I remember phoning my best friend
crying into the phone
My entire core collapsing in on itself
I was sobbing words into the phone
They felt like shards of glass coming out of my mouth

"****, I have never cared about anyone
I have never ******* cared about anyone but my ******* self
All I ever do is pity my ******* self
I do not matter
What the ****"

You told me what I wanted to hear
That I mattered and all that
or thats what I could remember as the champagne bubbles clouded my thoughts.

I hung up, not knowing if I had finished the conversation or not
I focused ******* the steps as I stumbled my way up the stairs.
Collapsing in front of my dresser
Wanting something
I knew what I wanted at the time
I wanted a blade
Anything
Anything to take my ******* self hate away
The horrible words I had thrown

I layed with my head on the cold tile floor
cold metal blade in my hand
four new Scarlett marks on my thigh and ivory tear stains on my cheek.

Once upon a time
There was a girl who dared to dream
In the cold, air conditioned room of reality she sat
For hours on end
Suddenly, her rescuer appeared
Golden yarns of sunshine leaked through the windows,
Wrapping themselves around her,
Pulling her away
In the blink of an eye
She was no longer in the place of gloom
But in a magnificent garden
Where flowers of every kind, like her,
Dared to bloom
She tarried there
For hours, days, weeks
Sitting amongst the blossoms
Admiring them and befriending
The other children who would arrive from their own prisons
Each backstory unique,
Some grotesque, some disheartening
But that mattered not
For the children would wrap their fingers
Around each other's cold hands
And begin again
In this new, dreamlike place

Said Hamlet to Ophelia,
'I'll do a sketch of thee,
What kind of pencil shall I use,
2B or not 2B?'

Onward, soldier.
Onward.

That’s what they all
tell me, but
let me
slow down for a moment.
There’s a little something I gotta
say,

Thank you.

To that swing set in Greenhills Music Studio
San Juan City,
without you,
I’d never have learned that sometimes
it’s the other way around—
feet in the sky and head on the ground.

Mrs. Arambulo, the swing set’s owner,
who made sure I was well versed in
sonatinas and arpeggio scales
before I found out they’d already made
a piano that didn’t need tuning, and

Ma, who’d test my memory by
asking me if I
could recite
whole paragraphs at age four,
she’s why I remember things like
the smell of pilmeni,
the color of our first house’s carpet,
and nine page spoken word poetry,

to everyone behind that old kids’ show, Bayani,
watching it in my
second grade HEKASI class
would bring me to tears each time — no kidding,
you all paved the way for my homeland’s history
to make its home in my heart,

my English teachers from
sixth all the way to eleventh grade,
who all believed and still believe in the words I put down on paper
and spew out on dark stages armed with imagery and the Spirit,
you made me fall deeper in love with the way words can be waves
or flames,

Dad, who taught me
to climb mountains, to read books,
to let myself run free among the nations
but to always remember to leave a part of my heart at home,

to the four little boys I met in Hong Kong,
if we meet again, I owe you a better explanation to your question,
“Why do you dance?”
thank you for asking me that, and I’m sorry for my cowardly answer back then
but I’m braver now, and
I promise it’s for more than just fun or exercise,
it’s for this God I hope you get to know,

and to every Philippine history teacher I’ve ever had,
keep teaching like that,
we need more young ones who’d be willing
to die for their homeland,
you taught me that there is so much more to this country
than its own people tell me, so
burn on.
and make sure they catch fire.

Onward, soldier.
Onward.*

I’m not sure where I’m headed,
but I’d rather be uncertain of the road ahead
than forget
where
I started.
I’ve told you mine, now

tell them yours.

Watch out for me I'm like a cracked window you'll think you can see yourself in me, you'll think we have things in common, that I'm someone you'd want to know
I can promise I'm more trouble than I'm worth.
I'll pay more attention to the way your eyes squint when you laugh and how your smile is slightly crooked. I'll notice how sometimes you blink slowly and when your nervous you'll play with your hands.
I'll notice these things instead of listening to the words you're saying.
Then I'll write about you until my fingers bleed, I'll spend the next few years choking on your name
Don't fall for me, I'm afraid I'll take you down with me.

i will always be a cup of coffee
a little strong
a bit too sweet
and I can never change
her love
of a watered down alternative
that she prefers
instead of me

I asked you a question
I already knew the anwer
I know it will hurt no matter what
words from your mouth will be uttered.