and I'd put the seas between us.
— you can't hurt me here.
Apr 27, 2022
Apr 27, 2022 at 7:00 AM UTC
on some days water would fall down
in heavy buckets; ravaging the hungry earth
stricken— a wave of drought.
the tiny specks of life swimming along
the expanse of the universe would
scatter to have a taste of the heavens
and quench the need of being human.
some would build infrastructures
as great as lunar craters
to catch every miniscule drop
that comes from the sky,
only to keep it in their possession,
never to see another ray of light.
those who have an abundance
seem to have a hard time giving—
hands formed into fists uncaring.
what can be gripped, cannot be taken away.
in this water, there will be power.
_what do the others do then?_
in a morbid sense of camaraderie,
those who have their hands open, cupped,
palms facing the heavens,
can funnel grace into the palms
of another.
maybe this is where I will believe,
despite the flashes of greed and envy,
the kingdom of a god
will always belong to the poor.
Dec 23, 2021
Dec 23, 2021 at 12:59 PM UTC
I wish I could have kissed you
the moment I saw you
in real life for the first time;
something like
running into your arms
and letting the world
turn into static,
only focusing on you.
Only you.
But that would have been
too dramatic. Maybe
you'd get shy all of a sudden
or think I am too forward.
So I just held your hand—
warm like a heavy blanket
and evidently bigger
than mine. Enveloping my hand
in the most comfortable of ways,
like some missing puzzle piece
that was bound to be together
no matter what.
That would have appeased me
don't you think?
No. Not really.
I have nothing to say.
I still want to kiss you.
Dec 16, 2021
Dec 16, 2021 at 9:33 AM UTC
i have always feared of saying i love you too much
as a way to decorate our silences—
when the laughter dies down,
when we scramble for things
to keep the momentum of our conversations.
but the truth is, the flow so easily from my mouth
like water on a quiet brook—
i love you.
i love you.
then i realize i have nothing to fear.
for every time i whisper, i will be met with your voice
ten times greater and convincing— i love you.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 12:21 PM UTC
i've never been one for surrendering to a higher being.
but if it only takes for the clasping of hands
and speaking into silence to finally, finally close the distance,
i lay down my sword
and kneel i shall.
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 12:37 PM UTC
by now my cup would have been filled
with the grace you sing to my name
and how you string sentences together;
letter by letter, thought by thought.
tell me, what does your mind sing
whenever we read the same page of poetry
or listen to the same songs over and over
that they seem to be a dull buzz
a static, a background noise
a façade for something,
(dare i say a tryst?)
or would fate call that too early?
but by now, i'd listen to you
speaking my name like a prayer.
maybe for once
i will believe in religion
as long as you're the one
preaching.
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 2:59 PM UTC
and what of the moles
littered on your neck?
they are tiny stars;
fear not—
i am a cartographer
utilizing kisses.
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 1:04 AM UTC
perhaps this is the reason
every time you spare me a glance,
i see the entirety of the universe
in your eyes—
you are birthed from
the cosmos itself.
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 12:27 AM UTC
i hope your days are filled
with the sunlight;
warmth radiating in your bones.
darling,
happiness looks good on you.
really.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 3:17 PM UTC
(seven)
i stopped wearing shorts—
unable to stop feeling eyes raking my legs
up and down, up and down.
i didn't even know there was a word for that.
(ten)
i started wearing clothes
a size big for me.
they did not ask why
i get angry whenever they force me
to wear something that clings.
i hated puberty,
how things would grow and change,
and they would stare.
(eleven)
i tried wearing shorts again.
immediately i get the feeling of someone
trailing behind me.
i went home as quickly as possible.
(thirteen)
i wore baggy clothes during commute—
a blouse and jeans. it was a thirty minute ride.
it felt longer. especially since this man
sat next to me,
hounding me nonsense— anong pangalan mo?
i do not answer.
that night, i had my resolve—
i will never commute alone again.
people laughed at me. hinahatid ka kasi lagi.
no.
(fifteen)
i started giving prolonged glares,
staring into the eyes of the beast
whenever i hear a whisper as i pass by.
hello, saan ka pupunta?
so i stare them down. funny how
they back away
as i stop in my tracks asking with my eyes
"what now, imbecile?"
does it feel bad when people don't tolerate
the ******** coming out of your mouth?
(nineteen)
ano ba kasi ang suot niya? they ask.
everything feels white-hot, searing.
i refuse to hear anymore of that.
exit.
(twenty)
every time i go home on my own
i carry something
in my hands, a blade if you must.
the night sky begins to envelop the horizon.
the streetlights cast their sickly orange hue
on the pavement as i take one last look at the hospital.
i hope i make it home in time.
Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 1:30 AM UTC