xx Ella.Z

Everything about him is just mind-twisting. I ain't a detective but my attraction towards him is a mystery case. It was always the same question. "Why him?" I could choose the nice guy I met at weddings or coffee shops who is a gentleman at first sight with good intentions of wanting to get to know me. But why did I choose him, instead? --the guy who made my heart flutter with his dangerous yet enticing words, devious side smiles and suave aura. He seduced my mind and the whole lot of me. He was toxic --bad. But he challenged me, he triggered my curiosity and I keep coming back for more. And my my how he can make me laugh, goofy yet sexy, at the same time. He was truly one of a kind, the mysterious kind --a case that I would be delightful to crack.

Why wait for the ending when you can write one? You're the author of your book of life, write it down to read it. On that very last written page, I stopped to think of the what ifs and should haves, pondering on ways to keep moving forward, on how to keep reading even though the pages are empty. And then my fingers started to dance --reaching for the only tool to make the book alive again; a pen. "What are you doing?" Somehow a voice so familiar resonant in my head. And so, I smiled back in return with a garden of bliss growing inside of my heart. "I'm writing down my own happy ending." I began writing to continue the unwritten story with a whimsical tale of a girl who once had her heart broken but she was no longer in vain as my fingers ran across the pages --writing down laughter instead of tears, a pleasant solo ride instead of a complicated pair, friends instead of lovers, the treasured moments instead of the missed person, undying self love

Am I too open? Or he had me all figured out? I never felt so naked to anyone before. But with him --with him around, my walls came undone. I feel like I can bare my all, stripped to skin. He can see right through me, I'm bare-naked. And I can no longer hide my pride, my heart, my very soul.

Wondering why I don't settle? I'm looking for someone who can be described as my passion. "Leave everything and let's run away." I've always dreamt of having someone inviting me to a great adventure with no destination --just two people, both feet running, hand in hand, going places, creating the best memories while escaping life. But the thing is, I'm overflowing with passion. I can't simply say "Yes" to such intriguing offer for I want to create my own memoirs. I want to write my stories and poems until they came alive, I want to fiddle away my music until they are being heard and I want to wander off to my favourite places until they made me discover my own true self. So, If you ask me before I could achieve all of that --I have to say "No", even though the thought of saying yes haunts me, every time. Until then, I have yet to find courage to leave everything behind and just go. I daresay, I won't let anyone come

My favourite lullaby would always be that voice. Of the last person I speak to while I'm awake before smiling to sleep. He was a storyteller and I was his listener. His stories were gold and his voice would take you to a dream of his tales. Thus, I turn to him, every single night to hear the stories as he lulls me to sleep. With that, I never had a trouble of sleeping so as to be swayed in a sweet dream. Until one day, he decided to tell the stories, differently in such tone that would make you fall into a nightmare if you ever been put to sleep. Sadly, I couldn't fall asleep, safe and soundly ever since. "Tell me again, how much you love me." "I keep telling you, every night. Aren't you bored?" "No. Not as long as you're the last person I talk to before going to bed."

Bae for Baelfire, Once Upon a Time's Rumplestiltskin's son, not literally the before-anyone-else, Bae. A poem about a father's love in search of his beloved son. Bae Bae Bae! I scream for your name every night, While the stars shining, And the moon’s glowing, I protected you with a dark soul, But in the end I’ve lost you, Right when you dive into the hole. The curse that I lifted, Is the only way for me to be shifted, From storybook to Story Brooke, In seeking you for forgiveness, On that one promise I broke. Devil was playing in the mind, And dark magic took control, Upon your papa’s innocent soul, Forgive me, Bae! For the search of your lost, It seemed a high price to pay. Now, I’m here right where you are, I can feel your presence right from afar, With nil of magic, To have a happy ending we seek, For you I shall know of tire, My beloved son, my dearest Baelfire.

This was once made for those who created an ugly rumor about my ex. I was so protective over him that I had to let my anger out in a poem.  Dear souls of the dark and sinister, Thank you and how very nice of you? On putting people's life in aching bitter, Send yourself in hell, I'd say please do. Just listen and shut your trap! Of those words spoken so grim, Open your ears to stop the crap, Oh, I guess you couldn't so it seemed. Perfection doesn't really exist, Among us, the souls of earth, But are you one that made you a beast? To judge people like it's a worth? Such in disgraced words you've made, Upon an innocent soul that blinded his tale, One was forsaken and betrayed, Now he's in cell, you owe him a bail. You're a pitiful sinister, I can tell, With that sinful mouth a monster! And by the way you acted oh-so-well, Is an award of sin, the one you're after? Even the innocent is guilty in charged, But it's not your

Of an early morning work with coffee and his sweet smile. This is a tale of an office crush at the pantry. The day started off with a smile and a simple, "Hi" as every morning, we met eye to eye while pouring hot water in a mug and brewing a sachet of instant coffee. Coyly you greeted, "Good Morning", I could only reply with nothing but a smile and sometimes with a nod too. But then, I paused for a quick second --letting my mind to do a little thinking, "What if I open my heart and let someone new in?" I snapped back to reality as you left the scene with another parting smile and a mug of a fresh brewed coffee in your hand. I guess things would be different by now if I let you in, we might be having a real conversation over our coffee together, every morning instead of exchanging smiles over and over again while brewing that same old bland coffee of ours packeted in a boring sachet.

He should know that I'll always be here --not waiting but hoping that if he ever comes back, my heart still beats for him. They say --good things come to those who wait. But then, I wonder why should I wait? Waiting for you is heartbreaking, Waiting for you is time-consuming, Waiting for you is draining me, Waiting for you is closing my heart for another, And I don't want that. Because waiting for you is like wishing on a shooting star that is long dead since you're like a sweet dream of mine that will never come true. If waiting means forever then maybe I should just give up and hand my heart to those who actually played the waiting game like me.

Some things are just irreplaceable or rather someone? A story about a boy who lost a precious one while seeking for others. There was once a boy who has all of his favourite toys in the world to play with. And there was a doll up on the shelf that he owns just to amuse him whenever he got bored of playing all of his precious toys. The doll was rare, beautiful yet so fragile as she was one of a kind, a porcelain antique china doll that can never be found in every toy store. But the boy couldn't care less about her uniqueness or was he just clueless? Unlike the other toys that he seemed to play with gentle and care, he played the doll so rough --kicking and smashing her as if he could get a new one of the exact same doll in no time. Somehow, with all the torture he put upon the doll, it made him happy. After he has done playing, the boy would put the doll back into her box and placed her back on the shelf. And it became a daily routine for him. Until one day, the porcelain sk

Being needy is the last option I had in mind because I used to be one and it never made him stay.  Inspired by a song from Ariana Grande which I'm currently obsessed with. I can be needy, But I don't want to seem, Like I need someone, Never to part. Or someone, To even touch me, With all one's heart. I've been needy, And it's not something, He favored, Of me wanting, His time, His space, His affection, When all I need was, A little of his attention.

Inspired by my real profession. The open-concept I highly admire relates back to how open I want him and I to be. Babe, let's be open, As we play this game, No walls in between, No restrictions, Everything exposed, All is seen. Now tell me, Tell me your secret, Tell me your desire, As we stripped down, Naked in such dire, Need of one another. Tell me you want me, And I'll tell you too, Underneath our skin, Where the lust grew. Can you do it? Be open to this? Be open to me? A concept, Of no walls, Bare everything, Ain't stereotyping, Bathroom needs no door, As the bed lay aside, Seperated by glass, From floor to floor. Blurring the lines, Of two spaces, I and you, You can see me, And I see you, Now we're open, Through and through.

For someone whom I'm quite afraid to lose because what we're having is too beautiful. Yes, this is for him, he's simple --direct, a minimalist. Of all the cities I’ve been to, You are my favourite. Caught my eye from the start, An architecture built in dreams, Of transparency and glass, Beautiful but fragile. Yet I couldn’t get my feet to move, Away from this city, Away from you. For I am a lover, Of the skyline buildings, Structured in glass, The open-concept, Where everything is vast and seen. The monochrome shades, Of black to white in hue, Stark but sleek in a way, You ought to woo. A minimalist, Simple yet intriguing, But never boring, It is what you are. As how I like it, But here in your city, Designed not to linger, For that I’d ask you, Can you do me a favour? Don’t chase me away, To leave, To visit another.

Saying goodbye is the hardest when he chooses to stay. Crazy isn't it? That you and I, Will eventually say goodbye, When all feelings die? So I keep telling myself, today. I'm not gonna lose you. I'm not gonna lose you. I'm not gonna lose you. Even when you're still here, Until then, I'll live with this fear,  The hardest thing I'd ever do, Is saying goodbye to you.

He drives me wild, sometimes. This lust for him, within --I just couldn't understand.  It's 2019, Here I am, Lusting you still, Dressed in an underwear, That you thought was sexy, As I run my fingers, From my neck, Down to my hip, Writing dirty words, A pleasure for your read.

Sometimes, I can't even figure him out. Even in my dreams. You appear in my dreams, sometimes. You love, You care, But sometimes, You don't. You curve, You dare, To leave me alone.

Just when he tells you --you're either too or not good enough,  let him walk out of your life for he'll be missing the most enough person he could ever keep.  "You're not good enough for me."  "You're just too much for me."  I felt that phrase being thrown at me for quite a few times. Well, I'm neither. I'm enough --enough that would make you feel overwhelmed and run away for something less to settle with. 

Does it ever get lonely? Thinking you could live without me. Halsey's new breakup song inspired me to write out my own. Do you think of me, babe? When you're feeling high, Choking yourself w ith smokes, Of a lit-joint, Thinking you're not sorry, For a past you wish to forget, Or not quite yet? A blurred face, A silhouette. Do you think of me, babe? When you're feeling high, Or have I become a distant memory? The one you can no longer trace, Why? No longer you know my name, No longer you recognize my face, I was there, You can't deny. Do you still think of me, babe? When you're feeling high, Though I'm far for you to hold, Can you live? Being lonely, Without me? Whilst having fun, Not what I've been told, You can't.

Cinderella inspired me a lot. I had a thought that maybe my life would turn out like hers, someday?  If the slipper fits, Then why am I running? Away from people, away from him? If the slipper fits, Then why do I keep dreaming? About the ball, about the prince charming. If the slipper fits, Then why can't I stop dancing? To a waltz, to a magical feeling. If the slipper fits, Then why am I still waiting? Take the glass slipper, take it to him. If the slipper fits, Then perhaps I should start singing? On my way to his castle, to my happy ending.

Expected and going nowhere is my favourite kind of commitment. Perhaps, I only like the thrill of the chase?  Chasing after him is like riding a carousell --a never ending ride of going nowhere and you'll never know when it stops. And so, you'll go round and round and round and round, merrily until you get dizzy and then, it finally hit you;  Why on Earth would you want to make yourself sick by going on this ride?

I was infatuated with his words. Words that can make me ache for something I'd lust for. I knew he was a bad idea. But his words --there's something about his words that kept me coming back for more. They're mean yet flattering, silly yet charming and ..oh plain bad yet enticing! He carved them simply for an amusement with sly flirtation in between, taking me high in ecstasy as I became fixated on them. Like drugs, I was lusting after of how they can make me feel --addictive yet satisfying. I wanted more and so, he drugged me with them until he ran out and unconsciously, I'm overdosed.  

Concrete jungle where dreams are made of. If he promised me, New York ..I'd promise him, me. Take me to New York City, Take my hand and let's run away. Let others say what they wanna say, We'll make history starting from today, Here in a city we love, we should stay. Take me to New York City, Take my hand and let's go, bae. Just me and you, down and all the way, From day to night, night to day, Here where we make endless love as we lay. Under the city lights --of New York City.

