what would be the last thing
you hear, you smell, you see?
you would probably not notice.
is it too cold? or a bit warm? or too hot?
or the window less open than yesterday?
will you see the mess of your tiny room
occupied by forgotten tasks or hobbies,
the 1000-piece puzzle left in the box,
remember that? trying to solve everything
on the floor, room not enough space,  no?
you would probably not notice
the door locked, maybe unlocked, would it matter?
phone uncharged, again, would it matter?
you might smell a familiarity in the air
of course, you're inside your room; you've been here
you lied here, again and again -
above everything you own, would you remember
the last thing, will it matter
when you're on the last turn, on your last blink-
would your remember the last thing?
you would probably not notice.
I would probably not.

so sad today

i can't stop it.
an addiction. i'm an addict.
no self discipline, no control
my hands, my fingers keep returning
and returning on
my chapped lips

it began last week. cold day,
caught a cold. breathing through my mouth.
sick and dry
dry lips.
there's an itch on my finger, i began to touch
my chapped lips

i thought it was a one time thing,
something reversible, something stoppable.
i was wrong, i was dumb, i was so wrong.
when my fingers stopped retaliating the blood,
it, the addiction, turned my teeth onto warriors
on the scrimmage on
my chapped lips

one night, i stopped
in the morning it was worse.
a wound hasn't healed, and another
on top of it. skin and flesh, on a rotating schedule
i'm scared but i don't stop. i'm scared
but my body just turned its back on
my chapped lips.

nothing has changed. blood and wound
scar and then wound,
i haven't stopped. and now i'm not scared.
i thought, i'm good at healing.
so, my chapped lips

will stay. scars may come,
but it's just my lips.
nothing good
has ever touched
my chapped lips.

breathing, still breathing,
in and out,in and out, in and -------
out
cliffhanging loud beats
one, two, one,
       two, one
   and two
pulsating pace, closing time
cold fingers, toes, neck
dried pale kisser
buried irises, fluttering lids
in and
           out, in and -------
out
one, two, one, one and two
knocked out, shut down
paralyzed, stunned, running out
blood, there's blood
somewhere, everywhere, all around
open skin, trembling wrist
blood, there's blood
in and
             out, in and out, in and ------
out
one, two, one,
                 two, one and two
lights out, lights back on,
phone ringing, door slamming
sirens coming
mother, screaming
diluted sounds, distant thoughts
in and out,
                      in and out, in and ------


still alive, still alive
             still                alive          
still -
i smile

i consume the continuous days without nighttime
and greater shadows afflict mine. towards the edge
a body without mass they had no power
to gravitate towards the ground. In my throat
there's a soundless scream and an abyss of burials
no one attended. and in case the mindless tongues,
the senseless sensates, and the human brainiacs, cared
the sky would be my dance floor, and the atmosphere would still
drive me breathing it in. a mismatch of socks,
a counterclockwise swing, a cold cup of coffee,
a bullet sans its gun, and a gun with the imaginary trigger -
i am no good. i am no good.

I have got this  idea,
a stupid wish, a nonsensical desire
of being in a car accident.
Hear me, I want you to.

I prefer to be in the backseat,
seat belt on, and a frequent mannerism
of looking down, in front
on the driver's dashboard. I do that,
I always want to know the speed
and how fast the others outside this space
of metal and cushion. I don't want to be the driver,
knowing myself, I would not get myself into one.
I am a safe *****, that is all.
Then, here goes nothing -
I want the car to crash. I still haven't made my mind
on where or what are we going to crash.
Maybe a wall. Maybe another car. Maybe a post.
I want it to be something solid, but not alive.
Trees are the exceptions. I want the car
to kiss that solid thing, head on.

I don't want the pain that may come along,
I don't want to call it a near death experience,
I want that instant where -
everything seems unreal
or too real my head would not be able to
understand. I want that portion of time
where I decide do I close my eyes or not,
that moment that I will have my life question itself.
And I don't wish death I don't wish to live, either.
Just that moment, where I could think
how instantaneous life can be.
I want that tick of the clock
the clashing of realities and dimensions..

I want that moment,
I need to feel that moment of being just between death and life
where everything doesn't matter anymore, but I still know
they exist.

I have this stupid idea,
nothing so important, nothing so surreal
but to wish this
is the demand I am willing
to pursue.

I long for the time,
when you are not “you”,
or “she” or “he”, or any
of the words I write. Not a hint,
not sign of you being “you”,
in each line “you” appears, it will not be you.
And I have found a new definition
of “she” or “he”, not even
the shadows of my words
would tell you that it’s “you”.

And in that day that it’ll come,
I’ll look back at this piece
of prayer, that my “you”,
will not be *you

Was I wrong?
My mind fails me
and to conjure the right words
the answers embraced nothingness
I always think
you flawed my reasoning
you were what was missing

over and over, I say
I am not mistaken or fooled
dressed in my fantasies
the idea of you and i
we will be alive
until our bones get tired
I promise.

You are a vagabond, you always were
like a migrating flock on a foreign land
again and again,
amongst all those wanders
I begin to carve on my skin.

You will find warmth in me
and you will erase all your hues
you will begin to love me

I condemn all these spiritualities
that claim to accept me
but I am not theirs
all these justified critics when
they will not shut their mouths
I condemn your faith
when I followed you
all I was and all I am became
close to whatever has been left on
your places
I condemn all your empty
disgusting and full of filthy tragic
words
they do not own me,
you do not own me.

I condemn all these stories
that you tell that it’s worth
all these sacrifices you talk about
are those who win
I condemn you all for telling me what
is not to do
for all my dings are the wrong things
for me to even think about
I condemn everything you have been painting my brain
you needed me not
and I do not
all I do is make your mistakes
for you to feel all high and
built

but I condemn you for condemning me
for stealing from me
from what I was
for wrecking what I thought was me
I cannot bring them back
but I swear to all your gods
that I will be more than what you told me I cannot be
all my words will be written in more than
what you have written
and you will see me
in every direction
for when you have condemned me
you did not own me
I owned you

We were once tide -
An anticipated push and pull,
Rushes into the shores, and withdraws of the seas.
Written in squares of today and tomorrow,
The way, today is low
And tonight is high.

There were no uncertainties
Or questions – we always
Know, what to move
And when to go.
Stringed by orbits of
The Sun, The Moon, The Earth.

May it be Sunday but
The waves will praise only sand
Touching, like a morning greeting,
And a kiss of illusion – and these?
Were memories, of how you and I
Were only once tide.

You twist my hands, and my mouth
kept still. Again and again.
Turning blue and purple, they are dying.
And I thought: Is this the way
holding hands feel?
Suffocating, and miserable,
I don't think this is right.

We stayed statuesque, out of sight
of crazed eyes, and my mouth kept still.
Vibrations stuck between the walls
of my throat. Under my mind, above my chest.
And your hands are still on my hands.
And now they're turning
into the early night.

This is how we die, you say.
Even nothing has been forged
into my memory. Your hands had killed mine.
Over and over, i cling to the possibilities.
And you let go when my hands are gray
walked back into your skin.
You are nothing but a murderer.

And this is how
I cannot go back to you. You are smart
I applaud you. That's the thing
anger is an impasse. As you are.
And now, i wonder
why I didn't think this before
**You were killing the very thing that i could hold you to keep you mine.

Heaved in the spoon of sugar,
your grains fall off and on
to the greasy kitchen table top.
And people never bother to ask
why you’ve been unreachable
when all of you crawls at the nothingness
of the unseen.

Love me because I am glass,
thick but fragile. Too strong
of your grip, I'm shattered. Too loose
I'll slip between your tiny bones.

Love me because I am glass,
thick but fragile. A diamond
laying by your side, I shine
and you reflect.

So love me because I am glass.
Always cautious not to break me,
or even scratch a little crack on me.
Even a little.

And I will love you because I am glass,
steady and fragile. I will keep certain
if I break, you won't be hurt.
And I will never cause you pain.

Not now, not ever.
Even if I am glass, I will
love you as you, as you love me
because I am glass, thick and fragile.

She fell in love with an astronaut,
their distance lightyears away.
She believes that he fell in love with her, too.
“For the galaxies are beside me, and a vast of possibilities laying
outside the metal surrounding me,
i kept falling back into your pull of gravity.”
And she still does, when she grows old every day, waiting
he stays the same, feels the same, thinks the same.

But she fell in love with an astronaut,
their distance lightyears away.
Everything under her feet moves faster,
And in space - time slows down, Relativity kicks in.
And every day she wishes, that the Earth would stop revolving
the years stop counting, and
she would stay the same, feel the same, think the same.
She hoped, she dreamed, she failed.

She fell in love with an astronaut.
Her nights linger on tinkering on stars
and planets, and space. She wanted to wait,
she grows old, he slows it down, she couldn’t.
He is lightyears away, and time is running out.
She was in love with an astronaut,
and he was meant to be there, not with her,
not ever.

Hell, I would write a poem about you
and not talk about your eyes
the way they don't even see me now
or your mouth, the way
they don't seem to recognize my name
or your hair, which reminded me of summer
the way they flaunt and dance with the wind
back when you haven't cut it
or your hugs, one arm up my neck
the other holds my arm
or your scent that is beyond aesthetic
of an artwork placed behind your ears
or laugh, the way it makes me
think of the future,
or your name
which is always be
precious

I guess I failed, about not talking about them
all of them, all of you
I guess I am not yet tired
I guess want to be reminded
I guess I still can write about you
even if it's Sunday, and I've missed a thousand masses
I am not sacrilegious, you are

"when I fell in love with your long brown hair,
you decided to cut them off..."

But I didn't fell off
I stayed here
Hell, writing another for you
always

You are the candle a meter away from me.
  The little light you create was enough to burn
  my eyes, and I had to look away
  not for too long. I got addicted to your flame.

I refuse to elevate my eyes an inch from
  the yellow light in front of me.
  Over and over, I reckon and I reckon
  that your heat isn't burning me right, it was burning me from my insides.

You bend, you deform yourself, you break
  ever so gracefully, like dancing through the stagnant wind.
  And in that moment, your body is telling me
  a flame can die if the blow is too strong.

But you are the candle a meter away from me,
  and the space, the distance was too far
  even with your flame too yellow
  my lungs couldn't breathe enough air to make your flame flutter.

This is the feeling of a wild grass,
with needs gathered from morning dew,
a patch of soil, and from the juice of other plants' roots.
This is the feeling of a wild grass,
will live silently in the shadows of the real sprouts
of nature. What is my worth if the only heaven I'll reach
is just up to the soles of your feet?
What is my worth?

This is the feeling of a wild grass,
i will live with no worth,
i will die without saying a word.

Ito pala ang pakiramdam ng ligaw na damo,
may pangangailangang kinukuha sa hamog ng umaga,
sa lupang kakarampot, at sa katas ng ibang ugat ng ibang halaman.
Ito pala ang pakiramdam ng ligaw na damo,
nananahimik na namumuhay sa anino ng tunay na sibol
ng kalikasan. Ano ang aking silbi kung ang langit na nais kong marating ay hanggang talampakan lamang ng tao?
Ano ang aking silbi?

Ito pala ang pakiramdam ng ligaw na damo,
mabubuhay ng walang halaga,
mawawala ng walang sinasambit.

Tell me when you are ready to run
and we will sprint the highways together
with our hands beside us and our past behind
we will try to change directions
but the wind always wins
it's not a choice, it's a wave we'll flow through
the current and even if it hurts
I will make sure I'd get the pain
and you'll just be drenched with the illusion
that this path is good, that this path doesn't hurt.
You will tell everyone that you didn't need me
and that I am pathetic and overly dramatic
but remember this
I waited for you
to be ready, and when you said your yes
it was both our decision
i thought we got this together
it ended up, and i was dumbstruck
this was a race
your hands designed, your mind twisted it all
told me we got this
together
and now I ended up as a loser
of a game
i helped you mold together

i don't even know what to feel
or if there is anything left to endure
my eyes fog up, an i can barely see
where my fingers are going,
it's a place i've known for a while
a silent suffering of endless tearing
and breaking and falling
my words ran from describing
the depth of the hollowness inside my chest

i feel so stupid to even feel this way,
but whenever i think that this is an illusion
that i imagined the throbbing inside my rib cage
because when i do,truth slaps my face and tells me
it is real, this is happening,

you
        are
              hurting.

one day you're going to feel beyond your body
a transcendent feeling that your soul cannot utter a word
and your eyes forgot what was real and what was a dream
like there living a story from your childhood books
flying like a fairy or a dragon with flame-throwing breaths
and your hands will fail grasping your body
and then music will flow though the waves and particles of light
travelling in its own speed but you still can see it
like everything is in slow motion
like everything is unreal

but right now,
everything is in your safe zone
the way the things in your room feels like a prison
and the sound of your heartbeat is the only thing your ears could trust
like the doors were locked
the windows are shut, there is no escaping
you've danced your way into your own travesty
and it keeps you feeling, and the feeling is changing
they may say that change is good
but they also lie to your face, nothing is still real
a different kind of sensation of blackness in the middle of the day
emptying, frustrating, wilding

but one day, you will feel special
hope for it, wait for it

if it's not me then don't take me.

i have grown into a person,
unreliable, unhealthy, and selfless
throwing knives through each breath
but underneath the ***** skin i am in,
if it's not me, then don't take me.

my fingerprints are all over the news
one said i killed you, one said you killed me
there was no other way, but to wait
into the darkness
we both created.

i have confessed
with every count of blood cells inside my veins
there was no turning back
until you did
and you brought me -

i woke up, naked, in the middle of the night
in the middle of a deserted road,
it was empty, no cars, no grass, no walls, no us
just me, just you. i waited for you to say it
but you made me wait -

you said the words i needed to hear
you uttered every syllable the way i imagined
and right now,
how i wish i didn't, because
if you're not going to take me, then don't take me.

if its not me, don't play with me.
don't tell me you will, and then stop

like how would you feel
if this
will e-










nd right here?

if you're not going to take me wholly, then don't.

if its not me, then don't take me.

16-word-story: you let my words crash onto your shore but you refuse to call me the ocean

you are every thought i have
drunk ones, and even the ones i utter in my sleep
yet, there you are
unaware of my existence

i am naked, and this is my story

though my thoughts are a mess
and all that i am is in a dysfunctional state
my skin screams the same things i tried to bury before
this is not me, and I could perfectly remember
running away the moment i get scratched on my knees
or get little wounds on my palms
the moment i begin to feel
i run away

this was not planned, hurting is never part of any of anyone's plan
it's the compromise of life, it's the second skin of love
and i let my guards down, threw the keys
opened every passage i could ever open
unconditionally it happened, like hurting it was not on my plan
by this time, i remember
smiling together with a stranger in my reflection
'let's do this
for once, fight for something, fight for a possibility'
and i still am, and i'll still will

this depth is the shallow part of the river or the ocean
hidden beyond the pebbles, sharp edges of stone
my heart swims, with eyes closed
i let the current turn these words
into the crashing waves
feel it, do not be afraid
because i am, and i'm hurting

i don't care, please see that
the future holds you like a hostage
stockholm syndrome wins over
and i'd be the police at the end of the scene
trying to salvage whatever that is left to proclaim

i could be selfish just now, you could be selfish just now

reality is absurd and its hands are catching on
even the fear I left behind seemed never left me
hooked on my neck, ready to choke me
with one word you say
I'd stop, but I won't
this heart won't
this mind won't

i am naked and this is my story
those clothes were my shield, my shelter
and i torn them down
burning every inch
letting freedom take me over
feeling the pain flow through my veins
i am naked,
and all my clothes can't shield me from anything anymore
and i don't care, for once
i really want to feel every bit of it
whatever it is
whatever made me scared
here i am, naked

fill me in, and turn my bones into ashes
the way the flames
crept up my clothes

i am naked and this is my story

He was made to choose
  between two hues
  his favorite colour was blue
  and I was cerulean

He was made to choose
  between two glasses
  he's an optimist
  and I was half-empty

He was made to choose
  between two songs
  he worshipped Cobain
  and I was deaf

He was made to choose
  between everything.
  he knows I have fallen for him -
  and here I am, alone.

He chose everything rather
  than the girl who could've promised
  her everything
  was him.

