the sky bled pastel;
the angels must be stabbing
each other again.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
so far,
my life has been a series of
man-made clouds,
endless to-do lists,
void-like doubts,
blinding mind mists,
hollow entertainment,
playful silhouettes,
forced amusement,
mad architects,
rapid comets,
dead mockingbirds,
repressed vomits,
& disposable firsts
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
1: shallow beach
our little talks
have always been like
little waves,
secretly desperate for height,
something passionate surfers
will never learn to like;
and like a lonely muddy puddle,
desperate for depth,
hoping that someday
it'll swallow up all the boots
stomping on it.
2: gutter
our exchanges have
always been *trippy as ****
every word we say floats above our heads
and we would smirk as we watch them position themselves.
they form these neon swirls
that our pupils **** in for us
to share a nirvanic high.
as we see the post lights beat different colors,
our monochromatic mindscapes
dramatically turn into psychedelic voids.
on this elevated surface,
on this gutter,
on this place most people perceive
as a spit spot,
and on this cemetery
for cigarette corpses,
our chaotic souls
have found a dwelling place
and
our cluttered minds
realized its capacity
to be eloquent like a fluid pen,
to be sad yet tranquil like somber nights,
and to be embossed like keloid scars.
3: airplane
our
conversations
taste
exactly just
like the view
from a window seat
on a starry night flight.
our sentences never failed to leave
trails of cerulean glitters on our tongues
before they came out of our mouths.
but as we moved above
the dots of city lights,
we could only think of how
depressingly ephemeral
everything is.
4: mind palace
our intertwined thoughts
built a helix bridge
connecting a place of infinite stairs
to an abandoned house of mirrors.
i can't forget when you told me once
that i was your favorite trespasser.
but to me, you're just one of those strangers
who tiptoed his way to get in
just so he could try to figure out
which mirror door led
to my most honest labyrinth.
5: rainforest
every time our letters fall like raindrops
and land as paragraphs on the dry earth,
the petrichor is sniffed by pine trees
and as they happily sway,
they discover their capacities to dream.
they aspire to be the blank moldy papers
that only the two of us can fill.
they desperately want our words
tattooed on their skins.
our hands, their spine.
their home, our minds.
6: dance studio
we agreed that we were the world's
most horrible dancers
because we danced with our
two left brains,
not with our
two left feet.
i could only come by night,
and you could only come by day,
but our opposite timezones
never prohibited us to miss
this dazzling performance
only our minds can make.
sitting cross-legged together
in front of a wide mirror,
we see
two people
dancing
two different genres
but somehow magically
complementing each other
7: bedroom
we made our discussions
with our spontaneous feet.
each aimless step
summoned a plethora of paths
that we promised we'll take
i can't seem to forget
how happily lost we were;
not because we are products of a consumer-obsessed era,
but because we are products of the realization that the Earth is made of unlimited wormholes that we can zap through to discover things.
i can't also seem to forget
how our days would end with our toes touching the
chipping paint on your wall
while we stare at the photographs we took by the sun;
while we listen to music as our souls spun.
it has been our personal routines to remind ourselves
that we are not slaves of superficiality.
but as what i feared...
we expired
just like the stardust we basked in.
we used to bleed dreams,
but now, what are we?
we have become two cogs left to tarnish
in some corporate machinery
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 6:44 AM UTC
"i love reading people."
he said
"i love writing fiction."
she said
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 5:50 AM UTC
The calm after the storm is a transitional heads up for another storm
* * *
You're a year-long torrential downpour
that I managed to survived
And now I'm hoarding my goods
because the next one is about to arrive
Who knows when,
who knows how long
But one thing is for sure,
you'll just be a drizzle in comparison
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
**"why is the sky blue?",
asked a blind man whose mindscape
is devoid of hue
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
(inspired by Petersen Vargas’s “fourteen boys”)
1
here’s to the boy who
i unknowingly married
when i was a kindergartner
only for him to unknowingly divorce me
inside a moving train
thirteen years later
2
here’s to the boy whose
once-euphoric image
instantly floated away from me
as the heavy riffs
of an underrated rock band
ignited a crowd surf
that only moved from east to west
3
here’s to the boy who
had the courage to ask me why
i was good at spelling
but never had the guts to ask
me if I liked him back
4
here’s to the boy
whose memories never ceased to haunt me.
from the questions about cigarettes to the questions about bra sizes,
from the diary entries to serial poems,
from us not happening to us never happening.
5
here’s to the boy who
treated me as an eyepiece
when all i ever wanted
was to be
his favorite specimen
6
here’s to the boy who
i turned into a melancholic four-chord song
when he proved to me that
white roses and love letters
don’t work well as bribes
7
here’s to the boy
who decided to sum up
three years of
our one-sided,
on-off
relationship
by responding “when?”
the night
i finally had the sanity
to tell him,
“don’t cry. i loved you so much.”
8
here’s to the boy
whose hand i held
for it was about to
be sliced thin
by my razor-edged ribs
9
here’s to the boy who
i wish i met in another Earth
10
here’s to the boy who
hugged me
backstage
and threw tomatoes
at me
frontstage
11
here’s to the boy who
is two-dimensional,
but is a million times human
than the people i know
12
here’s to the boy who
plucked the right strings
when i began humming
an unfamiliar tune
13
here’s to the boy who
collects broken hearts
for his own pleasure,
but was very disappointed
when he wasn’t able to break mine
14
here’s to the boy who
left me alone on a boat
so he could swim his way
towards a luxury cruise ship
15
here’s to the boy who
knows too much
about me
but too little
about her
16
here’s to the boy
whose sighs inflated my lungs,
and who later on taught me how to build sandcastles
out of his cigarette ashes so he could eventually
blow them down with his exhales.
(not because he likes to destroy what i’ve built,
but because he always enjoyed
the sight of me basking
in the powdery white-gray ruins)
17
here’s to the boy who
convinced me why
i shouldn’t procreate
18
here’s to the boy
whose brain i wanted to unspool
so i could crochet a beanie
out of his to-die-for fibers
19
here’s to the boy
whose outward boffs
made me wish
he was my creator,
and whose own silence
drowned
out his pulse
last September
20
here’s to the boy
who made me wish
i had a **** bigger than his,
so i could show him more ways
to squander masculinity
21
here’s to the boy who
told all his stories to me,
and who hated math so much
but was better at it than me
22
here’s to the boy who
i broke off midsentence
when he thought Richard Linklater
was directing both of our lives
23
here’s to the boy
who lavished me with his
words and inspired me
to come up with
this spin-off
24
here’s to the boy who
was vindictive enough
he didn’t entertain the thought
of depriving me of a body
25
here’s to the boy who
thought he had a slot
on this poem
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
Funny how physicists never mentioned
that there are such things as
walking dimensions
Because the irony has always been this:
We may be occupying the same space
but we don’t coexist
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
remember when we shared my earphones
on a passenger bus
so we could listen to a Daughter song
that best resembled us
instead of whispering the exact lyrics
into the hollows of each other's ears
this is was what we thought out loud:
*we want each other so much
but we hate our guts.*
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
is
when you wanna crawl back to your mother's womb
with a thread and needle
so you can sew
that
vaginal opening
shut
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC