Sometimes I get an odd feeling, the kind that you're not sure of.
And sometimes, the words you say create that odd feeling inside of me.
I do my best to shove it where the sun don't shine and it comes right back.

*******. There. I said it.

******* for ******* with my heart and my whole **** existence.
I've said a million times that I'm happy you and her are together.
I meant every word every single time and wouldn't take it back.

And maybe you didn't mean to cause me pain, but it still happened.
Maybe you didn't mean for your words to change my life, but they did.
How could you have known? it's not like we ever talked about this.

It was staring us in the face, love, and we were unable to see it clearly.
It's not your fault, and it's not mine either.
We didn't give ourselves the chance or time to sort it all out together.
And that's just okay; I promise you it's all okay.

I wanna have lunch with Poe,
at Burger King,

because I'm sure he would appreciate how ghoulish that King in their commercial is

I don't want him to recite verse
while we fill our medium cups with corn syrup nectar--a giant leap
down from laudanum

I do want to ask about the Cask of Amontillado and being walled in slowly, for eternity

for to me that is creepier than all the crimson cream in the Masque of the Red Death

I want to know if he likes the fries--will he dare to dip them in scarlet paste we call catsup

mostly I want to know if he remembers the alley where he was found,

not yet a legend, consumed by consumption and delirium in equal measure

and if there were rodents privileged to hear his last whispered words--or even a gasp

I am buying, Ed, so grab that Whopper with both bony paws and tell me terrible tales, evermore

how better
to spend the day while
she sleeps peacefully
but listening to music

the Beatles
in particularly.
Catching a glimpse
occasionally

of her beautiful
peacefulness
wondering
does she dream of me

when I hear
Good Day Sunshine
I ache

to wake her up

when I began to write
poetry
all those years ago

I was amazed to find
that I even
had a voice.

It was a gift
that I never
hoped for.

I only shared light.

There is too much
darkness.

And then
little by little
I had to write
about the monsters
in the deep.

And my writing
got to be
unrecognizable.

Those couldn't be
my words.

Don't bury me
in a grave
in a big old box
I've known too much
darkness.

And so here I am
trying to balance
injury
with hope for a new future

That may be called
healing.

tonight is strange.
you see,
i slept today
at a friend's house.
but now, cannot
sleep.

and when i say "slept"
i mean;
i laid there
in her blankets,
and thought of you.

and when i say
"thought of you"
i mean;
i wondered if
at that moment
you missed me too.

and when i say "wondered"
i mean;
i imagined your lips
against
my eyelids.

and when i say "against"
what i meant to say
was;
that i wished you
were held against
me.

and when i say "held"
i meant;
that i'll take your problems
and shoulder them
as My own.

but dear,
when i said
"problems"
what i meant to say
was that your
ink-stained fingernails
are god-crafted.

and by "ink"
you know
that i mean;
you've forever
left your mark
on me.

and by "mark"
i mean;
that you've drawn
in all the sides of
all the best poems.

and by "drawn"
i offer up;
that this is not
the first or last
time we fire one another
and scald the oceans.

tonight is strange,
indeed.

it's a good thing
You always know
what i'm really
trying to say.

Here's to the writers—

You have the power to paint words
Into beautiful art—
To be able to touch a soul—
To touch one's heart

You can make the stormy sky blue—
Stop the waves from crashing to the shore
You can make all the withered flowers bloom—
Turn winter into summer, a glimpse of gold

You can make someone's dark day colorful—
Gather hope to put in between your words
Make them feel that they are understood—
That they aren't alone in this cruel world

You can mend someone's broken heart—
Put love in between your lines
Let them know that they are enough—
That being hurt is just a part of life

Yes—
We can make a whole new perspective—
We can create a world of our own
And no, we don't speak only for ourselves—
But also for all the lost souls

—Thalia Bautista; Just keep writing

I promised I'll forget,
How you make me feel;
I promised I'll shrug it off,
No matter how it bothered me.
I promised I'll bury the words that I wanted you to hear;
Promised.

Stuck between crossroads;
None I know would lead to where I want.
Denying what seems to be truth,
Lying to myself;
Hurting;
How bad of a liar I am.

Gave it even if I knew,
A losing bet;
A certain uncertainty;
Guilty innocence;
Out of words,
Loud silence.

Still staying,
Even if it's been long due.
I'll reminisce it in the words you once said,
Even if we never talk.
A lost cause,
*To a battle that hasn't even started.