I remember the sound of Your voice

When You first called out through the storm

To rescue me.

In that moment,

That glorious moment

Of calm surrender and the fall into

Your arms,

Was the moment I first found Love.

flip*                                           flip
      flip                flip
             flip      flip
                flip

you can
fly on a pegasus
whisper to willows
sing with sirens
and dance with dragons
with just
one
             flip

so, pick up
that softbound teleporter
that portable magic
that gift you can open
again and
again
and
again.
pick up a book

           flip

discover,
and
dream.

Tell me once more that my faith is blinding,
and I will show you the shadows
that have stayed by my side all these days,
recite to you every word
Fear has whispered in my sleep,
point out every drop of rain, yet

my eyes will still gleam with the dawn I see
breaking behind the clouds.

You might not remember my goodbye, but there were white walls. Around 9pm, a handful of other people, and the beating of a silent angel’s wing.

You might not know this, but that wasn’t a goodbye. It was too rushed, too ******, not enough space for letters to form, full of run-ons, no commas, no semi-colons, very messy, no— that was the goodbye in my head, but what I actually managed to whisper was full of commas, full of semi-colons, had too much pauses. But no stops. No periods. My goodbye was unfinished.

It went something like,

“I love you… I won’t let anything happen to the place you love most…. I will write about you, about your family; I won’t let them forget about—”

See? My goodbye was an outline. With Roman numeral number one being "I love you..." so,


I. I love you

   A. I love you; what more is there to say?
   B. Here it is: I love you
   C. And I will continue to love you

       1. long after my tongue forgets how to say your name because I know I won’t be saying it out loud anymore

      2. long after your bed exhales the engraving of your body on its sheets and I forget what sleeping beside you feels like

      3. long after the sound of sirens and wars and famines and earthquakes try to push the sound of your radio out of my mind (I will miss that radio)


II. I won’t let anything happen to the place you love most

   A. where is the place you love most?

      1. I hope the place you love most is within reach and not somewhere I can't go to

      2. or maybe it’s the place you call home, or maybe it’s who you call home

      3. I hope the place you love most is somewhere where I’m next to you

   B. I hope I can keep this promise


III. I will write about you

   A. how you
      1. once ate tortang talong everyday for two years — simply because you loved it

      2. keep everything — that eleven year old bar of Safeguard you once showed me, the children’s picture book Bible you’ve had since you were nine, and my letters you never replied to… I remember always writing apologies for snapping at you, now I’m writing eulogies and I don’t know how to stop

   B. how you love

      1. not with your words —  maybe words tired you because people don’t always remember words exactly as they were, but they do remember the way they were looked at, and when you’d look at me like that, I was suddenly fine with the way you kept your I love yous to yourself; they spill from your eyes anyway

      2. with your hands — you liked to fix my messes: from algebra equations to broken picture frames; you liked to answer my questions: where is north? who were the other men on the moon? what did you say when you had to say goodbye? I never asked you that last question, but maybe I should have so that I would have been more prepared for this moment and not would not have to have said goodbye to you in the form of an outline

   C. about your family

      1. I will start writing about them once I’ve figured out how to stop writing about you

      2. so I guess I might never be able to write about them

IV. I won’t let them forget about



And here ends my goodbye because I decided that I would be undecided about what I won’t let people forget. Let me remind them freely, without a guide to follow, just things about you I only realize later on actually meant something. And now I realize that that goodbye holds a lot of promises, and I need to tell you honestly… these days… I don’t write about you and I don’t think about you and I don’t see you everywhere anymore. And sometimes I don’t miss you. And I don’t know if that is a sign that I have healed, or if I’ve just simply chosen to ignore the symptoms of something much worse. But these days I swear I’ve been trying. Trying to let you in my dreams again. Trying to write more fragments and phrases and outlines and fulfilled promises. Trying to let you make your way into my words again, until my goodbye becomes a see you later. Until I someday write you back.

I am a selfish wretch
I like to hide all my pride
with words of life.
You see me smile
and you stay awhile
but you don't know
that this heart
is made of stone

I built my house
on sand
used the hammer of desire
made my own plans
now i'm head-deep in ruin
I know, I know,
should've seen it coming.
I blinded myself.

Be in my life
be in my heart
take my life
take my heart
change my life
change my heart
be in my life
be in my heart

Now I'm here in the deep
in the heart of the sea
with a flood around
me
all Your waves
all Your billows
just pass me
why am I safe?
how am I safe?
I look up
what saved me is
grace

Be in my life
be in my heart
take my life
take my heart
change my life
change my heart
be in my life
be in my heart

I am a gracechild
weak but not forsaken
I am a gracechild
struck down but not destroyed
I am a gracechild
persecuted, not abandoned
I am a gracechild
I am Your gracechild

Be in my life
be in my heart
take my life
take my heart
change my life
change my heart
be in my life
be in my heart

invisible skylines
                                 and
sickly gasoline fumes


        nights like this
   arouse the dreamer
and send him sailing


a pity that he
                soon crashes into
                                                reality's iceberg

back to poisoned air
    and chemical skies

an iron ball in

my chest, weighing my heart down

i cry, “forgive me!”

I have hands that won’t keep
to themselves.
They are always rummaging
and dancing and clapping
and snapping and opening
and closing and trying to fix
every
single
broken thing they can find.

And that includes you.

My heart is a bottomless pit for aches.
Not mine, but yours.
It’s almost a cursed thing, how
despite its size being only that of my fist,
my heart always finds a way to squeeze in
some new hurt into the spaces that
before you,
I never knew existed.
There they stay;
and like all things that stay,
with enough time,
become part of their surroundings.
I can’t tell whose cut is whose anymore.

Put me in a room full of people.
Blindfold me.
Spin me like a tornado.
Make me stop.
My outstretched fingers will be reaching
for the most broken souls in the room.

Call it compassion. Kindness. Empathy.
Whatever you like,
but there is a fine, fine line between that
and the way I bleed.
Oh,
how I bleed.
Forgive my boldness when I say
I won’t even try to make you understand
the fact that I do
somehow
understand.
Think of it this way: ripples.
And I always get the last one.

I’m still a child.
I like to play pretend.
I’m a doctor.
I’m a superhero.
I’m the one with all the answers,
all the weapons,
all the magical cures.
Take that!
And that!
Ha! Aha! Ha!
Ha…
Ha.
As the years wear on,
I see that my tools aren’t right,
and that my cape is too tight around my neck.
I don’t have all the answers.
No weapons.
No magical cures.
I’m just a girl trying to play the part that was never hers.

And it’s taken me three volcano boys,
a couple of glass-bottomed hearted girls,
and just about the rest of the world to realize that I
am not
the Savior.

My hands were not made to heal
every heart they rest themselves upon,
or to fill that vacuum inside every man,
one that nothing,
nothing,
nothing in this world will ever
make
whole.

So here.
I let go of every burden that’s been
causing me to stoop and to stumble,
every pressing weight that’s been
keeping me from keeping faith,
every heavy yoke that’s been
causing me to choke on things
I never should have let in
in the first place.

Yet I will continue to love you.
I have come to learn that love
has a lot of ugly before it becomes beautiful,
a lot of hurt before healing’s arrival,
a lot of you before any of me.
My part is done.
These fidgety fingers no longer carry suffering.
Here, let me see yours, though battle scarred and bruised.
You’ve been bearing more than you were built for, beloved.

I think it’s time to surrender.

I do not know
which one of us nestled here first.

All I know is a darkly blanketed sky,
glowing red tongues flickering,
a you and an I, wondering

if your open palms seek solace
in its warmth, or if
your scorched fingers have decided
they've played with too much.

Let me tell you of earthquakes
and how each fracture spreads
like bronchi so perfectly placed
so lovely to look at depending on
where you stand let me

tell you of typhoons and where
they choose to stay where they
choose to brush past where they
choose to skip sideways
altogether and where the eye is
and how you can get there

Let me tell you of tsunamis and
what each wave no matter how
small can do and what kinds of
shadow prints they leave and
what happens when you don't
watch the sand then let

Me tell you of me
Let me tell you how badly I may
wreck you or
build you the decision is right
there your fist is clenched now
open it. I am weather you cannot
predict so take cover and
remember how
I warned you and how you
ignored or chose to watch the
signs and how I secretly hope
you'll be there to help me fix
whatever mess I'll make so

see you when it's over, maybe.

we talk of
      not so faraway lands

and feet that won't keep still.

                          
                        apparently i'm
more like you than you'd like.

              always wondering and
                       always wandering.


but my heart will always be

                here.

It starts
with a warmth, like
fingers spreading thick in my belly
slowly making its way up, up, up
tickling my throat and
warming every inch of this body until
there’s nothing I can do to stop
my lips from parting
my hands from raising
my feet from dancing

How beautiful You are.

Joy.
I feel it radiate, it seems to
vibrate from a well that’s deeper
than I’ve ever known
leaving me without words
and when I find them, they
dance.
The words
dance.
And I feel fire.
My heart swells,
and my bones breathe.
So this
is what it means
to be in love.
And I am so
in love.

How beautiful You are.

Here
I
am.
Walls torn down
pride crumbling
dry and broken
but I know
You’ll still draw me in, so here
I am
standing stunned at…
How do I begin to describe You?
You
whose lips burst forth light
and carved out mountains with precision
set the earth’s cornerstone in position
shut snowstorms in their storehouses
fastened galaxies in their places
You who
breathed out
morning stars.

How beautiful You are.

The sun sets, sinking
in colors of warm honey and
tangerine
I feel You smiling down
on me, and You whisper,
“Child, this one’s for you.”

How beautiful You are.

And my mind just can’t wrap itself around You
and how You
command the clouds to roll like the sea
guiding lightning as it strikes soft earth
and how You
are so much bigger
than I could ever understand
but still are mindful
of man, how
great You are in
perfect faithfulness.

There is no end
to Your love, and if I
were to live and die
a thousand times, and if
the heavens fell
and the seas swallowed up the earth
and the sun stopped rising in the east
and the birds ceased their morning songs
still Your love would
endure
And Your grace
which goes beyond my shame,
I’ve run out of similes and metaphors
to describe how vast
and amazing is this grace
You have that never seems to
run dry no matter how far I run
no matter how hard I fall
no matter how stone-like my heart’s become
Your grace carries me
telling me I’m still Yours.
And I
am forever Yours.

How beautiful You are.

Savior,
Your heart bled at the sight of us
longing for a way to close the gap
millenniums of our pitiful good works
couldn’t close.
Merciful,
in promising to never again
wipe out the face of the earth despite our
stubborn souls sinning the same sins,
saying sorry while we slipped
blood money into our back pockets, we
don’t
deserve
anything.
Yet You
gave
Your
everything.

Overcomer,
Death itself couldn’t keep You prisoner
I still can’t imagine how
Someone like You would
willingly lay His life down
for someone
like me, and I fall to my knees
remembering how
on the cross You
crucified my sins
in the grave You
buried my past
at last
we are free
we are redeemed
we are Your children,
chosen and forgiven
waiting until You
come again.

And if I come to You
before You come to me
and I’ll be running
finally
straight into Your arms,
I don’t know if I’ll even have the
breath to say,

“How beautiful
You are.”

Let's hold the sun, you and I
and bring it to the other side of the sky
to where even the shadows stumble
and ears ache to hear praise

we'll burn our fingers
and scorch our lashes
but it will be worth it

for a man who walks by day will not fade
it is when he walks by night
that the tapered fingers creep in
to dampen the flame that barely flickers

So, let's hold the sun, you and I
and bring it to the other side of the sky
we will be ******
we will be torn
but we'll shine
and they'll rise.

If ever you forget me,
try searching the folds of your skin
the secret space that bends to form your elbows
the nook underneath your collarbones
because I'm almost certain
that I've dropped a postcard or two
with riddles that lead to
your memory of me.

If you ever forget me,
drift off to sleep.
sleep deep.
I'll be the one in your dream
who is cheering the loudest in the crowd
as you spin and do backflips on an elephant's trunk.
I'll be the stone you trip on
the one that causes you to fall down a mountain
but I'll also be the eagle that saves you, and
we'll soar.
we'll soar.

Just
in case you forget me,
just
play songs from the winter birdhouse
and maybe the shaky voices and
dusty guitars will help you remember.
I told you once upon a December's eve
that no one can sing
they can only cry beautifully and
the best singers are those who weep the loveliest
so maybe a playlist
filled with warm nutmeg kisses
will help you remember.

If that still doesn't work,
go back to every time you bled
replay every tear, pause at every clenched fist
every second you were on your knees
but didn't see me standing beside you
behind you
whispering prayers
trying to plant seeds
you never heard me
but the entire time my being was screaming
I'm here

Only when and only if
you forget me,
I hope you'll at least try
to close your eyes
and see the treasure map I tattooed on your eyelids
the one where x marks the spot
where we cut paper figures
by your favorite river
next to the little meadow with
tiny spring flowers
but if that doesn't work either
lie awake at night
search your heart and
if you aren't able to see
my fingerprints on your veins
or my toes peeping out from your
heart's deepest chambers,
it's okay.
Because even if you forget me
over
and over
and over again
I'll always just be here
wishing I never had to
write a poem about someone
you'll never forget
when they've already forgotten you.

fall in love

too soon

you will know she is a poetess
if she likes to wear long-sleeves
long-sleeves that hide the scars
long-sleeves that hold her bruised arms together
long-sleeves with a slit near the shoulder
where she tried to wear her heart
(but poured it out in ink instead)

she will have long hair
or walk like she does
because hair is memory
cutting it is like erasing yesterday's you
restyling it is like recreating you.
her hair will have leaves in it
and leftover twine
from the flower crown she wears
or if she is the daring kind
her hair will have silverdust
(proof of how close her words
got her to the moon)

if she smiles and laughs
and never shows pain
she is a poetess
because a poetess writes her hurt down
in free verses and half-finished sonnets
and she cries not on a boy's shoulder
but on paper where her tears are caught by
the swooping syllables and dauntless denotations
making her words come alive
(because where there is water, there is life)

if you meet a person and assume she is a poetess
check first her palms
(if she will show them to you)
they must show no sign of ink
(for a poetess is sometimes secretive)
no, you must be able to trace the constellations
along the creases of her palm
smell the rocket smoke
and see the nebulae dotting her flesh
where she managed to catch stars.
congratulate her
and maybe, she will lift the hem
of her long pearl blue skirt
and show you the wings on her ankles
and if you're lucky, she will tell you story
upon story
upon story.

