Weak; a poem dedicated to my dear




liable to break or give way under pressure; easily damaged.

I’m a little weak when it comes to you, it’s true

The shape of you, the taste of you, it’s hard to resist

I know I’ve said I can live without you, but it’s a bluff;

A fake out

If I start, I may not stop, I’m a bad liar

I’m trying not to think about you

I’m trying not to give up my resolution

Still thinking about it all, caught up in your texture

The hot weather doesn’t help

Just a little indulgence

I had you today, dark

Oh babeh 🍫




“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” ― Oscar Wilde

I’m scared to be me. Honestly, what if people think I’m so weird and they don’t wanna be my friend. Ugh there are so many thoughts in my head about being me or being an acceptable version of me.

Besides, being me is so weird (yes even I find myself weird or maybe it’s cause I know what’s normal which makes me think that whatever I do IS weird?? Does that make sense):

I’ve talked to random people in the train stations, i ask why even though i know the answer to a question, but i just don’t know why is it that answer; you get me?

There are so many other oddball things only i do, or, at least it seems that way in my family.

i think people who are 100% themselves to other people are courageous. Because they put themselves out there for people to criticise, to understand, to find.