I am naked with my clothes on
As we bend the norms of togetherness
Sipping the thrill of loneliness
With two beds and overflowing bills
Messed in between laundries
Of December escapisms
we are wrecking creatives
in the stillness of traditions
Screaming in karaoke echoes
I wonder,
Are you asleep my neighbor?
Singing Alicia, Miley, and Kelly
It’s almost past two
Now, it’s not an hour of blues
Our body clocks gone wild
Are we high?
No.
We are such a sight.
This must be the sin of nakedness
No, this is not about ***
We paid the wages of honesty,
leading to an opened door
Of two people in a white room
Exposed internally.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 1:12 PM UTC
Curtains hustling in my old windows
Shadows looming in fainted silhouttes
You draw nearer as I faced south
With blankets filled with sorrow
Escalating to your calmness
Your hands enveloped me
A sudden flashforward:
What are we again?
That summer night I knew
My heart was crossing the line
For in the eyes of hypocrisy
Our intimacy was a crime
I left these vivid imageries
Of the remainders of the past
Of our convoluted label
we called …
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 1:11 PM UTC
Ulan sa magdamagan, ako’y nakahimlay
Sinusuklay ng hangin ang lumulutang na kaluluwa
Itim na kumot ng kalawakan ay naghahari
Sa mga mata ko ito’y unti-unting lumalapit
Patuloy na inaanod ng pulang ilog
Habang sumasabay sa dagundong ng dram
Lumalakas ito...Humihina ito...
Silencio...
Dumaan ang isang segundo,
nakita ko kung bakit ako nasa mundo.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
Flooding misery
in the midst of writing
Not poetry nor stories
but a pretentious resume
to be boxed
in cubicles
lies the enemy
of untold and stranded ideas
Drowning in capitalism
Here I am in pessimism
for the natural rebel within
wants to break a system
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
Blessed are the papers
that the poet writes on
for they will be filled
with mind and soul
Pieces of letters
Infinitely watering
the growing lilacs and daisies
planted in broken soils
Of moralities and immoralities
The curious wind hovers
Of fantasies and realities
It lands to the flowers
complex worlds
In the Paper, there it blooms
Unheard words
In the Paper, it unfolds
Covering scars or --
Opening wounds
through tattooed verses
of stories untold
Eyes and ears
in desperate propositions
Weapons and swords
in silent revolutions
A wondrous space.
Perhaps, it's an art exhibition.
of black inks in white textures,
the cheapest I've known.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC