How does it feel to lose yourself,
To feel yourself oozing through your pores and pouring into a shell?

These restless nights are deviously common,
My eyes have gone dry, no more bawling.

I lay here and wonder how did I miss the dead end,
Why did I sprint so purposely with no message to send?

These days you feel ashamed of the right, proud of the wrong.
My thoughts race, there's no time to process them,
I don't think they belong..

I swear I try my hardest to make you all proud,
I gave up, it's hard when you feel all alone in a crowd.

These people don't deserve me, you, us.
You and I confide in them and they ruin our non-resilient trust.

When you're alone, who's there to disappointment and vice versa?
Who's there to make you feel small and destroy ya?

These past couple of moments have been beautifully ideal,
I feel carefree talking to you, somehow that brings a lot into question, what's fake and what's real?

Maybe it's due to my unchangeable inability to trust.
Do we actually believe someone is being genuine without expecting anything in return from us?

These insecurities, you didn't cause them.
Still in my eyes you're a flawless, tainted gem.

So perfect, your faults make you perfect.
Only for a second do I believe that maybe we're worth it.

But how do you turn a nonbeliever into a dreamer?
A no-faither into a hoper?
The blind into seers?
The mute into preachers?
The immobile into runners?
The numb into healers?

The obvious answer is you can't,
*No ungifted man can.

I am oatmeal with
two tablespoons of sugar topped with
a strawberry freshly sliced, thin enough to
slip between my lips and slide
down my throat
without me having to chew
I am trying my best not to spit out seeds.

I am a pair of faded shorts
a charcoal cotton sweater
an ugly red scarf and a pair of
frayed black Toms, but
sometimes I am a vintage dress
or camouflage pants, and
some days I am a string of pearls
I am still trying to find the perfect shoes.

I am a Philippine history book
repeating the same mistakes
refusing to learn from those who
now kiss cool marble
but there are days when I take
three steps forward where
I see they took one step back.
I am trying to scrape off towers to read the letters
our grandfathers wrote in the dirt.

I am a missing pencil
that drew lines and traced figures
under the bed and wrote
stories of empty seats being filled
and now that the fountain pens have dried up
I've been found.
I am scared, but I am giving until my lead runs out.

I am a fervent prayer
longing for redemption to win
and for the fighting to end
please, I just want to see
hearts beating to the rhythm of
the stars being breathed into place
I am hope,
or I am trying to be, I am
trying to be a lot of other things still
testing, still throwing, still keeping.

But most of all, I am still
the choices I make and
maybe tomorrow I'll have
some rice and tapa
and a lightly salted sunny side up
instead of oatmeal and I promise,
I won't be spitting out any seeds.

i can slowly trace the changes-
the moment she picked up an almanac
and put structure around the future
she was a dead woman

now
assume she is you
her ideas threaded like dreamcatchers
embellished with feathers, beads
that sag their delicate threads

assume she is given bait
that she counts magpies
their cloud white throats a portent
that does not sit well around her neck

assume she will live her life
as these things expect