all of you,
watch us!
as we, united,
stand
under the blinding lights
of pride
and glory.

we will reach our rightful victory!

it's almost two in the morning.
i toss and turn,
roll around--
nothing.

sighing, i sit up,
and think to myself,
"This hasn't happened in a while."

my mind automatically goes back to that time,
when i was younger,
and our family went to the capital.
slept in some fancy hotel
with some fancy people
with their fancy clothes.

on the second night we stayed there,
i couldn't get a wink of sleep.
i don't know whether if it was because of exhaustion
or something else.

naturally,
the next morning was hell.
i was pissy and bored
as we waited for father in the lobby.
i couldn't take a nap in public because, well,
i had my pride, of course!

chewing a gum quite aggressively,
i observed my surroundings.
my gaze hopped from one person to another.
a royal from a country i haven't even heard of.
an important figure in politics.
a celebrity.
a kid.

white blonde hair?

i haven't seen hair of that shade.
it was quite unnatural here.
i whipped my head to the left and saw
two beautiful people.

the taller was around my age.
he had the same mop of hair as the kid i saw (the shorter).
the child, on the other hand,
was most probably no older than six.
they were both awesome.

the light glowed on their figures,
and it looked like they were godsend.

i haven't seen anything more beautiful.

and who knew that who knows how many years later,
i would find myself looking back on that vivid memory.

as if it had happened yesterday.

(i feel like i'm still stuck in that time.)

if i were made out of iron,
then you are my flame--
melted my barriers and,
molded me
to who i am
today.

consume us,
oh, pools of darkness around.
your bottomless ponds
look back at us,
don't they?

let us climb up your nest,
and sew your threads.
your golden crown
will never waver,
your highness.

use us,
destroy us,
make us your puppets, materials, playthings,
anything.

we are yours.

pressed against the cold bricks
outside the church,
she smiles around your lips,
her breath harsh on your face,
her scent compelling you with want;
you ravish her mouth,
thinking that maybe if you went deep enough,
you could stay inside her forever.
the drizzle comes to a stop,
and you hear nothing but the pastor saying:
Refrain from sin,
and He will let you in His Kingdom!

she was a fierce girl:
her wild, red hair stood out among the rest
her hazel eyes sparkled despite the angsts.

she worked hard, refusing to sell herself,
even if his deadline was nearing.

(she promised him.)

her hope and naivety were smashed into pieces
as she slowly ran out of time.

(his time.)

without his knowledge,
she degraded herself.

("As long as it's for you, this pain doesn't hurt me.")

her health deteriorated
as his became better.

curled up in a corner, naked and bare,
she counted the money she earned.

and smiled.



he was a plain boy:
his brown hair wouldn't stay flat
his blue eyes, dull.

he thought of others before of himself
and that's why she fell in love.

(it was the same for him too.)

he collapsed one day,
pain spreading on his chest.

(he knew that that was it.)

he tried denying her support,
but her earnest eyes refused to let him.

("Laughing with you by my side—I'll be fine with just this.")

he slowly became better,
and he planned all sorts of trips for the both of them.

they'd go have a romantic dinner by the beach in summer,
they'd spend new year's cuddled up together, hot chocolate warming them up.

after his surgery, he searched for her—his heart, filled with gratitude
he never found her again.


the scar on his chest would never fade.

and no matter how much i tell myself that i will never be anything to you but a hole to ****, as i twist my head back to look at you, your eyes closed with bliss, the space between your eyes wrinkled, and your lips stuttering with harsh grunts with every ****** of your body in me,
a whine escapes my mouth,
and almost carelessly, as if it cost you nothing at all,
you reach down down down;
mercy comes in the form of your tongue on my lips, and like a parched traveler, i drink from your mouth
as if it were an oasis in this ****** wasteland

scream
  loudly.
     fill this world—this void
with your colors.

raise your head up high,
    chin up.
never forget—
       nonetheless, forgive.

          let the wild beating of your heart
 run and dance with this stuffy atmosphere.

let it all be free.

it's six in the morning,
and the birds aren't singing.
the clouds are rumbling,
and the winds are roaring.
this quite old
and creaky house
somehow manages to muffle
the noises—
with the help
of my cozy, blue blanket,
a warm cup of black coffee,
and you,
Mom.

barefoot
on grass
palms raised
up high
closed eyes

breathe

(because the world isn't as terrible as you think it is.)

close
your eyes.
rid yourself
of the wrinkles
between your brows.
forget
about everything.

inhale.
exhale.

and fly.

the raindrops
that had been
eternally falling down
splash wildly
back to the sky

why are you so enchanted by the light?
why do you keep on sticking to bright streetlamps
when strolling
through cold, quiet streets
bare of any living being?