Writing is an underestimated art. To the one who once asked me to write something, this one's for you. You once told me to write something about you. I laughed at that moment, thinking that I couldn't write you out. I wanted to but I refused. Because to me, writing means forgetting and I didn't want to forget you, not just yet. But guess what? I'm writing this one out for you. I'm writing you out of how you made me feel lucky to have you even just for a little while. I'm writing you out to remind me that I wasn't alone every single night with having you from the other side. I'm writing you out to reminisce me of all the words you once drew to make my heart flutter like it's true. I'm writing you out to make me recognize you in my mind, over and over again, if only you knew. Indeed, writing means forgetting but somehow, writing you out means remembering, missing and hoping. 

Though he did hurt me a lot. Some of the good memories I had with him are worth remembering. In my mind, memories were playing --like a film reeling in a slow motion with my favourite genres of romance; of all those kisses I've missed , fantasy; of all those dreams I once painted with you and adventure; of all those crazy silly things we did when we were madly in love . And all of the best parts in the film were being put on pause to keep me smiling like an idiot. Why? Because they were best kept as stills --stills of you.

My ex was such a great pretender, fooled me good but not for long. So, I came up with this. Also, a  theatrical theme because I love plays! The curtain's down as it reached the end, An act so hideous pulled off by a decent man, Hear the applause he received from the crowd, Of what he deserve, in hell he should rot! Without a script, he played so well, But of course, one day his performance fell, While still pulling a mask of an innocent, By the end of the show, it all has burnt. "Wow, such a great actor, he is!" Give it a clap now if you're pleased, His show is over and time to reveal, All of his ugly sins, he securely sealed. Little did he knew, he bow down in shame, As everyone sees of what he truly became, "Get off the stage now, you filthy actor!" "You should acted a lot more better!"

You know what happen when you meet your ultimate dream guy? Love at first sight happens. First, it was a splash as I saw you,  standing tall before me.  Then, it came with a big wave  as you mesmerized me with a handsome smile.  And it takes only a second when it swallowed me whole like a tsunami!  I was drowning to have a special kind of feeling right when I heard my name said on your lips, as you greeted me with a simple gesture of a suave handshake. You hit me with a catastrophe that made me unsure of surviving.  Is this a tragedy of love at first sight?  I guess it is right.

Another chapter for my bad boy persona. Brokenhearted by regrets is his best skill to feel. His love had to leave. She had to leave. All that's left for him is his regrets in every cigarette he took. And memories of her, her name, the initial --scarred as a tattoo on his skin, achingly forever.

Long distance kills and so, I wrote this --a  past lover of mine were miles away and I just couldn't stop myself from missing him. Petals, Sticking to a flower, Beautiful but brings me sorrow. As I'm counting them to wait, For that moment I called, fate. I count the days with those petals, One by one, I started to pluck, With my heart hoping for a luck. For every petal carries a hope, Please to know that I can't cope, Anymore, Any longer, Because with you around, I am much stronger. I want you to meet me again, Like a drought waiting for the rain, You fall to my hand once again. And as for those petals I count, I wish they will never be found, For pain lies in every one of it, Leading a pathway for a quit. But I don't want to quit! I want to keep waiting, Sitting, Pacing. I'm here to have you back, And you shall bring the light, Of my days shaded in black. Petals, They flew far away, As the

A night came for a dream. I just had to tell a tale of it, it seems? Goodnight, goodnight! The night seems cold, Let the dream cradles you, Into a fantasy untold. The dark was once bright, Shimmering in gold, What else could you do? But to free your flying soul. One to explore without a guide, Cloud of wanders yet to hold, While it is a land far from true, Only the night could take you whole. Let the dream sway you into the night, As smile carved and tears rolled, Indeed this is just a dream for you, And I'd say goodnight to you too.

This guy I knew was charming and he was my best companion ever. Unfortunately, he belongs to someone else. He tells a joke but it wasn't her laugh and he knew. She giggles coyly but it wasn't his joke she laughed to.  She wasn't his current and he wasn't her previous but they were both lonely, at the same time and for an impeccable reason --fate let them meet for a while to fill the empty void. They shared stories of wonders to tell even though they seems to be strangers with love to sell, throwing away feelings without having to feel, never thought for a second it was real. They were happy to be around each other but nothing lasts forever for he will have his girl crawling back to his arms and she will have another guy who deserves her at her best to move on. They were meant for each other but never in love, simply they were just temporary lovers who seeks for the love they couldn't get enough of.

If only he knew my words are true. And my words are all meant for him. I write and write, From day to night. I write my heart out, And you it's all about. I write to make you see, Still I can't make you love me.

He created a gap to tell me it's over. But I got lost each time he said I should leave. Can you feel this empty void? The more I let go, the bigger it becomes, the more it pulls me in --sucking me in vortex that I, myself could get lost in it. It's in your grasp, I cling to. I thought you could hold me back from falling but your grip --it's slowly loosening and letting me tumble into this massive black hole you purposely created. 

Is this love or am I just catching feelings? I turn him into an art when I'm clueless to know the real meaning. How can I explain this feeling? To feel yet to know if it's real. A strange feeling of missing someone, Though he's here and never gone. He knew nothing of this longing, I don't know where this is going. So then I wrote him in my heart, To turn this feeling into an art.

Forgetting him would be the hardest thing to do. Because I can't seem to get him out of my head. How do you forget someone? A question I hardly know the answer. Because the truth is ..you can't.  Not when he gave you so much to remember. No matter how hard you try to erase the thought of him, he'll still be there --haunting you with remnants of the past. So tell me, how do you forget someone without having to see him in your mind at the mention of his name or when a certain song playing on the radio, it reminds you of him or when you walk pass by a store, his cologne scent suddenly engulfs your senses or when you think of NYC, his voice ringing, "Let's go, babe!" in your head? How do you do that? How do you stop someone from haunting you? Because even though, he isn't here anymore, his ghost keep following me wherever I go as if he has an unfinished business with me. I can see him everywhere in the streets, under the city lights

When being asked who are my muses, I have to say ..all of you. These hands just couldn't stop writing when you came to me with an inspiring tale. Muses? I have a lot of them and I'm not ashamed of it. I can't tell you their names but I can tell you this --he'll be the one who I used to love, the one I left for another, the one I cheated on, the one I secretly in love with but can't call my own, the one who fill in my loneliness at night, the one who I think is a nuisance of wanting my attention, the one who I smiled at when we cross path, the one who I laid eyes on while sipping my favourite frap at Starbucks. Indeed, he can be anyone at all. Anyone that I have encountered at least once or twice or more in my life. And truthfully, I use them without permission to get inspired. Well, isn't that what a muse's job is? To be the source of inspiration to a starving poet like me who feeds on inspirations and turn living souls into poems? My guess is

Pianist has always been my favourite virtuoso. I once dreamt of having someone serenade me with a beautiful music played on the piano. I was trapped within a crowd of waltz dancers whom faces are etched with emptiness as if their souls were taken away by each note of music being played. Faceless with no eyes to see but for a moment, the music stopped --they paused. And I felt as if they were looking straight at me, every single one of those tortured dancing men and women. With the silence surrounded us, they craved for my help, begging me to get their feet to stop dancing. I shuddered in fear but as the music began to play once more, the art of waltz continues, unwillingly by them. They seemed to be lost in the music again, it was haunting them in a strange way that I could not understand why. I tried to help but it was no use as they could not hear me --they could only hear the background music.  And then, the orchestral music disappeared and the dancers were flown away

To the guy who has my heart but fell for another. I was too late to realize my own feelings. I want to say, "I miss you." but surely, you wouldn't believe it. I want to say, "Stay, don't leave me." but you would rather walk away with it. I want to say, "I love you." but it's too late, your heart belongs to her, isn't it?

Another night to waste for wild thoughts. He was a beast and perhaps, I was his beauty? He knew she was toxic, It was a bad, dirty idea, But he let his mind consume anyway. The thought of her fingers, Dancing on his tattooed skin, Intriguing enough to unleash the beast within.