if you are able to tell a poetess from a person
and you find her,
keep her.
keep her close to where
the drums of your soul beat from
keep her next to your dreams of sailing and pink seas
keep her in the mental list you keep
of people you will never, ever leave
(and she will keep you, too)

when she dies,
wrap her body in a white Ilocos blanket.
use no coffin.
let the earth swallow her up
(but don't let it swallow her words)
tend to the fire she left you
plan to set out on a quest
to look
for other word-weavers
because it is impossible to live without
these storytellers
then go back to her writing desk
touch the last thing she held
and look for a hole
a false drawer
a hidden key
anything that keeps.
and i promise you,
you will find
more poems.
and if you spread each page out on the floor
its letters will rearrange
and form your name
and point you to a poem hidden
in a pocket she sewed inside her coat
and the first line will read,


"how to tell if she is a poetess"

Rumblings and mumblings

That’s all my lips can form.

Murmurs and whispers

That’s the loudest of my sounds.

A twisted body so

Disheveled and small.

Yes, I am

Special.

Stares and glares.

Mockery and discrimination.

Everyday gifts from people

Oh-so-kind.

“Stupid,” my teacher

Whispers to another.

“Into the last class she goes.”

A stinging heart and

Angry tears flood.

I want to shout, “No!’

But out comes a deafening nothing.

You call me Special?

I am not blind.

Or stupid.

Or thick.

I know that by Special, you mean

Idiot.

Why do you look at my

Tiny frame and

Think that since my body

Cannot function like yours,

My brain must be the same?

I can do

Anything I put my mind to.

I can learn.

I can live.

I can love.

I have so much.

So much to give.

But why won’t you let me?

I think

It is you who is disabled.

You are not able to see

Everything I can become.

Who I’m meant to be.

What I can and will do.

Yes, I am Special.

Yes.

But not the Idiot ‘Special’ you think.

I am me.

I

Am

Jane.

Remember that name.

“Courage, it’s me. Don’t be afraid.”

“If it really is you, call me to come to you on the water.”

“Come.”

You called out

to me.

I s

    a

      n

        k

and started drowning

a drown

a beautiful

glorious

drown

drinking in

sinking in

grace.

Four fingers.

One
for the time I
walked in circles,
unsure if the long walk would be
worth it.

Two
for the people I met --
long live the brief moment
I had to plant something in you.

Three
for the best ***** ice cream
I ever had;
combining cheese with strawberry
and avocado was a beautiful decision,
Manong.

Four
for the empty stone chambers.
I am here.
One day I will fill you
with wayward ones come home.

Look, if you leave me tomorrow,
I will first go
to your side of the bed and
lie there.
I  will fit my body into the shape of yours
whose frail form has already been imprinted in the thin mattress.
I will place my palm where yours once was and I will memorize every rise and
every fall of your body
every curve
every straight line
every aching vertebrae that you never complained of
every stitch you never told me about
because you are stronger than anyone I know.

If you leave me tomorrow,
I will throw open your dusty cabinet doors
bury my face in your clothes
and I will smell your smell.
What is your smell?
I will smell you and pretend that
I'm burying my face
in you

If you leave me tomorrow,
I will die.
I will die.
I will die.
Maybe not all of me,
but a chunk that's half times two of me, that's for sure.

If you leave me tomorrow,
I will run out of the house
and visit that pile of debris overlooking the sickening city
my sanctuary
after you
and I will ache.
I will ache.

If you leave me tomorrow,
I will grab my pen
and write down everything about you
from the way your hair falls to the way you never, ever said
"I love you."
and that's okay because I will write about the way
you loved me with your fingers
with your slanted eyes
with your lifted brow
I will write because I am scared that I will forget
the little things that make you you.
your precision
your perfectionist ways
your scientific mind
your slow, strong stride
the way you tap the jar when the coffee's almost gone
because you hate wasting things and
I will remember that and hate the way
I am wasting.
I will create another you in my mind
one that
won't
leave me tomorrow.

I swear, if you leave me tomorrow, I'll...

I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.

Onward, soldier.
Onward.

That’s what they all
tell me, but
let me
slow down for a moment.
There’s a little something I gotta
say,

Thank you.

To that swing set in Greenhills Music Studio
San Juan City,
without you,
I’d never have learned that sometimes
it’s the other way around—
feet in the sky and head on the ground.

Mrs. Arambulo, the swing set’s owner,
who made sure I was well versed in
sonatinas and arpeggio scales
before I found out they’d already made
a piano that didn’t need tuning, and

Ma, who’d test my memory by
asking me if I
could recite
whole paragraphs at age four,
she’s why I remember things like
the smell of pilmeni,
the color of our first house’s carpet,
and nine page spoken word poetry,

to everyone behind that old kids’ show, Bayani,
watching it in my
second grade HEKASI class
would bring me to tears each time — no kidding,
you all paved the way for my homeland’s history
to make its home in my heart,

my English teachers from
sixth all the way to eleventh grade,
who all believed and still believe in the words I put down on paper
and spew out on dark stages armed with imagery and the Spirit,
you made me fall deeper in love with the way words can be waves
or flames,

Dad, who taught me
to climb mountains, to read books,
to let myself run free among the nations
but to always remember to leave a part of my heart at home,

to the four little boys I met in Hong Kong,
if we meet again, I owe you a better explanation to your question,
“Why do you dance?”
thank you for asking me that, and I’m sorry for my cowardly answer back then
but I’m braver now, and
I promise it’s for more than just fun or exercise,
it’s for this God I hope you get to know,

and to every Philippine history teacher I’ve ever had,
keep teaching like that,
we need more young ones who’d be willing
to die for their homeland,
you taught me that there is so much more to this country
than its own people tell me, so
burn on.
and make sure they catch fire.

Onward, soldier.
Onward.*

I’m not sure where I’m headed,
but I’d rather be uncertain of the road ahead
than forget
where
I started.
I’ve told you mine, now

tell them yours.

the things they hate you for
are the things that draw me in
closer.
deeper.

shattered hearts,
patched-up souls,
and bloodshot eyes
capture me.

your faults
your failures
your weaknesses
make me love you more.

i can't help it.

i love the broken.

The first time I asked for an Impossible Thing
was not in the lazy summer afternoon lull when
Lola was cutting out my newspaper sword and you said
yes, you would be my dragon. Yes,
you would be my horse. Yes,
you would be my prince.  Yes,

I may ride your stiffened shoulders
as many hours as I like. Yes,
you'll buy me chocolate covered marshmallows
and chocolate kisses and chocolate bars. Yes,
you'll laugh at everything I say,
listen to my songs and stories, watch me dance, but

No.

You will not stop poisoning
your lungs, but yes. You will
give me chewing gum, ask me
to step outside, while I watch
another second of your life leave
as your chest heaves, phlegm
piercing your throat like shards.

I can still smell the smoke, Lolo.
Ashes to ashes.

I can still smell the smoke, Lolo.

I never asked for this.
I never wanted to know you
to feel you on my morning skin
to hear you whisper songs with the wind

I never wanted you.

And I was such an idiot for not wanting you
but you pulled me in
and promised me on that painful night
that joy would come with the dawn

I never wanted you.

Especially now that you refuse to
leave me
I've been faithless my entire life but
now I think I can manage just
a drop
even though it's the size of a mustard seed.

I never wanted you.

Because of you I can't have it my way
I want my way
but yours is always better and I know that
but I still try to
go
and you still
take me back
every single time

I never wanted you.

I didn't ask for your love
Your stupid, relentless --
I hate this
because it's too much for me to take in
to hold in
but it's a beautiful kind of hate
How come your love is like this
it's like an ocean and I'm drowning, but the thing is
I'm allowing the drowning
I didn't ask for your love because

I never wanted you.


You wanted me.

There is something about knowing that your heart
has finally found its place, that the peace you have been searching for
now knocks at your door.

That the storm that has left you in pieces,
that has you so used to the darkness you had
forgotten you once walked on sunlit paths
is finally over, and you remember that the moon and the stars still exist
that hurricanes, no matter how huge, lose their speed
and there is still such a thing as clouds
that don’t bring death with each fall of rain.

I know that there is something about knowing that
there is hope, and not just any kind of hope,
but the hope that is alive,
and knowing this… you know what it does?

It makes me feel like spring,
every fiber in my being so alive and kicking
and suddenly every part of me knows
how to dance, I lose control of my body
and even I don’t know how to stop me,
my mouth seems too small to contain the smile
that is breaking across my
face is flushed pink
like I’m in love, I am in love, how can you not be in love
when you know that a hope like this is living and it
overtakes you and kind of breaks you and
makes you feel like this, makes you
forget how to form words on your tongue,
even the simplest things are now indescribable
brings you to your knees, waterfalls of tears on your cheeks
and you’re not sure if they’re from laughter or amazement
but then it hits you, the word to describe it is
joy.

An inexpressible, glorious joy.

And this joy does not fade.
Even in my hardest nights, in the corners of my heart
there it resides.

How can this joy go away, when I know
that every ugly part of me
every mistake
every failure and every fall
has been taken and exchanged?
Darkness for light
death for life
sin for righteousness
mourning for gladness.

How can this joy be silenced,
when God Himself shamelessly proclaimed
His love for me, an unworthy being,
announcing to the world
that I am now His through the nailing of His body to a tree?

How can this joy be destroyed,
when even after accepting His love into my life
there are times my heart still strays far
but then, again and again and again, His love goes further?

It cannot.
And it is with this joy that my heart has been filled,
more than when all the blessings are flowing
and I am not lacking, this joy
goes beyond this world in which we are living,
pointing us to the only possible source for a
joy like this.

