Prena Poetry

i bought that empty book
you once picked up in a store
and said it looked pretty.
i almost never write anything in it
maybe it’s too beautiful
that i might ruin it
or maybe because
i am just too shallow
to ever fully fabricate
a way out of the labyrinth within me.
now there’s blood in my mouth
because i have been biting
the inner of my cheeks,
as i write your name in cursive
with blue, black and amber ink.
it almost looks beautiful,
i mean the folio of tattered paper
in a box under my bed
with your names in cursive.
i almost wish i could tell you
my favorite colour
is the colour of your shirt
you wear everyday.
i almost wish i could tell you
we are both beautiful broken people
who deserves a soft ending
in some kind arms.
i almost wish i could let you know
i am scrapes of everything
you fail to see in yourself.

and again i almost wish
for alot of things to happen

but then somehow
loving you today
would never be the same as
loving you in the idea of ‘almosts’

we are both beautiful broken people,
but i know
i am not someone who can fix you up
and neither are you.