i missed you yesterday
and the day before
and the day before
when i hadn't seen you for a month.
time was a monster gnawing away
at the walls of its cage between my ribs,
its chains rusting and cracking with wear.
the present was a dreamer's life
of sleep and rest and zoning
because how else could i reach my perfect world
of us?
the past was a landmine,
every moment a missed opportunity
for more time with you.
and the future was repeated images
of when it was finally today,
hugging and seeing and knowing and having.

i missed you earlier
more than i ever had before
when i saw you for the first time in a month.
somehow time had freed itself
and i guess it saved our "us, maybe"
for its main course
because by the time i got to you
i could see in your eyes
that we were already gone.

if our fingers brushed together
and you pressed yours to mine
so accidentally-on-purpose
they gently intertwined
and i looked at you
and you looked at me
and we smiled
i think maybe everything
would be just fine.

Landlocked oceans
Killing trees
There’s nothing but the notion
Of worn out leaves
Gonna tear them apart
Before I run away
From the swimming
Sinking screaming
Of what follows

--
There are so many words to describe me,
none of them is B.A.M.E.
I've got a foreign name, exotic.
Try to read it before you modify it.

How long have I lived in the UK because
my English is so good, where did I learn it?
My accent is American, it's confusing.
or my accent is too Filipino, quite embarrassing.
How can we come from so far
and be so fluent-- so bizzarre.

My rice cooker is an enigma,
more so the amount of rice I eat, huh?
My spoon and fork don't make any sense to you
But your table knife achieves nothing for me, too.

Why do we dye our perfect black hair?
why do we want our skin to be fair--
why don't we just embrace our God-given tan?
Your president seems like a smart man
Fighting your country's drug war like no one else can
Lastly, "are you a Manny Pacquiao fan?"

It's quite difficult to be a P.O.C.
in a world that doesn't understand our P.O.V.
Why we've immigrated and not always assimilated
Why we've flown thousand of miles away from home
Only to stick with our own
but sometimes there is just some comfort
in not having to explain the way we are
or who we are
and why we are
the persons we are
without having to feel subpar.

They say we are like beasts in the night;

Senseless and wild.
Menacing fangs, ready to devour the world.



In truth, we are like wolves;

Untamed with teeth to rip apart all who dares threaten our packs.

With furs to cuddle the biting cold away, sharp ears and eyes to pick up on the first signs of danger.



In truth, we are like cats;

Finding our home back from the streets,

Or simply knowing how to get away from the hand that feeds nothing but pain.



In truth, we are like rats;

Blamed for a disease we do not have,

Deemed filthy and wretched by all who refuse know us.



In truth, we are like crows;

Beloved by the outcasts,

Flock together into groups, loyal with a love that can bring gods down.



In truth, we are like mint;

Impossible to get rid of, no matter how many of us you pluck out of this earth.

Persistent and all the more lovely for it.



You say we are like seeds planted in pots;

Destined to settle down the way the gardeners dictated, all other possible futures disregarded.



In truth, we are like the moon;

the phases are nothing but your refusal to see as us a whole.

Denial,
such a human emotion.

So quick am I to turn my back,
to close my eyes against the truth

So adamant that it must be wrong

it must

For if I am right I would have to face the consequences of something that is out of my control.


If denial is my first instinct, to claw my way out of the quicksand

then why,

when I came out,

did I never except denial from you?