(with their fingers crossed behind their backs
and knives hidden in their smiles)
the creatures mischievously sneaking around in the dark
are given the benefit
of spotting you right away

they easily observe you
(and see through your hesitant footsteps and shivering arms)
from a safe distance
and wait
for the chance to pounce

what is it
that makes you so
terrified
of the darkness?

is it because of the stories your mother told you
when you were a wee, little thing?
when you could barely understand the words coming out of her mouth?
when all you could believe in were your mother's words?

"Remember this: always walk under the streetlights, so the monsters don't chase you. They're terribly frightened by the light."

child,
do not be afraid
of slipping in the darkness.
do not be afraid
of what kind of unknown being lurks inside.
do not be afraid
of breathing the same air as your predators.

why not blend with them
as they search through their surroundings
all terribly confused
as to where their prey was
as you observe
(and see through their hesitant eyes and shivering backs)
from the shadows
and wait
for the chance to pounce?

/ after all,
creatures of the dark
rarely expect the attack
coming from their own side,
don't they? /

they say we make our own choices,
that we choose our own paths.
we only have ourselves to blame,
if we ever fail.

but we,
we are all bound
by the same chains,
threads,
and webs
of the inevitable.

we meet new people,
and from thereon,
they have affected us
and,
we have affected their futures.

we spit out words--
words that may not hold meaning to us--
but influence others
so, so much
(in all kinds of ways--the good, the bad, and the in-between).

remember this:
we should not be pulled down by our past.

rather:
it is because we only have one past,
but we have infinite futures.

the tiny footsteps
   of the little, black ants
reverberate
   with a thunderous sound
throughout the room
   of sheer determination.

S H O U T
   your heart out.

release
       all of your
unhealthily bottled-up
                  anger.

   scream out
your frustrations,
       slash the atmosphere
with your words.

and we will be here to take them all in.

i giggle at a friend's joke
and wave goodbye to them.
i walk by the streets, kicking rocks
and thinking of dumb old things.

i open the door to the house,
and i am almost used to the sharp, berating voices inside.

i shut them out,
and lay exhausted on my bed.

putting an arm over my eyes,
i rest.

and wake up to them,
looking at me with horrified eyes.
my room is a mess--
a beheaded stuffed bear,
broken ceramics,
crushed scissors,
a butcher knife in my hand,
and warm, crimson fluid streaming down my arm.

what happened, i wonder?

gray.

black.

white.

his friends are gray.
his family is black.
the sky is white.

he feels like he's going insane,
running and pushing through the crowds
because why were the colors escaping him?

does he have to live through this boring, mundane and colorless earth?

he pants,
trying to catch his breath.
his surroundings, full of grays and blacks.

("Why is everything so black and white and gray and black and gray and white?")

he puts a smile on his face instead,
gathers around his friends.

he thinks he sees yellow.
but his sight keeps on betraying him.

he tries living in a banal, monochromatic world.

but.

he picks up a razor,
not heeding the warning:
Curiosity killed the cat.

(at least red was so much more beautiful than black and white and gray and black and gray and white.)

summer cicadas.
laughter from children.
crows and their tragic melodies.
sick feelings of deja vu.
a scream
or two.
a corpse found.

S i l e n c e .

summer cicadas.
laughter from children.
when will this loop just
.stop.

1.) i don't want another kid to feel the same way i did.

2.) some kids just really want to be hugged and told that they are loved.

3.) some kids need to know that someone cares about them.

4.) some kids are too sad that they become misunderstood—

5.)—i want to understand.

6.) i want kids to grow up not thinking that they wanted to die every time they woke up.

8.) i want kids to understand that violence will never be the answer—

9.)—nor is self-harm—

10.)—and most especially, not suicide

11.) i want kids to grow up feeling happy with themselves even though the adults around them can't.

12.) i want kids to grow up thinking that they are beautiful and worth every single breath they are given.

13.) i want kids to accept themselves for who they are, not for what their parents want them to be.

14.) i want kids to learn how to love not only others, but especially themselves.

15.) some kids struggle to trust the people around them because of adults (who are supposed to reassure them and make sure they are safe).

16.) living *****, and kids especially need all the help they need.

17.) i want kids to feel hope inside of them—

18.)—to feel like they're living instead of simply existing.

