I am finally here

I finally watched the series you promised to watch with me—alone
I finally had the courage to talk about you with my sister and laugh
I finally talked to someone and not see your shadow in his steps
So many small finally’s
To trample the used to be’s
So this is how
it finally feels
to finally get over you.

There are no more vines in my chest
No more tangled mess
between loving you and letting you go
It took a long while to sort myself back
but I can finally feel my lungs again
No more choking when your name pops up in conversations
No more sadness when I walk the same sidewalks I used to walk with you
The wound has turned to scar
The scar took shelter on my skin.
Everything heals the moment you decide you want to heal
The wanting is always the beginning of the becoming
The world moves, and so do you
If you believe it to

And in my heart, there will always be space for you
And in that same space, I’ve rebuilt a home again
This time knowing
I can never unlove you
but only love you in a different way

And I will.

It took a long while to sort myself back
But I am here.
I am finally here to say
Thank you.
Thank you for stopping by.

So here you are again
at the footsteps of the walls
I’ve rebuilt over
and over again
asking me to let you in.

I know
this is not the first time
that you’ve returned from your
wars with the world.
You are wounded and weary
Your eyes look so dead
I can see the graveyard behind them

You've lost so much, my love.
including yourself.

and you know,
if you would just let me
I would tuck all those bombs away,
Throw them to the skies
and let them light up our lives
instead of them
burning and bruising our bodies

but you won't give up arms

yes, you're reaching out
but you won't let me hold your hand

So we both know
this wouldn’t end well
my bones are still shaking
from all the trauma you’ve caused

my love, please understand
my heart is not a church.
You cannot just return when you feel like it
and pray for me to forgive your sins.
I am not a god.
I am only human.
And there is a limit to how much hurt I can take.

Do you think your “sorry’s” are enough
to sew these spaces you’ve sown in my soul?
Don't you know how hard it is to keep living
when all you've been doing
is leaving me behind?

I still love you.
I think I always will.
But please don’t think
I can keep on breaking myself
just to keep you whole.

i witnessed a burglary today.

kids were seating at the back side of the jeepney
***** feet hanging,
snot running down their noses
the one beside me says,
“these kids will be thieves one day.”
and i look at these
little mud-eyed ones
filled with silent anger
and confusion.

if this is how we cast them
how could they change something
that was molded in stone for them?

we are responsible for the next generation
and yet we rob these children
a chance to create their own identity
and blame them for things
we should’ve
done
something
about.

i feel like there is so much love left
when people leave us
and we have no idea what to do with them
so we keep them in boxes,
we store them in drawers
and sometimes,
we wear them on cold nights
when no one is watching.

all around us we make sure
we live in a place
with no trace of what has been
yet every closet is filled with the bones
of a dead love
and every corner is a reminder
of where we got lost

we hide the things they left behind,
we create mausoleums out of our rooms
and call it “moving on”

even my room is haunted
with his hasty departure
his old sweatshirt,
his silk necktie,
and the ocean blue summer dress he gave me
gather dust as a relic of a past
i have exhibited in the walls
of my broken heart

i buy cigarettes
and try to remember the taste of
his nicotine mouth
i study my face in the mirror
and try to remember the look of the girl
he fell in love with
i stay in the nights longer
i skip all the cracks in the pavement
i keep wishing he come back

one day i woke up
in a cold bathroom floor
filled with my tears and *****
that’s when I knew
where all the leftover love goes
it seeds hatred
then grows into despair
and finally bears the fruit of grief

there is no reasoning with a broken heart
only grief

and grief is the greatest leftover love there is
it spills all over
and seals your chest tight
until you feel no fight
and no other

so i waited and wasted away
until my ribs cracked
under the pressure of all the grief flowing out

and one day
i realized
i left one of his jackets
in my old apartment abroad
i couldn’t bring it any longer
my luggage is filled with so many new things
and his was a heavy garment
i just couldn’t carry anymore.

skins aren’t skins
in this world.

they’re

death threats
inked permanently
on your bones
covering your body
with scratches and stereotypes,
bringing bruises and bullets to your head

and the only way to stay safe
is if the ink is white.

skins are signs
to know which ones
will pay the price
if you close your eyes
you will see the color
to marginalize

warped in a wrapped world
do we even see beyond
what pigment we have
or are we
wrapped around a warped world
where pain is really
skin deep.

isn’t it strange?
we live in a world where
the color of your skin
indicates how people
see you and
the darker it is,
the more invisible
you become.

i wish
we were all
color blind.

i. do everything they want you to. wear clothes that are not too short or not too long. wear shoes that make you look smaller. do not, and i repeat, do not have piercings and tattoos they look ***** on you. After all, you do not own your body.


ii. displace your beliefs and put them all in stacks of paper. shove them all in your mouth and don’t talk unless you’re spoken to. if this is not enough, cut your tongue and sew your mouth shut. always remember: your opinion doesn’t matter. you’re just a girl.


iii. if they stare at you, ignore it. if they call you names and speak to you as if you’re not human. treat it as a compliment. you’re pretty.

iv. never aim for greater things. the worst thing for a woman to have is ambitions.

v. finally, smile and keep those legs open. soon enough, you’ll forget who you ever were. You are worse than nothing—
you are just a girl.

Manic Pixie Dream Girl
fingerpainted rainbow
on a flat canvass, you are
cardboard pretty.

Like this pastel-colored cupcake
you once saw on television
with sprinkles and little marshmallows on top
something you know
you can never taste
but still thought
“That must be delicious.”

One-sided postcard
With a beautiful scenery at the front
and empty surface at the back
No words to tell
No stories to give
Just a vacant lot.

Manic Pixie Dream Girl
I’ve always thought you were beautiful.
with your colors spilling out of your being and your smiles
that could light up anybody’s world
I’ve always thought it was like peering through a kaleidoscope
And you were a perfect symmetry
of everything a little boy could ever dream of.
So as I grew up
I dreamed to be something like you.
And for a while,
Without really meaning to
I was something like you.
People often told me,
“You are so pretty.”
“You are nice and funny.”
“You have a great smile.”
“You are fun to be with.”
“You are different.”
and guys liked me.
They adored me.
most especially when I exist
only for them.
When I am there to pick up the pieces
and make them whole again.

But manic pixie dream girl
I realized I am no dream girl
I am just—

me.

I feel ugly most of the time.
I eat a lot when I’m sad.
I am very impulsive.
I give irrational comments.
I have temper tantrums when I don’t get what I want.
I get scared of the dark.
I cut when I am hurt.
And there are days when I just want to sleep
and disappear forever.

I am no dream girl.
I am just a real girl.
Trying to make it out alive
in the real world.

I am not a navigator
meant to save lost boys.
I am not
a box of crayons
meant to grow smaller
as I color this blank page of a guy
I am not
a white glue
meant to disappear
once I am dry
I am not
a bandage
meant to heal wounds
on careless little children.

I am not supposed to be a fantasy
I am flesh and bones
I am human
with ribcages that are meant to crush
with the weight of a broken heart
I have lungs
I can breathe on my own.
I don’t need a broken boy
to feel that I have a purpose in life.

I am my own destruction.
I am my own salvation.
I am no dream girl.

Please
wake
up.