There is something about knowing where the source
of such a joy comes from,
and knowing that your heart has finally opened its doors
and finally found its place there.

And that source is Jesus.
And my heart has opened its doors to Him and
found its place in Him, and I am filled with joy.

An inexpressible, glorious joy.

You

Were born

To die.


A King

Born in

A feed-box.

i wished upon a star,

and every night, i flew

to the second star to the right.


i spent my time,

looking for the house of the seven dwarves.

i painted with the colors of the wind,

and discovered the enchanted, glass-covered rose.


i went the distance,

lived in the hundred-acre wood,

and wore my glass slippers everyday.


i fought dragons,

found thingamabobs,

and lived a million happily ever afters.


the gown always snug,

the tiara always fit,

and i never forgot my gloves.


then, something dreadful happened.

i grew up,

and

reality hit me hard in the face.


the stars lost their shine,

and i lost my way

to the second star on the right.


the seven dwarves' house seemed even farther away now,

the wind lost its colors,

and the last petal fell.


the roads were blocked,

the dark wood showed its true colors,

and i lost the other pair

of my beautiful glass slippers.


the dragons defeated me,

the thingamabobs were lost to the sea.


i outgrew the gown,

the tiara lost its sparkle,

and my gloves were thrown into the trash.


and i found out,

that in real life,

there are no happily ever-afters.


but, i refuse to let this be so.

one day,

when all this is over,

i will find it.

my castle in the clouds.

and i'll be able to smile again,

and whisper,

"dreams do come true."

I smell the miso soup and curry
though its bowl's contents
have been long licked away
I see you when I look at her
Her eyes that wander and eyes that sigh
longing for you as I do.
Maybe even more.

She waits and speaks and fights.
I wonder if she wants to be with you yet
I hope not, because I need her still but
I need you, too.
It's selfish, but I am speaking my mind.

The pain I felt
three weeks ago when I remembered you was physical
My breath came in short puffs
and the tears pricked and the leaves swayed
as I looked out the ***** window.
Maybe I was expecting you to swoop down, hug me,
and tell me you were sorry
for leaving so soon.
So, so soon.

It's time to go, so I touch the small of her back lightly
and help her into the car
something you used to do.
I am not angry.
But it hurts.
Knowing that you never saw me dance
or play the piano
or walk up the stage to receive my diploma
Knowing that I'll never be Princess Aurora
and you'll never be Prince Philip or the dragon again
Knowing that as long as the sun rises and the moon smiles
I'll still be here
without you

I love her.
Know that.
So for you, Lolo*, I'll take care of her as well as I can
because I know it will make you smile
and that will make me smile too but I still miss you
and it still hurts sometimes.

I once heard a story
A story of a man, he
Worked under the sun’s scorching fingers
Still he lingered
Labored
And at the end of the day
By faith
Gave up his very best
Leaving the not-so-good rest
For himself.


Through his actions
He left
Something
Something for us to think about
Something for us to imitate
And recreate
And apply
To our daily lives
This man
By faith
He gave his best
And so do we.


I once heard a story
A story of a woman, she
Was blessed with beauty
Donned in a robe
Of purple and gold
Hair combed with Persian oil
Piercing dark eyes
And, knowing that she could die
Took heart
Swallowed her fears and
Saved a people
            a nation
            a race
By faith
She took courage
And so do we.


I once heard a story
A story of a boy, he
Had nothing to offer
Just
Five cold loaves and two little fish
That boy, unselfishly
Generously
Humbly gave
Everything he had
By faith
He gave everything
He had
And so do we.


All these people
Led by example
And left thumbprints
On our minds
On our hearts
They left
Something
Something called


The trail that you blaze
The memory you create
The footprints you leave
The mark you place
The “I was here” sort
The dent you make
The story people will tell
For generations
And generations
To come


So, wake up!
Shake off the shackles
Break those chains
Tear down the walls
That have been imprisoning you
Holding you
Keeping you
From being who you were called to be
For that is true freedom


Arise from where you are
You chosen people
You royal priesthood
You holy nation
You children belonging
To the Most High


Raise your voices like trumpets
Shout aloud
Do not hold back
For you have been set apart
Redeemed
Renewed
Reborn and
Redefined


It’s time
To be the salt
And the light
You were made to be
Not conforming
Not compromising
To the pattern


It’s time
To start being
A leader who serves
Protects
Loves
A leader by example
A leader through actions
And words


It’s time to make your mark
It’s time to throw the dart
It’s time to blaze your trail
It’s time to write your story
It’s time to quit hiding
It’s time to leave
It’s time to leave a legacy.

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
in the park, in the city, on the beach
a nice, long walk

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
someplace with trees
lots of trees
and sky
because I read somewhere that
you can never have too much sky

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
and watch people live
make up stories about them
or ask them themselves

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
and feel the wind whisper
and send me a message from someone far away

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
and forget how it is to rush
to forget
to hurry
to worry

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
with a soft sun
or a mellow moon
or rhythmic rain

I just want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
yes
a nice, long walk

jar of clay
holding,
cracking,
thirsting.
unfinished,
fickle,
and imperfect.
thirsty soul
craving spirit
searching always
for the Potter.
a mere wave,
             whisper,  
             vapor,
soon to pass.
a jar of clay
am
     i.

there is

no such thing

as

too much faith.



the risk before you,

take it.

breathe in

and

out.



let go

let go

f

  a

     l

      l



fear not.

feel the comfort

of invisible wings

wrap around you



let go

let go

let go

.

.

.

let Go(d)

Today, I just had
My first Christmas
Without you.

I seemed to float
Through the halls
And doorways,
Fighting back the tears.

It's funny how
You were not there,
Yet you were everywhere.

I saw you in every little corner,
In every little space
Of what was once your home.

I saw you in the garden
Admiring your trees.
I could smell your clothes
Before I even set foot in your room.

I felt you when
I drew near your chair.
The wooden chair.
Your favorite one.

You have no idea just how much
I wanted to spend this Christmas
With you.

You have no idea just how much
I want to be
With you.

But then,
I realized and remembered
One thing.

Today, you just had
Your first Christmas
With Him.

I'd bet all the money in this world
That it was a wonderful Christmas
For you because,
You spent it with Him.

I bet when the angels sang
And danced,
You did, too,
Even though I know
You're not much of a dancer.

I bet your laugh
Sounded like silver bells.
I bet that
That one Christmas you spent up there
Was better than all the Christmases
You spent down here.

And that's alright.

Today, I just had
My first Christmas
Without you.

Today, you just had
Your first Christmas
With Him.

And that's alright.

Your pain is gone.
And that's all that matters.

Today, I walked away
From your grave
With a somewhat
Lifted spirit
Knowing that
You just had
Your first Christmas
With Him.

And that's all that matters.

take a

deep

breath, and

stop.

are you sure

you want to

unlock this?

let’s watch whales together
let’s catch stars together
let’s collect jars together
let’s put our dreams in those jars together
let’s write poems together
let’s play with foxes together
let’s sail together
let’s count asteroids together
let’s save penguins together
let’s read books together
let’s sing together
let’s eat Poptarts together
let’s paint together
let’s talk about elephants riding unicycles together
let’s listen to the willows whisper together
let’s cry of laughter together
let’s ride horses together
let’s discover the beauty in hidden places together
let’s build contraptions together
let’s get lost together
let’s live with different tribes together
let’s…
together

There's something I need to get off my chest, Liz. Something I've been keeping from you for years. I was cleaning out my closet the other day, and I realized something. The painful thing about phone calls is that every sleepy groan could have been heard clearly if I were with him, and every word he spoke only to me could have been whispered into my collarbone. But what really infuriates me... is that the first person who got to love him didn't stay. Love is staying.

You have no idea how long I've stayed.

"What I'm trying to say is..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm in love with..."

Me?

"Her."

"Oh."

You see, the honest truth is that you're perfect for each other and that I wanted this to happen. When I watch how he lightly touches the small of your back as if he's afraid you'll shatter if he holds you too hard, and how your fingers comb his past out of his hair when you run them through gently, I wonder if your hearts are actually one but were separated at birth. I don't know, I might be lying, but I don't think I am. I don't think I am. All I know is that he was always yours and never mine---I don't know why I hold on, because you're everything he needs. But somehow, so am I.

Loving him and watching him love you has gotten me nowhere except everywhere I never wanted to be. I don't hate you for this. Really. All I ever wanted was for both of you to know what it feels like to have wings on your ankles and morning songs on your earlobes, because that's how I feel when he asks me to help him make playlists for you. I just imagine he's making them for me.

So instead of poisoning myself with hate, I'll teach you how to love him better. I need you to love him better.

Sing him to sleep and sing him awake. There is nothing he wants more than to rise and drift off knowing that he'll be safe in the voice of someone he loves. Sing him songs about mountains. He'll love that.

Bike to the riverside with him and bring nothing with you but a hand-stitched quilt a pen. Find a spot where the wind never stops dancing. Write stories on the leaves and the trees so that he'll know that he has a place to call home after you. You can name that spot if you want, but I know he'll name it after your favorite flower.

When he cries and his past comes creeping in, clutching his throat and burning his chest, don't say anything. Just hold him. Hold him and hold him. Wait until he's stopped shaking then, with your nose buried in his hair, whisper, "I still love you."

Maybe I should write all of this down, seal it in a mint green envelope, and mail it to myself. Then I'll read it out loud and will probably be crying my heart out but at least I'll be stronger.

But don't worry, I won't say anything to him, because I care about you, too. So I'll stay still. Even though I'd like to take a bus to his house right now and leave a post card under his front door with a poem saying that I've loved him a long time. Longer than I should have. But I won't.

Because I know that he doesn't have the strength to catch me.

Did you know that love is a tangible thing?
I felt its warmth in your touch
saw it spill from the corners of your eyes
to the apples of your cheeks
if you continue to love the way you do,
Indz jan,
you will shake strongholds.

love = ?

a ****** tree.

love = ?

three nails.

love = ?

died for me.

You have carved for yourselves a home
in the crooks of my arms,
where the beats of my chest come steady,
in the spaces reserved for my 2am thoughts,
your laughter echoes over and over and
my dreams have turned red, yellow, black.

I don’t know much science, but I do know
that no thick-rimmed, burnt-brow whitecoat
could have formulated a theory
quite like the night when you told me:

God breathes in your mountain.
Speaks morse code in the night skies.
Tastes like clear, running waters.
Dresses you in deep browns, floating gold.
Smells like first harvest, grass just rained on.

Honest and wide-eyed, you tell me it’s
all too intricate, all too alive
to be woven by a wooden fingered god.

Your tongues dance the languages
that you’ve conquered but not colonized.
I am unafraid of stumbling on their steps
when I am held by hands that build bridges
where walls have been torn down.

You have always sent me shaking,
crying, braver,
with how you,

wake to gunfire instead of alarm clocks,
choose to wield pencils and paints and bamboo song,

how you,

who have seen the flesh of your flesh
wrapped in a red not made of beads or cloth,
walk hostile streets with your fists and prayers,
hearts welcoming a shattered sky.

How you,

have never met strangers
without bombs in their back pockets,
yet aren’t afraid of my nakedness
sharing soap, sharing soup

with you,
a people,
our people,
my people.

Born of sun, born of earth
beaded bodies native to heaven,
your eyes constellations, maps
for the lost feet
finding roads to forgiveness,
finding roads to forgiveness.

Have you seen this girl?
Description?
Here.

She
is an acid-wash-jeans-and-
black-boots-wearing,
leather-bracelets-with-­flannel-flying kind of girl,
the kind of girl who would rather speak
only if spoken to,
because she prefers to tell her stories through
tubes of watercolors and reluctant poetry,
and her look,
she’s heard this a lot of times, can be quite the
back-off-you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me kind, but
once you’ve jumped that hurdle, the rest comes easy.

Gold
must be stuck in between her teeth,
because every word she says is wrapped in wisdom
******* together with strings of grace, and
sprinkled with good intentions for good
measure
the length of her hair
and you will find that there are still
so much more stories woven
into the strands, you
will see galaxies in her eyes
paintings on her lips
and there are flowers blooming on the tips of her fingers,
try telling her this.
She will blush,
or she will laugh, and you will wonder
if the broken pieces of mirror on the floor
were really just an accident.

But roses have thorns, too.
Some days are thunderstorms,
and there are times when
lightning does strike the same place twice,
and she’s had a lot of those days.
Maybe she’s gotten used to
having her hands burnt from
trying to heal the earth where
it was struck, and
despite the countless times she’s
tried to wash her hands,
she still can’t get rid of the smell.
One day she’ll see that there
is new skin growing from her old wounds.

Other days her lines
just won’t draw straight,
and the blues and yellows
seem to have confused themselves
for greens and reds, and she
forgets that she is being shaped
by someone else, that
she is a work in progress
and that her cracks are being mended,
being molded,
she only has to allow it
to begin.
She’s been building walls,
but it’s time
to tear them
down.

When you see this girl,
tell her not to be so ******* herself.
Tell her
that she is more loved
than she thinks she is,
that inside her coals
are diamonds
tell her to stop worrying
to stop thinking that she
doesn’t deserve anything, well,
she doesn’t, but
remind her of grace.
Remind her that she
is worth dying for, that
even before she was formed, blood
was spilled so that one day
she’d learn how to smile,
how to cross canyons
on an invisible tightrope,
how to hope.
Tell her not to forget that.

So, have you
seen this girl?

Description?

Here.

Take a good,
long look



in the mirror.

I missed this morning, I
had forgotten to bring along
extra fuel to keep me going, I
hope it never slips your mind to
retreat sometimes because everybody needs
something
to keep them
moving.

You keep me moving.

today there was nothing on the table
cutlery, yes
plates, yes
my mug with handpainted rabbits, yes
but today there was nothing on the table.
in your haste to impress the
distinguished guest, don't forget
the need to exhale.

****
it
up.

today you told me you loved the rain
and that the
way they raced down the tip of your nose and
tasted on your tongue
lit up your eyes.

why are you still wearing a raincoat?

maybe we've
all gone through the
exact same things only yours
was measured in cups while
mine was a teaspoon and a half.
I still have the right to feel.

I don't know if I'm too
focused on getting there
or how I'm getting there, but
I know that I
I should be
focused on
You

contrary to popular belief,
I realized I missed you when
we were finally right beside each other
giggling over Oliver Wood and
Ron's stubby nose.
I don't want to leave you again, but
I'd be lying if I said I'd stay forever.

Forgive me.