Pieces of Peace: For Every Person I’ve Been With

Photo by Andrea Pol

Photo by Andrea Pol

I was thirteen-years-old when I had my first kiss.  It was wet. I didn’t understand what was happening. Was it supposed to feel this way? I’ve watched enough teen sitcoms and romantic comedies to know how a kiss should look like. Assuming it felt as great as having a killer soundtrack while you’re making out. But there was no Sixpence the Richer playing during my first kiss. We were surrounded by our other classmates who were also curious. We were almost teenagers with raging hormones.

But it has to feel better than just wet right? I was thirteen and trying to understand my own body. Puberty for boys is discovering how to pleasure yourself. Meanwhile, girls have to go through blood once a month. We were confused on how we were supposed to feel good. For me, I thought having my first kiss would feel amazing. Instead, it was nothing but wet. The worse part was he wasn’t even my boyfriend. It was only curiosity.

Now, we are not on speaking terms. I last saw you four years ago.  It was just a wave and a simple hello. Nothing but a few seconds passing by the street. But for some reason, our mothers still talk. I am updated from time to time about where you are and how you’re doing.

I was fourteen-years-old and he was a year younger than me at the time. It felt weird being older than he was. I was not aware this was normal and that it was okay if a girl was a little older. But I kept it a secret because I was scared. It did not matter how much I liked him, what mattered was his age. Imagine being fourteen and being called a cougar. We didn’t break up because of how I felt about our minor age difference. We broke up because he called me crazy and I took offense to it.

It took me a few years to talk to you again. But all I asked was for a book and nothing else. I didn’t bother to ask how you’re doing or hows college. Nope, I just wanted to know if you had a book I needed to borrow.

I was sixteen and I was slightly clueless. It was hard for me to notice if someone is flirting with me. When I asked you who you liked, you gave me clues. I was oblivious to the fact you were trying to say it was me. I spent the past few weeks still smiling about our nine-hour conversation.  I hoped you liked me back. Well, you did but I was too late to read your subtle hints. You were already dating someone else.

I’m happy you’re with someone who was able to read you well. I treated your subtilty like some code I needed to decipher.  Though all I needed was an answer to whom you liked back in high school.

I was eighteen and it was a doozy. They told to test the waters instead I went overboard. I won’t go into detail about every person I’ve dated. Heck, if I did it would take a novel or two. But one caught my eye, he was quite the catch. He was charming and knew how to put up an act. He was an aspiring actor, perhaps he needed some practice. But I didn’t like the fact I was your test run for love scenes. Because I believed the charade up to the point I saw you kiss someone else. Drunk and trying to find motivation for your next background role.

Goodluck on your career I guess. Saw you on TV once and then I turned it off.

I think I was nineteen when I met you. You were cute, sweet, and knew how to make a girl fall. If anyone has a masters in flirtation, you’d be the one. You had me thinking you’d stick for the long run. But no, come a few days before Christmas day. You broke my heart and wrapped it in a bow. I spent months crying about what have I done wrong.  Was I too clingy or too needy? Did my depression turn you away? Or was it because I wasn’t quick to jump into bed you decided I was a waste of your time.

Now, we are sort of on speaking terms. I’ve followed you back on Instagram and friended you on Facebook. I was able to move on when I realized you were a jerk. Perhaps you’d changed but I’m not betting on second chances to see if you did.

The dreaded twenties, I hate Tinder and OkCupid. Twenty-two matches a day, gave me an interesting set of people. The people I’ve met either want hook-ups or dress me up in a metal Bikini like Princess Leia. One thing I’ve learned about online dating is to leave out you’re a fan of Star Wars. I didn’t like any of the invitations. From having sex while Darth Vader’s theme song played in the background to dressing up as Darth Maul in bed. The second one still makes me wonder how he watches Phantom Menace.

I once met a girl who told me I wasn’t a bisexual. She told me I was a confused lesbian. Another refused to date me because I’ve been with men. Even my sexuality worked against me. I never want to go back to Tinder again.

And then before I’d ask out a magician I’ve met on Tinder, an old High school friend gave me an offer. He knew of my dating history and pitched a guy he thought I’d like. I never liked blind dates but I thought what the heck. A year later, we are still together. Someone who was able to balance my crazy, understand my experiences, and love me.

We had a conversation about death the first time we met. Again we talked about death.  It’s a gruesome and depressing subject but for some reason with me, it’s a topic unavoided. He told me how he wants me to be alive and I didn’t have to die today. He wanted us to grow old together. He wanted to see where my future could take me and if he can be part of it. I cried when he said he wanted me to be alive. I’ve had others tell me this as well but he was the first boyfriend to say it too.

He is the first relationship I’ve ever had who had me unashamed of my mental illness. The first of many who didn’t see my anxiety as a character trait.  He didn’t see my depression as a burden but something to overcome. Out of everyone I’ve ever been with he made me cry because I was happy.


Goodbye Alice (Sad Truth of Us)

Photo by Tiko Giorgadze on Unsplash

we have an inevitable expiration date
at some point in our lives
we would part, the cause still unknown
there will come a day
where one of us has a piece of the other
sadly, one bigger than the other
it hurts knowing this fate
that we would only be memories
tucked into our subconscious
We will only be an anecdote
Part of small talk, chit-chat
and mentioned in conversations
The next few days, months
(hopefully years)
Would become recollections
We would be reminiscences of our youth
It pains me knowing that
we may never grow old together
we may never have our wedding dance
Or come home to our marital bed
They would turn into fantasies
Hypothetical situations, unimaginable scenarios
An imaginary world we built for ourselves
Hanging in disbelief of this uncertain expectation
Of this closing chapter
And that is the sad truth of us

Pieces of Peace: Midnight ramblings for a soulmate

Photo by Alex Robert via Unsplash


Is there such a thing as soulmates in the romantic sense of the term? I once thought a past love of mine was my soulmate. Though my evidence was shallow and my reasons could be pure coincidences and not handed out by fate. Now, 12:20 a.m on the clock I stay up wondering if you are my soulmate. Could you be the one I would spend the rest of my life with? Or are you another person to fill the time until the universe hands me my actual soulmate?

But there is no doubt in my mind that I love you. I love you so much, in fact, I feel guilty for harmless fantasies. I sound a little crazy, it could be the alcohol talking or my drowsiness catching up with my train of thought.  But I do love you that even in my imagination I could not want to hurt you.

ironic inspiration


Thank you for the love
I am blessed
But you have damned my poetry
With every touch
I hear angels
With every written line
The devil would detest
Hell bent on ruins
Of my pathetic verses
Interrupting my flow
It’s love, for all they know
Passion and angst
Replaced with a metaphor
Stripping my enthusiasm
In between the sheets
My voice lost in a room
Papers scattered on the floor
You turned my writing
Into a garden
My words as seeds
My lyrics do not nurture
But with you
Here’s a flower

Loveless Definition


You told me she loved you
You reassured me that she loved you
But I can see the bruises on your skin
And don’t you dare say you like it rough
There’s a difference between love and violence
I know that you were screaming the night before
Then by morning all you give is silence
Darling that is not love
Love is a painful metaphor not to be taken literally

Love isn’t words that crack your spine
Love isn’t black and blue
Love wouldn’t twist your shoulder
Love wouldn’t threaten you with a knife
At three in the morning
Love will never create bullshit excuses
To justify the marks they left on your arms
Love will never give you unfair consequences
Love will never hurt you the way she does

You’re confusing an embrace with her grip
She’s choking you and I don’t want to lose you
I don’t want the air to suddenly fade
from your lungs, and your last breath is her name
please find the strength to walk away
sneak out in the middle of the night
be anywhere else as long as it is not by her side

leave before you can’t even stand
leave before she chains you through twisted words
her eyes lackluster as she apologizes
her promises were meant to be broken
she said she’d love you until days end
but does it have to be yours?

Pieces of Peace: “New Love, past pieces”


Now explain to me this: how can you possibly love me?

How you can love someone so damaged baffles me because I can’t see what you see. But I would like to welcome you here, where every single one of my relationships came to die.

Oh they’re all still alive; they just decided they were better off living without me though there were moments where I was the one who cut the ties and declined the pending relationship status. However I rather not explain moments or misinterpreted words and going into full detail about what led to our demise.

Instead let me introduce to you the pieces I mention in most of my work, actual pieces, things they gave before deciding to call it quits. Before one of us grew tired of the other and before one of us chose someone else.

Fair warning, my past loves are not exactly picturesque.

Here’s the first piece a worn out shirt, it’s still in my closet buried beneath most of my other clothes. Its red, his favourite colour and it was mine too for a brief time. Because I was fourteen and forcing myself to believe we were soul mates. So stupid to fall for the first boy to give me the attention I thought I deserved. I watched too many romantic comedies if you asked me, because when a boy smiled and said the kindest of words I was hooked.

Three days later he called me crazy and we broke up after fighting about something so insignificant only two teenagers would find it as a reason to break up.

And now the next piece is a cliché, the usual gift for your first month together. It’s a teddy bear; I cuddled it as much as we did. It’s still on my desk because it fits the aesthetics. When I’m drunk and thinking of him I stare at the bear wondering every single what if. He was “the one that got away” in other words I was a clueless bitch who didn’t understand how a relationship worked. I loved his company yet I didn’t show it.

He gave me flowers, I scoffed at the bouquet and said hated roses then he gave me chocolates I ate them of course. He never asked for anything so I never gave.

I wonder if he thought of me as often as I thought of him. Looking back at how we left things, I was apologizing and I forgot what for. But I do remember him leaving me in the cafe because he didn’t want to fight anymore.

The third one is on my bookshelf, it’s been sitting there for a while collecting dust. It’s a book, a pretty good one too. I didn’t know him well but I did wish he came with a premise so I knew what to expect. Instead I was impressed with his words and blindsided by his plot twist, a week before Christmas he decided I was only worth two weeks.

I never actually finished the book but I always tell people it’s my favourite. When in fact it’s not, I think the only lines I’ve re-read over and over were the ones he wrote on the front page hoping that I’d love his gift.

I did for a moment because I was so in love with him that I associated my feelings with the book and the only reason why it’s still on my shelf is because even if he didn’t stay doesn’t mean the book has to pay the price for his stupid mistake.

I can stop if you want; because I already mentioned three out of five and yes I’ve shortened the list for your benefit. You do not need to know the others because most of them are in the trash. You might want to walk away now before I get to the last two. Honestly I wouldn’t even blame you.

So here’s our fourth piece, like it? It’s another cliché it’s his jacket. It’s too big for me; I don’t know why I still have it. I even washed it because I didn’t like the smell of beer and cigarettes

I thank God it doesn’t smell like him anymore because I see that jacket and I remember that night.  He said he was drunk, but even if you drown enough bottles and had enough shots you would know what your girlfriend looked like in a hazy state. It’s easy to be unfaithful in a relationship that bored you, though it still hurt when I saw him tonguing with another bitch.  He was a firm believer in “actions speak louder than words” so instead of saying he no longer wanted to be with me, he showed it.

I forgot to give his stupid jacket back because if I saw his face I might end up punching him again. But we’re all good; he said I could keep it now it’s just for display.  A daily reminder that anyone can screw you over.

And here it is the fifth and final piece, a broken CD. It’s from this boy and I’m pretty sure you’ve heard about him. There isn’t anyone who doesn’t know about the feelings I had for him, my manic pixie dream boy.

They said that he and I were soul mates, meant to be and fate finally brought us to meet and I broke the mix CD he gave me hoping it would shatter that image of us.

It took around… three years until I decided we were better of co-existing because I was tired of being a hopeless romantic thinking he would finally feel the same way. I placed him on a pedestal and after three years I finally kicked him off it.

Rather than trying to stitch moments to be something we could’ve been. We are now dancing the waltz of constant avoidance and forced distance.

Do you still love me? Because I don’t want you to be part of this museum of faults, I do not want you to be with this person carrying this much baggage. I’m willing to give you an exit strategy, there’s a map in my pocket that will lead you to the nearest exit.


Pieces of Peace: i am not your manic pixie dream girl


I could just be some hipster wanna be but instead you called me a manic pixie dream girl” some two dimensional literary trope.

It was sweet at first how you liked me the moment you saw me though that should’ve been a red flag. You said the moment you saw me and not the moment you met me. Instead of asking me out for coffee, you decided to stare at me from afar. You said you were shy around attractive girls, thanks for the flattery but a “hello” would be more appreciated.

Congratulations you finally asked me out but I could tell that you were disappointed. You were a writer, a poet you specifically said, and you hoped I would fill the lines of your leather bounded journals. You mistook my energy as bubbly, my smile as charismatic and my reserved answers as mysterious.

My appearance might’ve deceived you and I am not even sporting bangs! Yes I like vintage and dress like I’m walking out of a 2006 pop punk music video but I am not a two dimensional trope.

Sure I said I have a place in my heart for quirky films and indie flicks. Yes I said that I prefer indie pop over mainstream pop. My favourite band has some obscure name and my favourite movie was directed by Wes Anderson. But like I said, maybe I’m an annoying hipster chick and not someone who is setting up your romantic storyline.

I am not a storyline.  I am not going to be with you for 500 torturous days where you’ll only love me for a split second until you see my flaws. Until you realize that I am as mundane as you are. I did not like everything you did, i did not brush off every mistake you’ve made with “I understand” and I broke your image when I was talking like a normal person. I forgot to speak in metaphors and confusing pop culture analogies. You hated that I was real.

When you realized not everything was an adventure, not everything that came out of my mouth was a snarky comment and I was boring to say the least. You got tired of me when I preferred to stay in, when I didn’t want to resolve our fight with sex, when I recalled my day at work or at school and you definitely hated me the moment you realized I am not as perfect as you wrote me out to be.

Please fall in love with a person, it’s such a treacherous thing to fall for a character you created.