll wait until the meat turns tender

Then, she surrenders the meal to the taste buds of my father

That is exactly how my mother & I differ:

I would never classify myself as one to surrender

But I give in only for you to bloom

My heart softened as you tell me not to gloom

With you, my tender-hearted guy, I no longer see the loom

(written for my kind-hearted friend, Diva).



it no longer skips a beat(my heart)

my mind no longer finds it pretty(your name)

they are all coming down the drain(the talks we had)

empty. meaningless. it makes me bleed(our story)

been hurting me like a stupid broken record(your words)

sounds like misery to my ears(what could’ve happened)

unreciprocated and dismissed(the love i had)

burns and hurts like a salted wound(longing)

i am getting closer to it, though(freedom)

yours to remember and yours to regret(the loss)

this is, indeed, the very last one(my writing about you)

means nothing more than a mere heartbreak now(you)






mostly on life-slash-love, but let me tell you something: i know nothing about it