You Became My Sadness

I hate to write 
About how this pain stayed after old happiness
I hate to admit  that in this world, 
You became my sadness 

I hate to remember
Sitting beside you, you were looking at me
Without wearing an expression that mirrors my feelings 

I hate to think that I always write 
About our moments on the bus going home
Seemed you were en route to your destination
Taking the best part of my heart
And turning the rest into dust 

I hate to let you hear this
When I admit this was written for you.

—Jhunamae Moja(Smnllyl,you became my sadness)
Journal Date: 02.14.2023

Waiting

For the past eight years, waiting has been my game. It was a game of hoping for you to miss me and disappoint me at the same time. It was the game of waiting for you to find another love around your circle and wanting you back at the same time. It was the game of waiting for another rejection. It was the game of loving another soul while waiting for you to ghost me again. Because I became your game. Waiting for you is the game I can not lose. Waiting is love.

—Jhunamae Moja (Smnllyl, waiting)

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Poor

This love is poor in every way. We can not see it in our purses of lucky coins. It shows no match even in the cheapest stone in the world. Someone will just toss it back into the ocean like a broken shell. Ended up planting what-ifs instead of plans. We can not grow this love because this is poor —that we can not afford even just friendship.

—Jhunamae Moja (Smnllyl, poor)

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Spilled Ink

I sometimes took note of every word you told me that made me live, confused, and sad. When I should've written everything. When every time I talked to you, I have nothing to shield myself from loving you more continuously and somehow secretly.

Those written words seemed spilled ink that glows after the fallout. It glows on the nights I grieve. I feel weak for needing to grieve since no one has died. And it doesn’t make sense that I grieve so much for someone who was no longer mine. 

And I am now spending my 8th year of mourning and erasing the stain you left me. 

—Jhunamae Moja (Smnllyl,spilled ink)

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Maybe Not

And then, the butterflies in my stomach will turn into anxiety of not having you. That I will still willing to give the gigantic part of me in exchange for the smallest broken part of you. 

—Jhunamae Moja(Smnllyl, maybe not)

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Maybe Now

And now, I long for the night to hear how your day went. To laugh at them through our giddy comments. I long for the night I write everything you can tell me. To cherish them now that even a word can not exist in our inboxes. I long for that six days I have freely hugged you. Because now, I just cuddle with the pain. 

–Jhunamae Moja (Smnllyl, maybe now)

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Maybe Someday

And someday, I will write not because of pain and foolishness but because it's my talent and I have good reason to start a page.

–Jhunamae Moja (Smnllyl, maybe someday)

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