It all began with a ‘he’
he who said I was pretty
  when my face turns sideways and
  the right amount of sunlight casts shadows
  on the planes of my cheeks
he who kissed me in 6th grade
  in front of my best friend – whom he used to date,
  his lips were cool and moist
  moist – it didn’t feel anything.
he who requested love songs during our high school intramurals
  when all of my friends and all of his friends
  cheer us up like we were the sweetest thing they’ve seen.
he who danced with me the whole night of our junior prom,
  my shoes dangling behind him, my arms and his arms were sweating
  he whispers now, “You look beautiful.”
he who gave me wilting flowers on the 15th of February
  because I skipped school – too scared to face the truth
  that no one would do what he just did. He proved me wrong.
he who said “I love you” too late.
he who said “I love you” too early.
He who made me believe that fate, destiny, sparks, forever, and all that *******
  were real, written in His holy book. Should I still believe in you?
he who said would wait – the next month telling me he realized
  it wasn’t me he was waiting for.
he who told me to stay.
he who left. he who never went back.
and oh – he
he who was never here in the first place.

it all began with a “she”
she who danced in front of the class
  with all her sass, snaps, and we laugh.
she whose hair used to be straight
  swaying down her waist, flows smoothly when she walks,
  falls perfectly down her collarbones. Let’s not start with collarbones.
she whose eyelids flutter like butterfly wings
  making the ones inside my stomach dance like hummingbird’s wings
  her eyelashes are thick, outlining her brown eyes – her perfect brown eyes.
she who throws he head back when she laughs
  not knowing I drift and crash back to the sea
  like a wave thrown back by her chuckles and laughter
she who reads and reads tons of books
  when she could write about her day
  and that’ll still be the greatest stories I could read
she who held me close when she stumbles towards the bus station
  when she’s drunk
she who wanted nothing between us – worried it will not work.
but she made the raindrops of yesterday meaningful
  so it could wash off all the hurt from everything, from everyone.
she who changed me. – no.
she who made me face the mirrors I’ve been running away from
  all those lies I’ve been hiding alone
  all those pain, all those bad memories
she washed them all away, like a hurricane
   she dragged my whole town with her
she who made me forget.
she who makes me ache at times but it’s the kind of ache
  you’d gladly take – a suffering worth all the suffering
she who outshined all of – in the best possible way I could imagine
she who made the stars insignificant.

It doesn’t end with a ‘he’
It doesn’t end with a ‘she’
it all ends up with a simple ‘who’
that person who will always come through
for you

I learned that love sometimes doesn’t last that long
sometimes it doesn’t even start at all.
But I know one thing, you cannot fight it.
I don’t know where – maybe in his hands
or in her eyes. It will make you move like you
have no choice at all – like a puppet stuck
******* and down nylon strings
by the puppeteer
dictating your life
like you have no choice, at all.

my chair has four legs
as my heart had four parts
and you happen to engraved your name in each of it
so that your blood
is haunted on my blood
and flowing through my veins
my body fights, but your name
it's your name
and you've been here
like this is your home

but this chair
it is not me, and your name is nowhere near this chair
I tried to engrave your name here
so you'll own this
just how you did to me, to my heart to my life
but then, it tripped
stood on one leg
and the feeling was the worst
i expected the fall
but then
it gave me thousand little heart attacks
this chair is an infinite loop
of fighting and falling
but never crashing

like it was told to make me feel this way
sitting on a chair
on its one leg up
falling infinitely

You are an addiction,
a bit funny kind of addiction.

Not that type of lingering smoke
by the pack of cigarettes or
the high of a single hit

Not that type of an opiated mind
of maze-like thoughts
discarded cans of buzzing minds

I will try and try to verbalize these thoughts
but I'm a coward
so I keep them inside the confines of my head

So I tell no one, i am eaten by these
by this one thought
this kind of funny addiction

when times are good, I wait
for it to knock on my doors
windows, basement opening

from everywhere. And it wins
like a God, I am nothing.
Too bad, this isn't God.

The secret, this addiction
the rush of blood out my veins
I try not to let it win

but from the start it already won,
my thoughts are its *****, on my wrists
stamping each of them with a label

"die"

i am like a seed

people plant me into their little pots
constructed little plots
under control under their hands

they will always try to make me bloom
into a flower, into a little plant
under control under their hands

they would think that I am just a little bonsai
put a wire there, and i'll bloom
exactly the way they want me to

but I am tired of that
under control under their hands

i don't want to be tended, waiting
for me to bloom into what they expect me to
I am my own, and I don't need them to that, anymore

my body will grow, and they will see
i am not their plant,
i am not theirs

i don't want to be tended
if only the hands were tender
even with love

but then, they drench me
with words
that i love, and fall for

i am tired, but still
am just a seed

i am no tree, i am powerless

so place me into your ***
control me under a plot

and i'd will always
always go towards the sun

my sun

They say that the magnificence of the planets, the stars and the galaxies
cannot be seen by the naked eye.
But when my eyes met yours, your hands touched mine -
my sight, my senses, were amplified
like the floating Hubble in space -
I begged to differ.