19.) i want them to know that there is and always will be hope for them—

20.)—regardless of grades, race, gender, ****** orientation, age, physical appearance, clothes, hair color, piercings, etc., etc.—

21.) —because those things don't—shouldn't—matter to others at all.

22.) i want kids to feel and know that there is someone who wants to listen to them—

23.)—someone who isn't "too busy for their whininess and angsts".

24.) i want them to feel as comfortable as they are in their own bodies—

25.)—not want them to rip their eyeballs out of their sockets or to starve themselves until their weights drop faster than a rollercoaster because they "weren't good enough".

26.) i don't want them to grow up thinking of "all adults are awful" as an amazing alliteration.

27.) i want them to know they are worth every single day they wake up.

28.) i want them to learn the meaning of "love"—

29.)—agape, most especially.

30.) i want them to believe in themselves.

31.) and i want them to keep on believing in this world.

(because we're all just people broken in many different ways trying to survive in this world, aren't we?)

his eyes glare at the paper, forcing it to budge.
nothing changes as it blinks back, seemingly mocking him.

he wants to escape the reality.

("What reality...? This is reality, so shut up!")

he sneers at the result he got and scrolls through the rankings.

he turns blue.

neither good, nor bad.

average.

("I ain't just average, shut your **** trap!")

he sees his friends above him,
seemingly laughing at him.

("What a bunch of idiots.")

his nose twitches,
and he becomes green.

he looks back.

and sees red.

and fades to black.

judge
     by the color of one's heart,
not
     by the color of one's skin.

(two babies
born to perfect parents.)

their eyes light up
when they see her.
they doll her up,
spoil her (but, of course, not too much)
and work hard
only for her.

on weekends,
they play around,
have picnics,
and maybe do some sightseeing.

at home,
the three of them eat dinner
happily,
without a care in the world.
they talk about her studies,
her interests,
her clubs,
and her love.
the father pouts,
not wanting his daughter to be snatched away from him.
the mother laughs,
elbowing the father and encouraging their daughter.

such a happy, little family.

(goodbye.)

don't treat them like they're rocks:
they can stand strong, but they need support too.

don't treat them like that forgotten garbage bag near your backyard:
they do not reek, and they are beautiful, indisposable.

NO! don't treat them like fragile flowers either, but rather:
treat them like humans who have been hurt, who dislike pain as much as the next person, and who need and want respect.

sometimes,
   we find ourselves
with no choice,
   but to watch.

she hums,
gracefully weaving,
effortlessly sewing.

scarlet hair cascades up to her back.
her lazy, brown eyes--sharp.
she's wearing a crimson dress
with horrible frills
and stuffy fabric.

she dances across the room,
and sings sinfully.

she inserts the red thread of fate
into the eye of the needle.
she knots it,
and sews.

she laughs,
as she hears shrieks.
a beautiful instrumental to her humming!

("What wonderful instruments you are.")

she mournfully shakes her head,
seeing looks of disdain and horror
directed at her.

her girls needed to look their best after all--
she even made the effort to help them too.
how ungrateful!

(sew their mouths shut.
she does just that.)

she bursts into a gleeful chorus.

(before their consciousness faded away,
they curse the inescapable thread
that caught them
and entangled them with the countess.)

choke me*, you gasp in the blinding heat of your embrace
his movements falter but return with more vigour, as if such a thing was possible
you guide his hands to your neck as if guiding a child lost in his path;
and yes, maybe you both are still children
trying to find ways to survive in each other
his nails dig into your pulse, into your airways
and never have you been more intimate
he is inside you,
wholly,
completely
within the cages of your ribs
and your lungs try to gasp for air
but it really doesn't change anything much
(you've been breathless around him for quite awhile, after all)
you still seek for his lips,
his tongue in your mouth;
you want to **** everything from him
into you
until you both become too entangled
and neither of you could be distinguished from the other

like a summer flower
drying from thirst
yearning for water
i drink hungrily

walls,
worn out with pride
paint,
scratched off with anger
floor,
mudded with vices.

start again.

(and there goes the sound of destruction.
then silence.
all that is left
is a broken wasteland.)

and there i was
staring above,
seemingly intimidated
by the dark clouds
that hovered
around

my mother,
with her
sad eyes
and
her sad smile,
uttered,

"Even dark clouds have their own silver linings, dear."

