i. ever since you've left, 

my home has been empty.

it refuses to fill in the cracks

you've left on its spine,

the marks of your muddy hands

you've impressed on its chest,

the smell of your sweat mingled

with the bittersweet taste of love

flocking around each of its corners.

my home and i are having

a hard time forgetting you.

ii. ache and nostalgia crawled out 

of the same womb, 

belonged to the same stars,

their tastes on my tongue feel 

almost like two sisters 

torn apart in a war.

ache and nostalgia --

both come uninvited,

make themselves a home

in my soul and refuse to leave.

they are the worst tenants,

who do not pay the rents,

dirty your place and wreck your home.

but darling, they won't leave

not until you show them the door.

iii. i feel so incomplete these days.

it seems someone has torn 

some of my best pages,

ripped apart my best stanzas.

i am broken and messed but i still

remain art and that's my strength.