will know everything
of wonder
when their owner dies -

they will not wait, they will
escape out the window left open
and live on
for them

maybe im thinking too much, maybe im thinking too much
but i've been missing your touch, why aren't you keeping in touch

Isang puting panyo ang'yong iniabot pampahid-luha,
sa mata'y bumabalot
kalungkutan ko tulo'y tila naglaho
kahit sa'yo'y lubha pang naninibago

a white handkerchief you gave to wipe away the tears
covering my eyes
my sadness seemed to disappear
even with you it still feels new

the quality of being authentic
(AUTHENTIC IS)
(of undisputed origin; genuine*)
messy buns a little bit too messy to be pretty, hair falling all over
a camera held loosely, fingers easily finding the record or picture button by muscle memory
years of bad relived in words spilling out to another entity for need of connection and know
pacing back and forth, staring at walls, and misplaced hand gestures all while talking to yourself
what too many people crave for so bad
what turns stale when too many people crave it so bad
stale
found 75 pages deep into a blog found from someones reblog of anothers' reblog at midnight
drunk like sleepiness, the slightly tipsy shitpost on the verge of deep conversation
open skype calls with gritty laptop cameras and headphones, talking talking talking
waking up at 3 am and writing something down immediately so as to not forget it
post dinner midnight snack cereal
"i don't really know how i am. how about you, how are you?"
talking to your dog

when she walked past i felt
everything
but she didn't know
and now she walks past
with a boy's hand in hers
and i feel
still
everything
and a little bit more

to love someone else is to first love yourself
to find flaws in others is to discover your own
to judge them, you're really only judging you in comparison
to ignore me is to ignore we

loving the idea of her
is alright, actually

time will heal nothing.
time will only teach you how to hide things properly -

you can't hurt me
you can't hurt me
you can't hurt me

friends are like the ocean
they will surround you and come back and back again to your shores
but when they leave, you will be
a desert

I need
nobody.
nobody, that is,
other than myself.

her light will
surround you
in an amniotic trance
time will be nothing
the clouds will be everything
your hands, when you look at them dazed
will be shaking
and a feather light embrace will
send you away

open your eyes to see
an endless road of
misery

and he felt loss and misery and hatred and disgust all at once,
he ran all his life searching for it again

i thought i was okay but everything came rushing back, million year old lava shooting up and seeing the same sky after so long underground

eyes opened way too wide,
mirrors reflecting shadows, not enough light
your presence, there,
identified

i am
the shopping cart cursed to go towards the right
towards you
it's hard for me to keep going straight, but
if i give in we'll
only go in circles

when i asked my home why it didn't feel as welcoming anymore
the ghosts crawled up my skin and whispered in my ear -
*what's a home?

and nice dark hair
a warm smile,
hands that hold you close
i was so close to falling for him
but i jolted awake

she is
bright

a daughter meant to be a sun,
ready to light up every face her gaze meets.
she fights with shadows. she will never let them rest, keeps them moving, cowering.
glowing -- her eyes pierce through air, her hair curls, wisps around her face as a frame for a great piece of art, her hands flicker when she talks.

whatever she sees, she conquers. this does not always bring her joy.
but joyful she is. her cheeks are warm and radiant, bundling up at the sides of her face to make way for her smile.

her heart glows.
from it, her mouth speaks.
her voice is molten lava: it melts and it oozes and sparks around the edges.
she laughs like bright, yellow paint being spread across a canvas.

she is nothing short than beautiful, but
Lord help me
i am icarus

heroes are found
in the









people

but i don't want to be one of those people who say "i don't watch tv" when people ask, so i just use my knowledge from all the late nights we spent rambling about your favorite tv show and say yours. and when they say they liked a certain part, or that it was a great show, i say, "yeah. it was."

dead,
on the battlefield
for her -
at least with me, your heart would still beat
albeit reluctantly

hazy afternoons spent
basking in calmer thoughts
enjoying the loss of the sick feeling in my stomach and
the torturous words telling me to -
remnants of my birthday desserts are still in the fridge and
i have some from time to time
but i still don't feel older. no,
i still don't feel older

you were the phone call in the middle of my speech -
I stopped when I noticed you
and now I'm fumbling to try to make you stop

but what if the reason we run in dreams isnt to run away from monsters
but because our soul cannot wait to get to whatever destiny awaits us?

*******,
*NICE

a majority of marriages may end
in death of love instead of life,
but that doesn't say anything about the immortality of the feeling therein

i felt gravity on my chest, having weight on it just moments earlier.
i felt air pool on top of me, a ghost left lying to my right
and i felt the breeze bring the morning rays in through the window
and i felt the dream id had lift
and i felt the dust pile on my sheets
and i felt the room get colder, or
was that just me?
and i felt your fingers ghost over the doorknob as you
left

i was told when i was younger that i was mature for my age, because
i hated everyone and could never smile
now i am learning to love and have fun and
no one comments on my maturity anymore

i want to tell the whole world i love you,
that i don’t deserve to, but im so, so willing to try
i want to tell it you make me want to be better, that i didn’t know love made you feel that way, i want to tell the world every little thing it’s heard before about love, every little thing i’ve heard before about love that i’ve never once said for myself.
get me in line for the people turned poets wanting to have just a minute to speak with the world about the newfound, age old love they found in their chest. let it be on a mountain top, in the depths of the rainforest, invite the world to my living room for tea. i want to spend hours telling the world i loved her first. i want to smile over small, heart shaped cookies telling the story of my first love. i want the world to notice in between every word i speak is a love filled sigh. i don’t deserve to love her like this. i don’t deserve her at all.

the tips of her nails
are painted
shimmering green
and the tips of her toes are
nonexistent -
she'll sing you to sleep but you won't wake up
she'll kiss you goodbye but you'll never leave

i want to be excited about the fireworks this year
but in all honesty the only lights i'd like to be seeing
are the lights in your eyes i used to see when you were still alive

hey im alright with opening up scars
if it means i can remember you,
buried underneath my skin, are you
red or blue?

i keep seeing a ghost in the corner of my eye.
it sits on a box just outside my door, looking vacantly, vaguely in my direction. it's hard for me not to glance back.
it's sitting on a box of old clothes.
i cleaned my closet this morning, as well as my desk and floor.
but while i threw out the dust and old tissues, the clothes remain, in the box, outside my door, being used as a chair for the ghost. it's still there.
i just reread and edited all that i've written so far. still there.
it doesn't knock, or pace, or threaten, or cage. it just stares. and yet its gaze feels like it is doing all of the things i mentioned, and a little more.
why are all my poems about death? perhaps all these ghosts that pass by my house beg me to tell their story. perhaps i am an ouija board, with a laptop. perhaps i'm a dream-catcher, looking for some place to write down all these nightmares i catch. perhaps i'm just dumb and spiritual. ghost's still sitting on that box of old clothes. it's glanced away.

the sun will grow great in size
and i will burn and burn and burn

the moon will grow very big
and it will swallow me up

excuse me, sir
could you take a moment between the puffs of smoke rising from your cigarette
to be yourself again?

your eyes widened so much at the mention of her.
i learned in class one time that when a cats eyes dilate,
the ocean fills with more water
and when your eyes swelled at the thought of her,
mine flooded

love is like a flower.
it wilts and fades and dies, but
(and hear me out here
ive been writing so much about death, but this poem's positive i promise)
i hope you preserve my love.
i hope that even when the leaves start to fall off i am a fond memory.
i hope that you press my love into the books you read and keep my love underneath all of the heavy times.
i hope that the kisses i leave on your lips will blossom through your smile, that the way i held your hand will inspire you to help others. i hope that the way i looked at you made you realize just what i was looking at -- and that i inspire you to grow into what i saw.

ok alright but have you considered -
i dont talk, because
a. i dont want to
b. i dont want to
c. i dont want to
d. refer to c
e. refer to d

man and his science, exploring the vast unknown
wearing his space suit, platinum white, fishbowl over his head

Jesus and all the deities in those old paintings
clothed in tunics, holy white, gold ******* their heads

******
me

you have to be able to love her while she's still, stagnant -
to be able to love her once she starts moving

eating cereal as a midnight snack probably can make a nice metaphor,
like eating breakfast for dinner or something
but when you're eating cereal at midnight, thinking of this, the thing is
it's midnight and you're too tired to make any coherent thoughts or remember any ghosts of such in the morning
so it stays a private intrapersonal poem,
the kind you always regret not writing down because it's easy to forget, but also
the kind that gets spoiled by being written down and therefore not forgotten

my body is slowly becoming unmotivated to do the simplest things
like breathing or chewing food
i wouldn't be surprised if soon i'll need drops because my eyelids
will be too tired to blink
or if my heart wakes up one morning
and doesn't feel like beating

the stars will always be out for you,
but if you stay in too ***** a place -
don't blame everyone else when you can't see them anymore

i will hold your hand -
and when you break away, my hand will stay open, waiting for you,
and when you come back, i'll hold it again, just as before