Why is it that every time I look at the sunset, I will immediately think of him? Memories of him were gold that I just couldn't get my eyes off. I caught myself staring at the sunset again to reminisce about the memories I once had with you. Just like the sunset, you were beautiful and only last for a short while but for what it's worth, it happened.  You happened.

I used to have a diary where I would write everything about him. Funny to have recalled old memories of innocent love. I still remember, for days after you left, I turned to my diary to remind me of you and it's like reading an aching novel that has quite a sad ending to tell. Eyes soaked in tears, wishing that everything written in the diary will reel in my life back again with you as my hero.  But it all has changed now.  Turning to my diary is like turning to something nostalgic with humorous tale badly written --of how one could be silly enough to be in love with someone so ridiculous. I laugh to it as my mind reminiscing the memories I once had, like reading a sappy yet trashy novel that got you to say, "What the hell was she thinking?"  But I guess that's what you called as love. It made you do silly things like writing a silly novel that could have gotten a better ending.

My words are all I have to offer. To write is probably the most sincere thing I could ever done for someone. It'll be a long night and she knew, To write this story of you. It won't be a page or two, She'll write a book for you.

I have yet to find someone who cares. Someone whose arms is a place where I would finally find that everything is O.K. "Are you O.K?" That's all it takes. That's the only question she was waiting for someone to finally say it to her face. But she could only smile as a reply --thus, giving a million reasons for him to put his arms around her. She wants him to lift out the weight on her shoulder because it's in his arms where she'll find comfort and peace to ease her beaten but broken heart --it's where she'll find a place to be O.K. with not being O.K.

God! I blame my Chinese dream guy for this. A mandarin song that sings his voice couldn't be more soothing and inspiring eh? Like a singing bird in the morning, You whistle a song for me to hear. 我爱你 Wo ai ni, it sounds enchanting, Letting me smile coated with cheer. In between the lines, I was yearning, Of your voice and touch to hold me here. And your Chinese lullaby keep on playing, To shower me with love from someone so dear.

Wonderful, isn't it? To have a beautiful creature called muse that made words flowing in your veins, indefinitely.  A perfect poem description of the muse in the short story scrap I once wrote. The taste of his kiss, it's deadly. A lethal weapon that could kill me. Like a poison calls for no mercy, In a flash moment, it stings me. The tone of his voice, it's inviting. A sly invitation to where, I can't resist. He rings as a dangerous calling, My heartbeat skips, to that whisper of his. The stars in his eyes, it's heavenly. A gateway to a world, which I travel in. Though his stare gleams a dream for me, Lost my way to infinity and within.

Beauty comes with a price. Desiring something beautiful is just not that easy. A lovely rose, she was. As he saw her from afar, Of how he wanted her so badly, But only to know they were thorns, For he had to bleed himself, tremendously.

Every poet is nasty. They make up words --stealing them from every single damned being they have encountered.  I don't want your love, I want your egotistical to drive me mad. I don't want your touch, I just want to feel your whisper of sweet nothings bathing over me. I don't want your promises, I want all of your lies to sugar-coated me. I don't want your attention, I badly want your ignorance to keep me starving for days. What I want? I certainly don't want you but I want what I want from you. For I am that one nasty little poetess you knew quite well who will suck inspirations out of you --to get my fingers dancing on the papers with words and oh! nothing but words while my heart burning down in flames for you.

He couldn't quit me but selfishly made the decision to quit, anyway. But I'm like a drug that kept him coming back for more. He quit you. Even though you thought you were his cigarette that he lighted up,  smoking high, finding escape, one puff after another, an ecstasy to him.  And you thought you were his tattoo that he inked for fun,  permanently beautiful, carved on skin, one art after another, an obsession to him.  You also thought you were his booze that he drank on lonely nights,  feeling less sober, drunkenly dreaming, one sip after another, an addiction to him. You knew it's a never for him to quit smoking or carving tattoos and even getting wasted.  But he quit you. Maybe you're more than a cigarette he took everyday.  You flew him high in a twist of fate, you were his sweet escape.  Maybe you're more than a tattoo on his skin. Your name is written on his heart once he learn to say it often, you were his art.