What Makes You Strong

There is a world inside me
That is painted with colours that do not exist
There is a word inside me
That cannot be written or read
Every life is like a book
There is always a chapter
That would bring you to tears
My life has been a hundred of those pages
And my days are spent hitting rocks at the bottom of an ocean
But some days I come up for air
And I feel life gracing my lungs
It feels so good to be alive those days
And I see clearly how
Everything that drowned me
Taught me how to swim.

Everything that drowned me,
Taught me how to swim.

jenim dibie

The Sea

Imagination is heaven for wounded souls.

Sometimes I long to belong to the sea, to be a vast, meaningful nothingness… that’s loved by a shore. I run away most times from no one but me, to be with the breeze, to be alone with the storm inside me. My smile has become a mask for a pain that has no face.

Sometimes I long to belong to someone, to linger in their every thought, to be their first thought before coffee and their last before blankets. To be their dream come true. 

I’m a dreamer who’s found the kindest realities in dreams. My imagination has been heaven for my wounded soul. ‘Cause there I belong to me, and I’m at peace with me, and no labels are glued on me, and my face breathes free.

But I wake up every morning drowning in oxygen, and my voice travels for miles and miles as written words in a bottle, swimming to the feet of someone who longs to be the sea, to be a vast, meaningful nothingness that’s loved by anyone.

“Imagination is heaven for wounded souls.”

This poem is from my second poetry book: The Calligraphy of God

Resurrection

Something died in me

And every word I’ve penned has been to resurrect it

My heart has become a rearview mirror

That looks always upon that moment in time

Where I was taken away from me

But how do I get to a future when my past is always present

How do I move on when my bones are made of lead?

I look up to the sky for beauty

The sky looks down at me for the same

So, I empty my heart as poetry in a world filled with words

In hopes that one day when the sky looks at me

It would see a girl with full moons for eyes

A broken heart for stars

A lost soul for rain

A body of clouds

Unrelenting hope for rainbows

And the passion of a hundred million suns.

“How do I get to a future when my past is always present.”

This poem is from my second poetry book: The Calligraphy of God

Remember To Stain the World

Remember to stain the world

With one last drop of your ink

With one last roar of your name

With one last brushstroke of your sins

With one last silence that begs forgiveness

With one last laughter that slays regret

With one last moment that paints a memory

With one last word that fills the distance between 

1–2 minutes

“I” and “you”

Remember to stain the world 

With every last drop of you.

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Hell

Your eyes pull out light from my dark soul, and every moment with you transcends transcendental memories. Your love has been my heaven. Holding me closely in your arms, our heartbeats remind me that God exists. I wonder if you are human or an angel and ask if this is what immortality feels like. You smile softly and then I see it. I see hell in your smile. A hell in which the sun sets never to rise again. You showed me your demons, I showed you mine. I wondered if we would ever heal or if time was just as broken too and asked if this was what mortality felt like. You held my face in your hands and raised it long enough for me to see, a sun rising never to set again. You smiled gently and then I saw it. Hell was the absence of love, and I was your heaven. And then you saw it… you were mine as well.  

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Heart of Hearts

Home
Poems
I will always love you, but I am not God.
I will sometimes hurt you, because I am not God.

I’m in a frame of mind

You wouldn’t want to frame in your mind

See, in my mind

I love you and show you so

But in your mind my love for you has withered more

The space in time makes you no longer mine

This space in time takes my all, but that’s fine

Though far from me and all these thorns

If you stay one more day, you’ll see the roses born

Times like these have always been

The pain you bear, I’ve always seen

On days like those that I don’t seem to be your kin

Just know I bear my own sin

As the knives prod your delicate skin

May God be your life, your King

I will always love you, but I am not God

I will sometimes hurt you, because I am not God

But if someday, somehow, you see past the hurt

You will see a picture of you framed in the hall of love

Known as my heart of hearts.

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Secret Garden

No one full ever knew how to fill.

If no one loves her

Please, love you 

Even if she’s a wreckage 

Worn by age

Dying to turn the page

Or lost, in a predetermined path

Or bleeding, from a predestined bloodbath

Or healing, in the bloody aftermath

Or broken, by a perfect love 

Or falling, like a dove

Or crashing, from above

Or bruised, by your sacrificial loneliness

Or moved, by your superficial kindness

Or torn, by your artificial blindness

Please, build her 

Even when you have no stone

Or judge her abysmal tombstone 

Or repudiate her only cornerstone

Or her nothingness collapses your desire 

Or her eyes rains ice on your fire

Or her chorus deafens your choir

Water her azalea 

From dawn to Australia

Dress her in love’s aching regalia

Out of frozen concrete 

In the desert where broken hearts meet

Wash her crooked feet

Ignoring her searing fossil

Like Jesus for the apostles

From sublime bottles 

No one full ever knew how to fill.

Almost Doesn’t Count

I am a castle made of sands,
a house made of cards,
a diamond cut with blood,
a ship carved of dreams,
sunk beneath a sea of almosts, 

an orchestra of screams, 

dying, 

praying to no one, 

in a cathedral of silence. 

The Pendulum

Like me
You are happy, you are sad
Like a flower
You are blossoming, you are wilting
Like a mortal
You are breathing, you are dying.

Life swings

Back and forth

Like a swaying

Pendulum

Between good and bad

Betwixt black and white

Within time and space

It loops

Holding light and sound

In its delicate arms

It swoops 

Like an eagle reaching for her baby

Like me

You are happy, you are sad

Like a flower

You are blossoming, you are wilting

Like a mortal

You are breathing, you are dying.

Tell Me

Have you ever loved your murderer 
As you were coming back from the dead?

Have you ever been told?

That you are nothing 

By the mother who made you something 

Been decimated to an inch of death 

By words that cut deeper than any knife ever crafted

Been molded back up by the same person that broke you 

Been called beautiful by the one who made you ugly 

Been held by the one who abandoned you 

Been forgiving to the one who forgot you 

Have you ever loved your murderer 

As you were coming back from the dead?