It's all in you,
the galaxies, millions even billions of them, are in no comparison
with you.

the words i cannot tell you
itches around the walls of my throat

there they lie
at the edges of my tongue

i cannot breathe
i cannot think

the only way to stop
is to tell you

i found the universe
and where it stops, where it begins
beyond your eyes
inside your mind

i got lost

Take my mind like a pocket book.
      Hold it between your hands,
      posses each of its pages, and
      you'll see, the chapters are tainted
      with your name on it.

Read my own thoughts in your own words.
      free your insecurities by the touch
      of my imagination
      of you teasing me with your teasing eyes
      look, you are the most beautiful, no,
      you are the definition of beautiful.

Feel me through each of my pages.
     I would be breathing under your handbag.
     And you'll take me to where you are headed.
     Show me what I showed you.
     Through my mind, i'll see you.

Burn me, with the heat of your grip.
     And if my mind is inside the flames you set
     I'd gladly embrace my own death
    for if i would burn inside your arms
    it would be the best way to perish.

I don't feel safe
inside anybody's arms
even mine, even my own
because I know that they'll let me
go when I'm hanging by their grip
and I know
I cannot trust myself
that I won't do the
*same

i was inspired to look
inside what forests are like
and took three pieces of bread
and followed your footsteps

how pretty were your prints
down the screeching floors of dead
and dried leaves crushed
in each step you take
and the way you leave
crumbs so you would not be lost

you kept singing that song
and soon, it's stuck
inside my mind
beside the cassette tape
labelled 'you'

but throughout our walk
you were startled
that someone like me
has been following you

you screamed and threw sticks and everything that catches your grip
you've noticed,
then I did-
every piece of bread you have thrown
were gone
as I followed you
the path was missing.

It was my feet, legs, my whole self
so intoxicated by my little adventure
of falling in love
erased the path where we are from
and the only way
to forget
is to forget

and even you are mad
and even you are hateful

**leave me under your nose
and keep me pinched
between your long fingers.
i don't care how
low, how pathetic
this body crumbles
into the path of your shadow -
just don't
let me
go.

the end
drew me back to
the unknown
into grey matter
before anything turns
I ran away,
I took all of them
as if all memories are to throw

renewing the thoughts
deleting the past
saved on my camera roll -
your crystal clear candid shots
into sleepless metaphors
the nights you stole

with our brief barely breathing history
time seemed to align
where it flew
I was not sure how it went
the drinks, the laughs
those that came out our lungs

and the gust of sighs where i lost my mind
with our touching eyesights
we began

the walls you've built -
they are all falling
i can feel the crumbs and blocks
between
each kiss you called
accidents

I miss the rushing of words
that my fingers have troubles typing them all.
I miss the unending spree of thoughts
my mind cannot fathom one at a time,
but what I miss the most
is the touch of you
in every left-aligned poetry
your face reflects
transfixing all of me
stealing my own
memory of what
real beauty is.

I don’t want to be your weekend getaway, babe.

I want to be

the reason
you can’t get up on a Monday,
the struggle to let go
of a night we shared together

the coffee break on a Tuesday afternoon
keeping you awake,
warm, and alive

the paper cut from all the pile of work
of your Wednesday night,
as the pain reminds you
of how it hurts
not to be with me

the suit you prepare for a meeting,
or an occasion you wish
to be wearing beside a red-dress wearing woman
your arm wrapped behind her waist
on a numb Thursday

and that bottle of beer you've been drinking on
a Friday evening, with a hundred people around
you search for me,
but I’m inside your grip,
and inside each of your thoughts

not just your weekend getaway.

(jacky)

they tell me to unlove you,
but how, and when, and why?
for i know
love is love,
and love is not pain.

do i give up,
after all the stars I jumped over
and all the flowers
I cut the thorns off?

or do i stay
even the world says no
and my body says so?
When all my heart
and all my soul

still locked and chained
unto your soul?

*{j.j}