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I was stuck in a rut,
Not in a place I knew.
I had my heart shut,
Through and through.
If you are someone who often gets stuck in places beyond their comprehension, you just might relate to this. Places where your heart stops working and you don't know what is real and fantasy. I've heard people facing a war against addiction often experience this and also in some cases it can be a medical condition, often beyond their control. But in the end, I think the human spirit is stronger than these places and it is what will survive. We just have to believe and have faith in ourselves, often the most difficult part but well worth it.

PS: The title is inspired by a song of the same name by 'The War On Drugs'. One of my personal favourites and highly recommended :)
 Oct 2020 An Batingaw
Kafka Joint
If there were prizes
For not winning any prizes,
I would have all of them.
I will wake
very soon or later
blue in the water or sky
sleep in downy feathers
plummet, I fall or fly
what is real, speak and feel
awaken from sleep
now the time
I die.
 Jun 2020 An Batingaw
I want your touch
Your laugh
Your love
Your hug

I want your soul
Your eyes
Your skin
Your grin

I want your kiss
Your breath
Your lips
Your hips

I want your worst
Your hurts
Your tears
Your fears

I want your anger
Your discomfort
Your bad
Your sad

I want your stress
Your dismay
Your sick
Your ticks

And most of all
I want all of you
 Jun 2020 An Batingaw
JK Cabresos
Matagal-tagal na rin
simula nang magkasama tayo sa upuang ito,
nagkukwentuhan sa mga bagay-bagay
na mas lalong nagpalapit sa akin sa'yo.

Mas nakilala natin ang bawat isa
at mas lumubo ang ating pagkakaibigan,
at dahil sa mga pagsubok
ay mas lalo pang tumibay ang ating samahan.

Minsan ma'y di ako kumikibo
at kung minsan ma'y di ako nagsasalita,
pero di mo lang alam na sa puso ko
ay minamahal na kita.

Madalas man ako'y dumidistansya
at kung minsan nakaupo na nga ako sa dulo,
ngunit sana'y mapatawad, ganito talaga ako e,
nandito lang naman ako palagi sa tabi mo.

Matagal-tagal na rin
simula nang nakasama kita sa upuang ito,
naghihintay sa pagkakataong makitang muli
ang iyong matatamis na mga ngiti.

Teka lang!
Maiba nga,
yung mga paa ko nangangalay na...

Pwede bang tayo na?
In my attempt to be clever and witty I have written you a poem.
For you to read and pick apart.
It will start with a catchy title that will then bring you to the opening sentence.
In my attempt to be clever and witty I have written you a poem.
If this poem catches your eye,
you will read Michelle Rose
to figure out worthiness of a follow or a like.
If this is uninteresting you won’t even bother to finish reading.
It will end with a clever remark that could be considered sarcasm,
just as the rest of the poem could have been.
You will then wonder to yourself, why did I just read that,
and what the hell is that second to last stanza supposed to mean?
Or maybe you won’t do any of this because you’re a normal person.
Did I just call you abnormal?

Sometimes I like to read in the dark too…

a clever remark that could be considered sarcasm,
Just as the rest of the poem could have been.
...I assure you im just bored out of my mind...
 Apr 2013 An Batingaw
Poison spoon fed the nodding King and ended ancestors.

Holy cows bought government *****
and ate suicides grown by ***** Kubla Khan gospels.

Shantih, Leviticus, and other proper thoughts
kissed arms of air and made islands from memories of breakfast.

Eternity perished in the illusion of swallowed tongues
in the belly of an infant—
and yesterday,

Only one bullet of hallelujah stood swimming.
"It’s a war going on outside we ain’t safe from
I feel the pain in my city wherever I go
314 soldiers died in Iraq, 509 died in Chicago"--Kanye West "****** to Excellence"
I don't know how to type without a backspace key
because I need to hit it
hit it
it it it
and remember why I'm so aggressive
and forget how to type without a
backspace key
and become less obsessive
what about now?

it it it
ends me

what about now?
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs

Incarcerating women's wombs
Justifying men's genes
Foreigners appropriating
Women's and men's sexualities

Losing the power to be
When changing our roles' long overdue
Gendering our words and attitudes

Man, who taught you to be a chauvinist!
Woman, who taught you to be a *******?
Don't put your god in gendered bigotry

Do man's emotions feminize him?
When will women freely carry torches!

What gender do you assign this voice?
What gender do you assign this words?
Will the masses even understand these choices?

Don't worry, my sexuality won't infect you
Criminalizing sexuality
Placing it front and center, implying that's all I am

Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs

Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Because men and women of society
Full of stride, take pride, in their gendered hyde

Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Ignored hoods, barrios, countrysides, ghettos, projects
Devouring women's and men's bodies

Younger and younger people falling to ***/AIDS and STDS
Vaginas receiving the violence, wombs bringing misery
LGBT youth ****** into fire
Lost males (in mental chains) ****** to assert their manhoods

Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Full of dangerous chemicals, being sprayed onto
The landscapes between thighs
Attempting to legislate our stories, without warrant
January 29, 2013
 Jan 2013 An Batingaw
I remember the morning Tuesday was invented—
how gleeful we sang across the streets—
forgetting that the day after tomorrow would be Thor’s day
and that one we didn’t own, too.

I remember the bathroom stalls, the sins of Leviticus
we survived
comforting our confusion with the indulgence that God too
love man, kind.

Let the purgatory full of half good men sing about their sins
with pride and laugh at the moons and stars for being without limbs
and tongues to protest their innocence and Idontgiveadamnisms;

For I remember being fed the tenets of heterosexual history in elementary school
yet wondering why queer gods are the ones named after the planets.
In the loving memory of David Kato Kisule (c. 1964 – January 26, 2011)
*If We Keep On Hiding Away, They Will Say We Are Not Here*
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