Hey, my name's Deborah. You can call me Debz :)
Just a 20 year-old girl waiting for the right guy...
That guy that every girl knows...
Who visits her in her dreams, roaming her subconscious mind but never materialises...
*sigh* I guess this is an outlet for my romantic ramblings, and other things that traverse my mind :3
All my posts are mine unless stated otherwise ;)
Did I mention that I'm staying a virgin 'til I get married?? Apparently that's rare these days... :/

Waiting For Love...

and other things ;)

Something For Valentine’s Day (1)

These petals need to be crimson,
Your lips are barely blue,
She’s bleeding you of love,
But these roses are too few.

Your eyes don’t flicker for a second,
They just fluctuate in hue,
How much more love could you possibly give,
Without dehydrating the fabric of you?

These petals are now rich in red,
You’ve bled past Valentine’s curfew,
She’s loved up and seated on Cupid’s cloud,
Eating chocolate-tipped stars as she watches you.

Your love is still seeping,
She could care less about you,
You have given until your drip ran dry,
And she hasn’t the faintest clue.

Two must seek to give,
Reciprocate more times than a few,
So that Love may go from A to B
And back again, refreshed and anew.

Who Else But You?

He didn’t have the common decency
to break me as most would, with
poorly-placed pauses and whispered
words drowned out by internal
screams and the shattering of
marble dreams, instead
he shut me down
with ‘It’s not you, it’s me
and threw away the bloody key,
which landed in a place I dare not reach…

And so, my legs walked their way
to your forever open bedroom door
because who else but you
could cup my heart in their hands
as though it was the face
of someone who had stopped breathing?
You resuscitated it, from pale-blue and
barely beating to ruby-red
and fearfully teetering towards an attack
that would be complete fault of my own,
keeping the pace of *inhale*—-*exhale*
as you filled me with unsaid romantic words,
stitched together in lyrical verse fit
for jazz songs, and fantasies made to be
poetically spoken, in hopes that this one-sided
routine could maybe become a tango
of tongues between your Bourbon lips.

You replaced the wisps of mundane
on which I lived with
billows of Life founded on a love
I never knew you capable of conceiving
and in doing so, fettered me to you
as the suggestive roll of your hips
conjured imaginings that tickled my
stomach, dissolving dead butterflies
and waking the moths that dwelled there.

And so again, who else but you
could I be referring to when
I’m on my knees, praying
in a room of paintings and cherubim,
Please… Let me love him…

Different Kinds Of ‘Sorry’ (ii)

The kind that starts
with the removal of
clothes discarded
like wrapping paper
to reveal the imperfect
figurine stores hesitate
to sell — with her
becoming curves and
her doe eyes darting while
her hands move to cover
what she deems unsightly, her
not-so-angular face flushed
as she awaits the touch of words
that will either scar her or
save her from inner demons
that mock her with ‘Fee Fi Fo Fum's;
she will doubt, ‘You are beautiful’,
because Tom, Dick, and Harry used
the exact same line, but
her soul will respond to
the sincerity in unwavering eyes,
allowing love to be shown to her body
- inside and out -
in a way that embodies reverence
and a ‘sorry’ that wasn’t yours to say…

A brief moment? Please, I
Want nothing more than to gaze
Into your eyes again, and I want
Nothing less than a look in my
Direction. They say that eyes are the windows
Of the soul so let me search for the smidgen of emotion that
Will act as my buoy, because I’m drowning in the sea
Of my own tears… Each act of indifference
From you turns insignificant trickles into unforgiving torrents,
Ostracising me from myself with the resulting whirlpool that
Plunges me… into a consuming darkness…
Oh please a cold glare would suffice, I would be the
Recipient of the sweetest frostbite,
Trembling from the attention while shivering for warmth,
Unperturbed by the
Numbness I’m sure to feel…
If you would only give me a chance, a fleeting glance
To let me know you feel something for me,
Yet you never grant me a window of opportunity.

Message In A Bottle

I can only hope
that every
tremulous touch
and cautious kiss,
each sweeping caress
that was a statement of bliss
travels through the waves of
pleasure caused by the
ripple effect of my
fingers across
the stretch
of your skin
—- like a message
in a bottle
tossed out
to sea —- in hopes that
they will convey what my
words cannot as they permeate
into the fabric of your thought so
you can realise just how much
I love you.

Dropped You Like A Mobile Phone


the way a mobile phone is
when its owner releases it mere
inches away from a close, solid
surface and so freefalls to
a possible break or end.


were her ‘mobile phone’ weren’t you?
Constantly cradled in the crib
of the palm of her hand, screen
stroked and poked, volume switched
from high to low, buttons pushed


you were her personal remote control…
and you allowed her to watch all of
her favourite channels without
so much as an over-usage toll;
she played with you like


girl too young to care for her
toys would play with a doll,
bending you, almost breaking
you, straining you into
stress; you were a mess


to her in more ways than one.
She made you vibrate and ring
with preset tones that she
had downloaded, hard-coded in
your bones… Now she wants another


one with more functions
and features, an appealing
creature who will replace
you who lays flat, broken and
battered on her living room floor.

It Saddens Me…

It saddens me to think that
if I was a guy
we may never have been friends.

It saddens me to think that
not a single guy
has proven your prejudices wrong.

It saddens me to think that
because of the guys you’ve met or observed,
the mental suit you immediately dress
every other guy in morphs them into pricks
unworthy of a second glance.

It saddens me to think that
you may never allow yourself to experience
the love which you so beautifully write about
yet have so little faith in…

Sun And Moon

Sorry that I haven’t been around. I’ve had a bit of a block… (I blame college.)
Ideas came but I couldn’t make them materialise on paper or through my keyboard. :/

Read along if you wish:

Sun wants to run his fingers
Through Moon’s hair
And play with the stars he
Is sure to find there
But fears, in his excitement,
His breath will scorch
Her pearl face and mar its beauty
And so settles as her torch.

Moon is scared that her bruised
Face is seen each night
By Sun when his rays spotlight her
Skin and she blushes bright,
But she’s reassured, every time,
When Sun’s dawn arrives,
Shortly followed by his rise and he
Steals a glimpse - Moon’s pleasant surprise.

Sun speaks in boisterous waves
Of heat that traverse space,
Simmering down to quiet surges
That caress Moon’s face,
Whereas Moon remains silent,
Reflecting Sun’s light back
To him, carried on cosmic rays
With her lunar love intact.

Distance does not break their
Connection, it strengthens
What nearness does not allow
- the pull as time apart lengthens -
But when Sun, Moon, and Earth
Align, all that Sun has to give
Is jealously basked in by Moon as Earth
Experiences a solar eclipse.

I fell for his lips,
Pale, unkissed, like skin without
Blessing from the sun.

I fell for the blue
Of his eyes, like the vast skies
That separate us;

Their gaze stretching for
Miles upon miles into souls,
Searching for red thread.

I fell for the way
His eyes encompass the love
He shoots from his bow,

Firing arrows with
Hearts for heads at desperate
Targets wanting love.

I fell for his curls,
I fell in love with the man
People call Cupid.

The Belief Of A Romantic

I believe in a love that most people think
No longer exists.
We have watched as two key practices
Toppled over the brink,
Pushed by the hands of Crass and Infidelity,
Weakened by peer-pressure and teenage pregnancy,
Outweighed by the power of money;
Love is now the widow of Chivalry yet still follows Chastity.

I believe in a love that both men
And women no longer have faith in,
The kind of love that shakes you
Right down to your core when
You realise just how vulnerable
Your heart has become, like a deer
On open-ground staring down the
Barrel of a gun, wanting to run but fear makes it unable.

