he waves at me in a sea of people,
I didn't know how he found me
there were tides of faces washing the shore
but he surfs through,
holds my hand exactly when I'm like the water,
raging and blue
there was once a light in these eyes,
moony, brimming and wide-eyed
once deemed bright, now even the stars don't shine
he lights a fire with bare hands,
slowly, yet so surely
flames to keep me warm, light to give me life
he reads me like a book,
marks every word I say
does not turn the pages without
learning the meaning of every sentence,
every ******* phrase
acts out his script like it's a play
a seat saved for every dinner
coins in the fountain, wishing
earnest yearning like a beginner
an origami of flower
says "I've been thinking of you"
despite the busy hours
breakfast's ready
bare-faced, bed's messy
there's a look of love on his face
by then, I know I'm ready
... if I feel loved that way
Aug 3, 2024
Aug 3, 2024 at 9:40 AM UTC
When I’m hurt, I forget about all the beautiful things
I forget the taste of my favorite sweet coffee in the morning
I forget the view of sunlight creeping in my room
I forget the sound of wind chimes and calm sea waves
I forget the feeling of soft breeze lightly touching my skin
I forget the scent of the flowers my mother have grown in her garden
I forget the little chitchats and the nights out with my best friends
I forget the view of the soft blur of city lights right in front my eyes when I’m on the top of the world
When I’m hurt, I tend to forget my virtues, my capacity to do good, and my value.
If I have to kneel down and ask for one thing: it is not to remove any pain from the things that can’t be stopped from happening, but to always be reminded of the beautiful things I have around me so that no matter how shattered I am, I will be healed
— so I can keep going,
so I can go on breathing
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 1:52 AM UTC
The sound of your smile reverberates in the four walls of this world — into the curvature of your lips, to the buzzing crowd, to the open skies bolting downward and and into my heart.
I try to close my eyes when the sight of you gets clearer in broad daylight, holding onto tiny prayers that as you pass, I may not be blinded by the radiance of your beauty, but be graced by the scent of the breeze that escorts you — ever so subtle that only filled gaps would be able to grasp what it felt like to really get close with you.
I try to stick out this frozen heart by the warmth of your flame, but not too close for I am afraid the fire would enclasp, swallow it whole and spit it out into ashes, but I cannot and would not stop wondering how would it feel like to set myself on fire — breathe it out, plunge into the fire hoops or dance with the fire god that is within you.
I try not to, but everytime I start to write these blues, all that comes out are the possibilities that might not even happen, a reality that is a mirage in totality.
I will try to flap these wings of mine as fast as I could, but how could I? The sound of your smile reverberating within the four walls of this world is capable of paralyzing a roaring lion — let alone a swift bird.
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 1:48 AM UTC
Even then,
even when I feel defeated,
I lie down on this banig,
knit my gaze
with the softest emblem
of fleeting grace and parading beauty above me that might never fade—
even when all glory does,
and feel honeydew sap
trickle on my skin.
I rest my case here
and let the mouth of the mound
devour what's left of me to breathe,
and I will thank Him
for the buzzing of the bees
that stung my ear,
the stubborn weeds
that clung to the depths of civilization, budding wildflowers that burgeoned
from the carnage of yesteryears,
and the soft whispers of the wind cradling me to sleep.
All I have is this world that speaks of love in sundry dialects: of hoots and hisses,
of succulents,
of corn fields,
of tides
and of hues imbued in the vast horizons, blanketing the murky tales of the world.
All I have here is never-ending, even when in a flux, and I will thank Him for it.
