*TRIGGER WARNING: CONTAINS THEMES ABOUT **** AND ABUSE*
I once knew this girl
Whose name, I cannot recall
Who she was, I was not so sure
But I knew of the tale that made her clocks stall
Walking home that night
The moon on its rising was a beautiful sight
It was particularly bright
Even more when the candles were blown on the street lamp lights
Suddenly its pearl luminescence
turned into a vicious shade of scarlet
I could not make sense of what
was going to happen.
Her arms are spread at her sides like birds' wings high up in the air.
How I wish they were
So she could have escaped the man pinning her down to the ground, telling her not to make any sound.
To his grasp, her strength is bound.
I hear her heartbeats falter with every pound.
The darkness fall over her like a shroud.
In his eyes, I saw a face.
A girl mirrored in the windows of a soul, disgraced.
Suddenly I remembered.
I am her.
His breaths, the sound of his pleasure.
Mine, the cacophony of torture.
He swallowed my screams
like a fine aged bouquet.
He ******* took the light of day, put it into his eyes where I was blinded by the fires that swallowed my vision.
I looked on like I was a spectator in a dream.
My feet lay in one place.
So this is what it feels to be paralyzed
Oh how I wish I could fly
His eyes were void of the abyss of humanity.
Is it a question of sanity?
I would like to think it was
so I would not place the blame on me.
Did I ask for it?
Did I had one too many drinks?
Did I wear the wrong clothes, are they much too skimpy?
Did I choose the wrong time to go out, I should have known it was risky.
Did I even think?
Did I say too much for him to think that I wanted him inside of me ripping skin over and over?
"Be quiet." He growled in my ear
And I obeyed that order
For years and years
My soul, ripped out of its sheltered purity.
My life, polluted with warped imagery of beauty.
My body, never again felt like my property.
As I look at the animal that he is rightfully trapped in his cage,
I felt a twinge of jealousy
for he will be free of his prison, the only thing lost is his age.
As for me, I will never escape the bars guarding my heart.
I will never find a fresh new start.
My words of dissent will always come out as a gust of air just like it did that night.
And now I see a finished sentence.
These words rotting in my throat should be let go of
and it materializes in the form of a question:
When are we going to learn that no simply means NO?
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 11:32 AM UTC
The first time we talked, we were both heartbroken. We bonded over equal sadness and the pain of unrequited love. I did not know why but I was comfortable with you. At first, I was happy because I finally found someone who understood me. I was contented with our friendship but I was never at ease with the simple scheme of things. I ******* fell. It was never something more but that day you told me that the person you liked grew lazy with you....that was when I was ****** Why would anyone dislike you? I was like a kid, raising her hand and saying, "Pick me! Please pick me!" in a dodge ball game. I wanted to be the one for you.
I was disgusted with feelings and all the complications it comes with but you changed that. I am genuinely enamored with all that you are, flaws and all.
An hour of conversation with you turned to days filled with smiles and contentment for me. I think I knew that when we first started talking, I wanted you around. I saw you sad and I wanted to see you happy with me. All I want is a chance to be that person who will stay and make it work for you unlike the others who didn't.
Now, I feel like I missed that chance. I watched as you were falling and somebody else was there to catch you. Blame is on me cause that was all I did, I watched you.
I watched as you stood there alone. I watched as you wrote words for people who were blind to it. I watched you sing to a blank audience. I watched you that night when you were peaceful and I felt like all was right in the world.
I'm willing to wait for that time when you will be ready for the torrential downpour of my adoration.
I would still be there for you.
I know that I would be there when I ask you to make me a list of all the reasons why you think you're not worth it and I'll write a book telling you a hundred times over that you are. Just know that when I see you again, I would still think that "beautiful" is a colorless word.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 11:27 AM UTC
Maybe the last time I wrote about you isn't really the last time because here I am again, picking up the pen and slicing my skin open. After all that has happened, you are still the ink running through my veins and I am still consumed by the hunger to bleed you into every blank space I see.
I thought that my decision to stop writing about you was final. This fascination with breathing life into the idea of you has got to stop. If I wipe the blindness from my eyes, I will see you walking away from me. Maybe I am hoping that the lines on this paper will serve as strings to pull you back to where you are, constricting you in the process.
Writing about you is the only thing that I know of. It is the only thing that fuels the could, and should have been's surrounding my love for you. It is this, not a confession of my love to you laced with reality. These words that I and nameless strangers would read about a girl who is kept alive by sentences intricately woven to fulfill the need to hold on to someone who was not even mine to hold on to.
It's sad that when I think of you, I become motionless. Maybe it is because my thoughts of you are so heavy that my body too embraces the gravity. It is as if my body succumbs to gravity, falling into it just like my soul fell for yours. This very reason made me realize that I have to stop loving you. Thoughts of someone special should make me fly, right? Thoughts of a love so consuming should make me weightless. It should make me light so I could float up into the sky. Instead of all that, I am stuck in this lamp lit room, with the pen heavy enough to weigh down my hand and my heart filled with you, feeling as if it will never love again.
Someone teach me how to let go of the pen. I will forever be grateful for that saving grace.
I promise that I would stop writing about you.
Maybe...
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
Loving you was a lot like smoking cigarettes. If you ask me why, I would go along the lines of how I got addicted to you the same way I did when I acquired the vice of finishing a pack of Marlboros everyday.
I still smell you on my fingers. Hours spent with you on my lips make me want you more. You have seeped into my mind, making my head pound and my hands shake. I tried hard to get away from you but fleeing from the power you have over me is like dragging a mountain behind me. I can do well without you but I find myself crawling back to where you are like a parched man in a desert searching for an oasis. I cannot figure why I continue opening my mouth to taste you. Even after we part, I still feel you in my veins. I feel you slowly travelling down the road in my bloodstream. You will wreck me, I know that I will crash into a solid wall but I fear that I might have given you the control to drive. I cannot keep letting myself be a slave to your power. Everytime I breathe you in, I lose another second that I can add up to my life.
I come to you when I feel smaller than the fingers on an infant's hand or in times when I feel as if the walls are closing in on me. I have to say farewell to you, love. For everytime I inhale you, I exhale my approval to die a painful death. The moment I begun with you marked the start of my ending point. I know that you are only offering me an easy way out, you are not the villain here. I gladly accepted the sinister nature you possess and made it a part of the air I breathe. I will let go of you. I will be grateful for our little affair. Now I give up. My voice would not be as hoarse anymore because it would be clear as day as soon as I stop this conversation with you.
Goodbye.
I will see you in my memory as you creep in the confines of my vitality.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
"You know what the sad part is?" she asked as she carefully sips her succulent and aromatic albeit bitter coffee.
"My reflection is more of who I am than the one looking at it," with her eyes brimming with tears, she hurriedly continued, "That and I do not seem to know how to rhyme anymore these days."
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
Alam ko naman kung ano ang patutunguhan.
Ngunit paano makararating kung ang bawat hakbang ay mas mabigat pa sa mga delubyong pasan?
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
I hope I live long enough to see my dreams transform into reality.
I hope I live long enough to feel my tomorrow's welcome me.
I hope I live long enough to know what love, family, and friendship really mean.
I hope I live long enough to stand in a place where the air will whisper that I am finally free.
I hope I live long enough.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
You are beautiful in the best sense of the word.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, come drown with me.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 6:22 AM UTC