I believe in a love that children of today
Only hear about in stories such as
‘Romeo and Juliet’, two souls intertwined by
The red string of fate that did not fray
In the face of opposition from malicious hearts
Nor did they stray from one another when days remained
Dark; they stayed true to the vow -
Until death do us part’.

Indeed, I am old-fashioned in my belief and
A dreamer in addition,
But I will continue to dream of a love that is true
Until the day arrives when that dream comes to fruition.

Missing Someone

We pay with hollow mornings.

Woken by the absence of
warmth experienced when
reaching out to simply touch, to
feel the special someone that should
be there to make the morning good by
starting it off with a forehead kiss,
but instead the intangible hands
of chilling air massage
the extended arm.
We pay with lonely nights.

The kind spent sprawled
- motionless -
atop cold, unmade bedsheets,
shrouded in silence and darkness,
whilst staring up at the ceiling, the screen
on which memories of precious times
are projected by our minds through
the lenses of eyes that leak
mute tears.
We pay with unfinished conversations.

Those that begin in dreams,
a mixture of recollections and sub-
conscious hopes for the future weaved
into one, allowing a seemingly short moment
of contentment, stretched over the space of slumbering
hours to weaken the grip of desperation knotted
around our hearts and necks, but as the climax
approaches the presence of reality phases
out fantasies and leaves disappointment.
We are refunded with the sound of snoring.

Be it audibly shallow breaths or the
type that sounds like unsuccessful choking,
the joy of having them back within arm’s reach
shadows thoughts of wanting to place a pillow upon
their face, lightly slapping them awake and quickly pretending
to have been asleep, or whispering how much we had
missed them - their nearness, the twinkle in
their eyes, the sensation brought about by the
notes hit in their laughter
- into their ears.
We are refunded with pleasing sights.

Hair, tousled from tossing and
turning in the night, looking sexy
or just plain ridiculous; the curve of
smiling lips; the slight differences, coupled
with unchanged features in their appearance, compared
to the mental snapshot taken the day
that they turned on their heel
and paused for a moment
before walking away.
We are refunded without unforeseen complications.

If you love someone, set them free.
If they come back, it was meant to be.

Words previously disbelieved dance to the beat
of our hearts on the dissipating clouds of our minds
and fall, like summer rain, onto cheeks as that special
someone wipes them away with the nub of a thumb,
licks them as though they are droplets
of the purest water, or kisses them
as though they are diamonds.

Missing someone costs us nothing if they return and stay…

Broken Hearts, Frozen Hearts

Broken hearts know tears all too well,
Her’s has been broken time and time again,
No wonder she’s retreated back into her shell.
Before, you could hear the ocean in the thin walls
Of her tiny shell and smell the salt of lonely seas,
But now you can’t even hear the tide as it falls.

She is scattered,
Like leaves in mid October,
Her frail form frigid.
All of the warmth was stolen
By a boy who masqueraded as a man.
He didn’t appreciate her, nor would he ever.

Her heart is fractured,
Like the bones of accident-prone youths,
Encased in a cast that’s rigid.
The cold - his parting gift, a token -
Penetrated the cast and made its way in.
She didn’t want to feel again… never, never, never.

Normal text: Joaquin (thoughtsofpoetry)
Italics: Me (debzdkwfl)
(My first collab ever xD)

Blackened Heart

You chucked coal
into the flickering flames
of my love for you,
stirring them up to
an intense, roaring fire
that only managed
to scald me, blackening
the chambers of my heart.

I mistook the product of ‘us
- opaque, thick fumes - for
incense, thinking that you
were sanctifying me with
your essence
when you were really
showering me in soot;
the type that tortures
lungs with tickles,
inciting a cycle
of coughing and
wheezing until
one craves the need
to simply breathe.

Your fuel was my demise
as you infused my being
with lies, particles
that mounted in the
bottom of my heart like
tar in a smoker’s lungs
and I asked you, ‘Why?’,
to which you immediately
replied, ‘Everything is
more beautiful when
engulfed by darkness
and left to die