I am a spectrum of possibilities
mistakes, magic, and life
the world is our prism
so be my light.

Flat stones skipping rippling water
reminiscing old memories
now that I am older

I remember climbing narra trees
with friends full of jollity
reminiscing old memories

I remember me feeling carefree
swimming through turquoise river currents
with friends full of jollity

I remember every moment
like the laughter-filled walk home after
swimming through turquoise river currents

Oh! the life I used to live is
still as good as i remember
like the laughter-filled walk home after.

As I now stand on the same river
flat stones skipping rippling water
still as good as I remember
now that I am older.

I revisited this site and saw
How much I've written, how much I've grown.
Saw poems I cant believe I wrote
Words uttered, rhymes of note,
Emotions shared and shown,
Lines made repository of happiness and woes.

Some things have changed
While other remained the same.
I still write about love
Yet love eludes me all the same.
I cant write as actively as I want to be
Inspiration doesn't come in troves anymore, you see.

With age comes responsibilities,
Opened eyes requires facing life's realities.
But I'll continue living, maybe write a line or two
Maybe post it here, just like you do.
Life is hard, that much is true
But I'll still strive to thrive and I hope you do too.

Live, find the beauty in things,
Wonderful sceneries, family gatherings,
special people or precious pets,
in choices you've made, with or without regrets,
I hope even in love lost or memories that stings
You'll find the sliver of good that hopefully it brings

Live through books, music, or through poems
If there is not a person or a place,
may words be your home.

Tonight is a beauty
tomorrow is a possibility
and as the sun's rays
scissor its way through the night sky
I'll live in this moment of You and I.

you have no idea
how hard I try to make you feel

Baby you're not good for me
you bring nothing but trouble
every spark, every touch
loving you is a struggle
maybe because you're fire
and I'm molded out of wax

baby you're not good for me
'cause every time were together I'm melting
but every time were not
my life is darkened

because in the darkness
we are beautiful
in the darkness
we are phenomenal

if with out you I'd be immortal
I'd rather be ephemeral
like you
with you
burning
melting
loving.

mea culpa
mea culpa
mea maxima culpa

hear the song of the innocent

hung upon the cross
for the crime he has not commit

forced to plead guilty
by the precepts of society

whilst the crooked
stood at the base
shedding crocodile tears
eyes holding silent leers

feigning innocence
instigating chaos
taking into their advantage
dividedness, our ignorance.

here, the song of the innocent
nears its end
with his last, a doleful verse

"It is done"

it was real
but it was not love
it was cleanly folded paper forming origami doves
but its not doves
nor was it love.

it demanded to be felt
to have a deeper meaning in the proximity
like constellations up above
but it was not love
misread by the heart
like stars seemingly aligned to one another but lightyears apart
it was not love.

i wish to stay,
pray,
fight for it to be what we want it to be,
love
but its not enough,
not if its not love.

Alas! my beloved
in flux,

You were never meant to stay.

Poetry
is
conscious self-deception
to cater to one's emotion.

I have always wondered
how your kisses
never touched my soul

now I realize
that your love
for me was never whole.

If the moon and stars ever had eyes they too would melt looking at your smile shine.
If the trees ever bothered to look down as we talked throughout the night it would feel a sense of camaraderie,
seeing me yearn for you as it too yearn for the sunlight.
If the sand ever cared to listen they too would swoon and be swayed by your mirth-filled laughter
that dances in cadence with the waves hitting the shorelines.
If the wind could talk it would whisper to you that it felt my heart wishing for you
to be mine.

Walking down memory lane
I come upon miles of shattered pieces,
t’was your heart,
my wrong doings.
I continued walking
upon the detritus
of what was once was,
that are now fragments
sharp glimpse
of hurt
of betrayal
caustic; perforating.
but lo, I continued walking
walking down memory lane
knowing I deserve the pain.

'search for the truth' is the guise
upon which Pride
stealthily hides.

but i cannot be
for i am not free
i am shackled
by people's expectations, the responsibility
to make them happy
to make them feel not hurt
even in times when i feel like dirt.
Even when i'm down,
i cannot be me
because, only as dirt can i help them grow
to help them heal
to make them feel loved and appreciated
for their need for validation to be constantly satiated
only as dirt, can i help them bloom
to be the person they need to be.
Son. Lover. Brother. Friend.
i am always another
but i am never me.