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All Rights Reserved — Finishing BBA whilst filling this jar of writings I called ‘potpourris’. Since you’re here, please, have a playlist: shorturl.at/sEP16.

— a poem of potpourris.

I’ll wait.

Beneath all that flickering lights
The chiming euphoria of the night
Between the what-ifs that soon withers
and cruel intentions that occasionally slither

Beyond the tangled trees and shrieking cabin
Moonlight caught our fingers entwined,
Before long, the heartbeat becomes rattles
and our tides finally aligned.

Only then I’d dare to leave a kiss
Long enough to conjure another
Only then I’d risk myself to burn
To have her grace our altar.

But for now, I’m settled with waiting
for our very eyes to meet
whilst I admire her smile; the flickering glint of lust and mischief
and imagine
what lies behind it.


— a poem of potpourris.

If only we had the chance.

We’d be lethal, you and I,
exceedingly harmful to our effects.
Our minds combined, we’d be the storm;
making world sleep with one eye open.

We’d be fatal,
we’d make their state terminal
Our hearts coalesced; theirs wouldn’t stand a chance
We’d cease the beats and make them ours.

I care not for this feeling I’m having
albeit they’re beyond tiring, vibrantly consuming
I’d never end these thoughts, I swear
I guess they were always mine to store and hoard

We’d be deadly together, even when
we haven’t had the chance
to know each other
beyond our names.


— a poem of potpourris.

What I no longer am

I long for your footsteps on winter’s end;
your pace imprinted all the way to my entrance.
You land three knocks on the sill, peek inside,
and let yourself in through the opening.
You crept soundly through the lonely halls
and eventually, reaching my chamber.

You found me all curled up beneath the sheets;
quivering, uncontrollably shivering.
My head tucked far under, eyes wide shut, picturing
both your arms encircling me from behind
your familiarity radiates, warmth pulsates all around
And eventually, they did just that.

At one moment, I’ll look to your side
and see you in complete tranquillity.
You’ll…


— a poem of potpourris.

I’m Devoted

I entered the room, and you were the centre
of the crowd willingly falling to your tale
you had your way with them, no doubt,
to enchant, to entertain, to leave them all impressed

You knew I came there for you,
yet I know not of what you were up to
So I took a seat, decided to wait
whilst you prance around, deep amongst the parade.

You then fill the void next to mine, as I read
lines after lines of nonsensical stanzas to conceal
my deepest accolades towards
your ever divine, perfectly imperfect being.

But you knew; as…


— a poem of potpourris.

What’s your winter?

It feels like broken clockwork
living in a state of disarray.
Our insides would soon freeze;
Weakly flickering, dying candlelight.

This winter truly is malign,
even made the air unbreathable
Hardly any food on the table,
What will I tell the children?

We seem lively but hardly alive;
living of our long-held breaths
We’ve ceased every wish
and pray it’d be worthwhile.

As we enter the long, relentless night
that dark, uncharted alleyway
Even when we’re no longer
those vibrant beings we’re known by
I’m glad it’s still you and me,
day by day.

Winter can mean so much to everyone.
Haunted in debt, chased by the past, even the actual weather.
Whatever it is, make sure you hold your loved ones tight and appreciate them for sticking by.

You may not have them the same tomorrow.


— a poem of potpourris.

Let my trail diminish and my pain subside.

I abscond my being with no plans
all hopes have indeed vacated the ship
My future state is no doubt obscure
For now, at least, I’m in the in-between.

The noises went to a blur, so does my vision
Unspoken words illusory run into one another
I could be fanciful as of this moment, but I
could’ve sworn I saw myself grow nonexistent.

Are these the panacea’s aftermath? To be
a cipher with none to decipher
Are these the side effects they warned me about?
If yes, then I crave perpetual comatose.

I, nolens volens, am surely intoxicated.


— a poem of potpourris.

Please.

The thought of you slurring the softest ‘hello’
with the crescent moon, curved
and carved by your lips
with eyes that shred the ego of men
the figuring hourglass they all love to stare at.

The thought of you lying on my bedside,
one hand on the side, tracing your figurines
seems never-ending,
I’m as fragile as you are exposed.

I’m absolutely, pathetically,
helplessly sick in the mind
for I could not get you out of it.


— a poem of potpourris.

It’s better like this, no?

Even before he left his kiss on my lips
I had held him too close at heart.
I never did want to own his being, yet
I gave him a fragment of mine, my most cherished.

I knew a love like his wouldn’t last to keep
Such a feeling had came along with the kiss
It’s now rooted, in great depths below
For me to always hold, so I’d never be caught short.

Although I’m no longer his nor he’s mine
I’d always tell his next-in-line — I know it’s cruel
Since he was the first who conquered my mountains,
He’d always be here, in loving memory —
as my very first lesson
of being in love.


— a poem of potpourris.

Based on the movie Split.

You’d see him conjure a smile to nothing;
expressionless altogether.
You’d even think he’s a lunatic
for always wanting to clasp the fire.

He refuses to reveal his nature
yet projects unfathomable imaginaries.
He grasps the void so it’d become
himself and no one else’s.

Alas, he surrendered to the voices;
his deeply bruised-self couldn’t go further
but no one caught his frail remnants
and he crashed like waves to the pavement.

He feels without reacting
and reacts without feelings.
He cowers to complete stillness
as he succumbs his turn to
whoever’s next to have the light.

All this time, he seeks only help
for he was hanging by a thread
He was describing his alter egos;
his best versions and something more.

Lita Tiara

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