And suddenly, I was lost in the moment.

Don’t know where to be find.

Darkness came.

It was the time of depression that swallowed me.

Betrayed, estimated, bloodsucked, and fooled,

Things matched with my name.

Then I felt something so wrong.

It was my downfall.

I lost everything, I lost myself.

They were gone, unexpectedly.

I was gone.

There’s no way out. No way.

I was almost dying.

No one has to save me. No one.

I was almost not cured.

I kneeled for no good reason. No good reason.


I pretended that I can. And maybe I really could.


I was also back. With twisted boom and vengeance.


Self-criticism of a Writer

You write, And nothing’s special.

Look at yourself, You think you’re good? Who told you that you are? You’re not potent. Yes, you aren’t. You’re only dramatic. You’re just full of execration. You’re so talentless. You’re not enough. People will never choose you.


I pity you. You share nothing. What you do aren’t impressive. Apparently not. You’re just a trash. Your pieces just deserves to be rumpled. You’re words are redundant and irrelevant, extraneous and impertinent . They won’t see anything in you. And they will never choose you.


You’re just a quite and big dismay. You’re only nothing.

So stop making things you can’t really do. Hypocrite.

The Writer, Unknown

I am fragile.

I am fractured.

I am torn.

I am broken.

But with all that, gave me the power to use my paper slips and ink.

I write down what I feel.

And now, I’m drowning with words. Magic arises.

My mind is full of ideas.

Madness, anger, insanity all broke down into tiny pieces as I convert them into art.

My eyes stops from crying.

My heart stops from bleeding.

And my soul runs away from all the mess that sorrounded me once.

Unstoppable. Unpredictable. Pain is inevitable. But I escape. Alone.

I am. The writer, Unknown.

The weak part of me

(Last free-verse poetry of the month)

I always belive I’m strong.

I always tell myself when I’m alone that I’ll never see tears in my eyes.

But the sad truth is that, all I’ve spoken was pretty lies.

Pretty lies that let me dwell in wrong self-impression.

The truth is I’m fragile, I’m weak, and not created with steel.

But I realized that I sometimes love the weak part of me.

The part that let me show them that I’m not always staying tough,

The part that let me cry when I can’t anymore take it,

And allow them to see my red sense of sight.

Allow them to see that I’m also in pain,

That I’m also tired enough and I need to tell ’em what I need to tell them.

And in that honest truth…

I found out that it’s good to show your true weak self.

Past playlist

(figurative free-verse poetry)

I remember all the songs I played before,

Those that reminds me of bitter thoughts .

I was expecting that they would give me comfort

And it became a bad song list

Bad lyrics

Bad tune

Bad messages.

The lyrics of darkness that I always sung with before.

I’m dancing while playing in shuffle.

Not happiness but self-devastation.

I found no comfort but heartbreaks.

Then I stopped.

I turned it differently

I changed all of them

I changed the genre,

The artist

And listen to much better lullabies .

Find the real state of grace.

And paradise.

I’ll close my eyes.

All I know is that I’ll never be back from that wrong playlists that brought me rain.

This is what you choose me to be

(free verse poetry made literally about betrayal and avenge)

Once upon a time,

I was in total calm and silence.

Then you suddenly came, Appeared.

Talking innocently .

We’ve met each other.

The day came that you turned to your reality.

Whenever I’m not around, you’re rudely speaking.

Speaking up something you know I’ll dislike.

I was walking and you’re at my back,

You played a knife while I wasn’t watching.

Made scars on me that won’t be erased forever.

You betrayed, you fooled, you’re two-faced.

You’ve shown your worse side.


Look what you made me do…

Did the same thing to you.


It opened.

It started easy and simple,

That’s the time that we could go with the flow.

That’s the time that we could just smirk confusedly for our little mistakes.

But time passed and we did.

We entered the medium part,

The time of enjoyment and some efforts,

Tiredness come, and sometimes we close our eyes and then open it again .

We realize that we’re not alone ,

There are our friends, family, and those who surrounds us,

Those who truly loves us.

And we succeed.

Here we are at the most difficult and hardest setting. Our choice.

Nobody can pass it, if he or maybe she won’t show patience and acceptance.

We fail and we try.

We entered it with much courage,

And it lessens with every failure.

Again, we close our eyes and later decide to stop,

To give up.

Most of us forget this option, this is to pause.

Once it is paused, take a rest.

Seek for help,

Call them, call God, and your True self, the stronger you.

Remember that it’s just a game.

There’s start, pause, continue, retry, and quit.

Press that all but not the quit button.

Life is but a game.

And there, we play for ourselves.

I’m tired and I’m one of those pretenders

(self-dedicated free verse poetry)





And laughing.

That’s what I do everyday.

But don’t they wonder if that’s all true?

By the way, they don’t care and they don’t know, so why will they ask?

The time I opened the book, the introduction of this story…

I thought that it’ll be easy.

I was wrong.

I want to tear the pages now that I’m in the middle,

Where the climax is, where the trippings are.

I want to close and stop reading.

I want to feel asleep and then open my eyes no more,

Then suddenly wake up that everything’s better and started again.

But such an impossible illusion that I have.

They don’t question but they see I guess…

I’ll tell them jokes about it and they’re not concious that I’m almost serious.

I’ll tell ’em that I don’t want it but the truth is I’m dying.

I’ll tell ’em all with a chuckle of distress and they believe in it.

They don’t really know me and my story…

They don’t know what people tell me.

They don’t know what they do to me .

They dont know how they hurt, put me in pain, and kill me.

They’re too innocent and it makes me sad.

I’m only fighting though I know I’m in the hardest option.

But I quietly beg for help and nothing, nobody, no one comes.

I don’t want to give up…

At night, I’ll face the side,

Feel the weight inside,

And scatter tears.

I’m tired and I’m one of those pretenders.


(free-verse poetry)

This poem are for those who look down at themselves and try to be someone else.

You’re hiding.

I know.

You can’t fool me.

Will you tell me why?

Let me guess,

You’re insecure.

You’re shy and less in confidence .

You’re not yet ready to face people, to face the world.

You can’t conquer it, you’re still weak.

Putting into a thick make-up is what you did.

Why would you deny the real you?

Why would you copy them, if you can be original?

Face me now.

Don’t be like them in front of me.

Remove that mascara.

Show yourself off.

Because nothing’s better than the Genuine one.

Than your genuine self.

Follow no rules

(free-verse poetry)

Do this!

This is how you shall work!

This is how you shall make it!

Obey me!

I know it, I know what’s best!

Can you hear me?

“Yes, I can. ”

All I can say is Yes…

All I can do is agree…

Nod and raise my brows.

I locked myself inside a jail together with these fake people.

They act like they know everything

They look at themselves as perfect.

They think that they are all boss…

I got tired of writing down what they utter.

I got tired of depending myself to them.

I want to unlock this cold cage…

And get away from them.

Get away from those who could only see themselves.

From those who couldn’t realize my worth.

I’m not at their sight,

They can’t feel me,

They don’t consider me as a part,

They only notice my wrongs but not my importance.

I want to remove this rope that ties my hands and feet.

This clothe that blocks my mouth and disables me to speak up.

I want to break free and find my peace of mind.

I’ll leave

I will never come back to that miserable place

Miserable place that puts me in darkness and close my eyes so I can’t see.

And I’m searching something,

Something that’s I’m longing for…

Place with nothing to follow.

Just like making a free verse poetry

No syllabic numbers,

No rhymes,

No uniformity,

Just what’s inside your mind.

Let your hands write and write ‘til it’s done.

Like wild flowers, we grow alone.

We dont need them to pour water to us.

No, we don’t need it.

We survive,

We fight against extreme sunlight and cruel storms.

We wait for nothing and no one…

What we know is that we have to keep ourselves.

Like a gracefully flying butterfly,

We don’t care and know where to go

No directions

Just where the sweet flowers are.

No one’s ruling

No one’s dictating

No one’s predicting

We draw our lives

Never let them sketch it for you.

Make it using your ways.

Don’t look at them,

Look at yourself.

Because we’re not anymore imprisoned together with ’em…

And we follow no rules.