(i just
l a u g h e d

and

l   a    u     g      h       e        d)

in this stressful society we have,
so much slanders,
                              sins,
                                     scandals
                                                     have been scrutinized over
and over
              again
for the satisfaction of sardonic,
                      scornful,
      "sacred"
­disparagers.

      nothing shocks me more
           than the so-called "spectacular" sculpturing of others
  based on the dehumanizing standards
                                                       ­            of mankind.

shackled
              by the scalding hands of screeching vermins,
why do we keep on letting ourselves be scarred--
                                  stuttering,
     ­                                                shuddering,
              screaming
for help
because simple succors are never,
                                       have never been,
                                         will never be
                                                                  enough?

why
       do we keep letting ourselves be singled out
as stigmas
        when "failing" society's endless scans for
superficial perfection?

*(how sickening.)

our first meeting was

a summer drizzle
a cool breeze
a huge forest,

and you
sitting on
that tree,
laughing.

a foreign flag hanging overhead.
deaths of many soldiers.
darkness looming on a seemingly sunny day.
freedom—close enough to touch, but not to taste.

closing her eyes,
an old, weary grandmother sighs.

and blows the candles.

your moans stamped themselves on my skin,
but your laughter ripped my ribs apart and kissed this broken heart

and you dare stand up from the sheets where our body fluids have mixed and dried, wordlessly dressing yourself up and leaving the echo of the door closing in your wake and just you ******* wait i'm going to lace your tea with poison, and oh, isn't it just unfortunate that your house has this terribly long staircase and your wife just always had to wear frighteningly high heels?

but then again, you'd like that, wouldn't you? you at my mercy just like a few hours ago when i pinned your wrists above your head and your pelvis under the curve of my ****, painfully teasing you with the slow drag of my hips, impaling myself on you, raising myself up so so slowly until only the head of your **** catches on the lips of my entrance and i slam myself back on you, as you gasp and gasp and gasp, begging for release, for mercy, like the pathetic lover you are with your cries spurring me on, the trembles of your body betraying you, betraying your wife, but never betraying me because you know, ******* you, you know, deep inside, that you are mine—you are mine and i will never let you go

your hands
tracing my faults

knowing
each
and
every
single
piece
of me



(i never knew someone could be as gentle.)

the thoughts
running through
my head
i cannot
debug.

(is it time to install
an antivirus?
or to continue to
be stubborn
and
let it
consume me?)

why
do people
yearn
for answers
when
living simply
is so much better

(being happy
like this
is definitely
so much better.)

same smile, same tears (what is this why)
your laugh, beautiful (who are you it hurts stop)
name to be forgotten, goodbye (no wait please)
ray of light (are you--)

img: sweat dripping down the curve of her neck, seeping through the collar of her shirt, tugging down said shirt & fanning herself, a popsicle, a wicked tongue lazily swirling around the top, a whisper & a light breeze by the ear, hot & bothered, warm, safe, loved, lusted after, all the same, cicadas crying out, hazy memories, hair messily pinned up, tiny pecks & heavy kisses, giggles, *** & cuddles, no blankets, cat & pup, iced tea, condensation dripping & pooling on a desk, sunlight streaming through the blinds, hands intertwined, soaked sheets, content smiles, bliss

they lead me towards the center,
a crowd gathers.

i laugh
as i get dragged,
their faces
wary
(of me? but why--)

i inhale,
then exhale.

they wrap a thread
(a rope? i don't know~)
around my neck.

it tickles,
and i giggle louder.

then the stool underneath me is kicked.

the crisp burnt wind
cuts through your parched lungs as
filthy sweat runs down your back
you gasp and you moan and you scratch and you groan—
you relish the rough touches of her hands
on your neck
you breathe
you breathe
you breathe

it's always been like this, you think.
she whispers in the dead of the night,
like the devious, bold Lilith,
and you blindly follow.
without fail, like a fool,
you walk her footsteps,
feeling like you're running on air.
you know what's happening,
what she's doing--
yet you still do as she wishes.

outside your window,
the branches of the trees you see
look like skeletal hands waving at you,
laughing at your idiocy.

a sudden warmth
causes you to arch your back
like a lover in heat,
your tongue peeks out from your lips
and the breeze catches on the sweat on your brow,
cruelly teasing you.

drifting through the atmosphere,
she lets you come close
but stops as your muscles tighten.
her breath ghosts over your painfully tense chest—
you reach for her,
but she disappears
as if she was born from a fire extinguished,
silenced,
by the wind.

dawn breaks,
and the circle is still unbroken.

you both sprung from the greens,
and now you have been wrapped in the color of rust.

imagine—
   flying, flying
  dancing with the wind
       singing to the lights
         and
    feeling absolutely
exhilarated.


only to be stripped of your wings—

and forced to crawl on the ground.


(and society will make you learn its ways until you eventually get slaughtered.)