Jul 21, 2020
Jul 21, 2020 at 6:57 AM UTC
you can tell me things,
any liter you have picked
around every corner
and together we’d unscramble—
the knotted pieces,
even the ones you’d tossed
at the back of your mind
but only if you want to,
only if you feel like
you ought to
you can tell me the uncanny,
the ugly, the messy
all the wonders flying
like bats on the darkness
inside your head
and we’d wander,
but i’ll lace my fingertips on yours
so you won’t ever have
to feel astray
you can tell me
when to come and save you,
in the *********
unholy hours,
when the cruel waves
insinuate the only space
that makes you sane
we’d lay back on the wet shores
and curse the moon
for the tides
and the bad luck
i’d tell you
my night time stories,
the uncanny,
the ugly
and the messy
you wouldn’t like them,
but there will be
a glimpsing moment
in my eyes
and a flutter
in my chest
there are more things
i’d love to say,
but i know you’d rather
fall asleep
maybe in the daytime
i could tell you
when your eyes are dry
and you are
no longer blue
you can listen to me,
and the words i choked on,
but only if you want to
only if you want to
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 8:48 AM UTC
I'd be glad to hold your hand,
to cross the streets,
to have a bottle or two,
to watch the sun rise
with you
I will listen to your favorite songs,
the ones that help you sleep,
the one everybody thinks is weird,
that one you want to dance with
I'll be there when you need
someone to wipe your tears —
through ups and downs
throughout countless of years
I'd be glad to hear your secrets,
to see your face,
to hear your raspy voice,
to hold you
first thing in the morning
I'd share you all the late nights,
all the writing prompts I have in my head,
the last slice of a pizza,
that side of the bed
I will be with you
wherever you choose to stay
for the time being
or for the rest of your life
I'll save you a poem,
one that's waiting to be heard
and then I’ll save you a seat —
on dinner nights,
on the ride back home,
in the cafes
I would love to slow dance
with you all over again,
as I listen to you
hum the lyrics of my favorite classic
I’ll have you next to me,
skin on yours under the sheet,
in a dim-lit room
on a Sunday night,
as if there is no tomorrow
as if there’s only you and me
in this little sanctuary,
away from the tiresome reality
I’d die to make you
feel warm
and loved
and adored
I’ll be right next to you,
when you win your games,
even when you lose,
right next
when I don’t want to miss any
of your laughters and smiles
right next
when you’re falling asleep
or when you’re dreaming
about Slender man
and the things that haunt you
right next
when you feel like you’re
on the top of the world
and you feel like screaming
and rest assured,
I will be right there with you as well
at 3am, when you’re out of breath
and you feel alone
I can’t promise you
a perfect world,
but you can hold my hand
amidst all the chaos,
all the shadows,
all the wounded scars on your wrists,
amidst the troubled minds
and the uncertainties
I will be glad to hold you,
to be there,
to have you,
I have faith in knowing that
through it all,
I will love you still
Mar 19, 2020
Mar 19, 2020 at 6:38 AM UTC
you watch life passing through like fast-forward scenes in the movies and you hardly see the details — how your friend got teary-eyed watching the end of a film, how the breeze touched your skin, how the beer tasted, how fast the night was. you watch life pass through, and you don’t see how beautiful the moments are until you wake up alone and replay everything from last night.
you wake up with a hole in the gut, but you see these stills of life you seemed to miss and wish you could go back to see it in life once again, but moments are fleeting so when you have the chance to experience the peaks of being alive, take it. seize it.
Oct 26, 2019
Oct 26, 2019 at 7:35 AM UTC
We were always a speck of dust in the collective breathing of the universe that permeated into celestial bodies. Two dancing cosmic eggs birthed from the paroxysm of the dying stars and suspended in the vortex of nothingness along with the rogues. Somewhere along the plethora of this unnamed greatness we delve in, I know that someone like you, in all the multifaceted universes, can make someone like me stop and stare at the oblivious things – as if it weren't there just waiting for me to notice.
We were always two laughing faces in the heat of bodies packed together—separable. Two heavenly bodies whose stories to tell were only unbosomed by synodic conjunction or an eclipse. We are the whispers of our own past with windups somewhere underneath the sulky skies, but every night together is the epoch of the two lovers dancing within us — heartily swaying with the music of temerarious fancies between a scared lad and a lonely maiden.
We were always just like this.
Too close, yet too far.
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
i thank god
for the sideway glimpses,
for the sweet
and the unkind
serendipity
of this moonbeam
peeking through
the blank spaces
of my palimpsest
i thank the universe
for the smoke
of the cigars
and the dreary
of the nights
despite the
loudmouthed neighbors,
of the plethora
of chances,
the crisscrosses
of the ground
and the junctions
where we meet
i thank the heavens
i no longer
have to bleed
an ink,
it’s enough
that you make
me feel
i thank my angels
as they take you
with me
in my dreams
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 12:37 PM UTC
What happened to the nights of preying upon the chances of what could I have said, what songs could I have told you to play on the stereo, what books could I have told you to read — the nights I tried so hard to save and keep and ripped away from the moribund seconds that lives in the far end of the intersection between two tangent lines?
Nights that had been like a Christmas present wrapped in your voice that floats from across the other side, a smile breaks wide upon hearing it—almost meets my receding hairline.
I think maybe the cherubs have carried me to your feet, to fill an empty ribcage with butterflies and moths and all the decaying caverns in my flesh because in my prayers, they altogether weeped.
And in these nights that were strewn from the strings of fate – crafted only for me – I think I hear my angels singing and crying and dancing
Oh, this must be it. This must be it. Maybe.
This have got me feeling. So maybe.
Here with me, you are the hero that shoos away the phantoms that were born out of my skull. There with you, I am the ballad that makes you dream as you sleep with your lights and stereo on with the music I insist you play.
Here with me, a memory of the static, of the silence that embraced two people. Nothing but a buzz that you could make a song out of, a strange delight that warps and ties a knot to my chest. Now that I think about it, even if you don't talk, it pays every word I ever heard.
I wish you sweet dreams now from the other side of the world.
I wish you sweet dreams for the nights that brought you down. I wish you a calm heart when the thunder roars and a field of lavender for when you feel worn out because you have been the magic that puts me to sleep, at ease, when all the nights have turned out like rough seas.
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 8:53 AM UTC