the sun is so in love with the moon
that he's starstruck
and is already a shooting star
falling everyday
dying every night
just to let his silver lover live
and gives some of his light to her
during the darkest hours

the sun is so in love with the moon
before the universe even existed
we just don't know it
because their love is light years ahead of us

Music moves through my body
Like I move through time
Day in day out
Moving through life
Seeing the sunlight
Drown me in rays
Tell me, honey,
Am I a part of your days?

If dancing makes me tired
Then I wanna dance all the time
Accent my nights with the skip of a step
And the stomp of beat
Tell me honey,
Am I a part of your dreams?

one side of me,
it still loves you.
my baby blue ford-
my ride or die,
i'd live for you,
if only for you.

but he
he lights up my world
where you only have made it dark
but god i'd take the darkness any day.

but his light,
makes me feel like i have
the ability
to do
absolutely anything.
'tis a wonderful thing
or at least it almost is.

and the dark you give
only makes me feel
like i've failed.
the choice should be easy.

but my heart
is hurting,
unsure of the choice.

although either of you could
be completely out of reach

i don't know.

I don't want to feel this way but everything is darker dark darker
And everything you say to me shatters my heart and soul
And everything you don't hurts even worse

i've always had a hard time loving myself
i guess it started with the way adults used to tease me about my chubbiness
and how sensitive i was as a child

after all, i've always had traits i never liked
chubby arms and thighs, a button nose
a mole on my right cheek, a sensitive heart
a wishy washy soul
i can't even draw

then one day,
i thought about how my skin healed after i burnt it really bad from hot water
and how my body kept me warm in the Tokyo breeze late at night in the spring weather
and how i've used these very hands writing this to wipe all my tears

and how my heart, in all its fragility
still fights on and loves
despite all the pains i've felt

and so i realized:
*if this very body of mine can love my soul
and fight to keep me alive and alright,
then it is only right that i love it and accept it

You can spend days, weeks, or months talking to someone -
but in the end, you don't really know them at all.

They can be the first thing you think of in the morning and the last thing that crosses your mind before you fall asleep -
but in the end, you don't really know them at all.

They can make you smile when they send you pictures of what they're doing throughout the day, what sights they're seeing, or how sweet they look when it's cold outside and they're bundled up -
but in the end, you don't really know them at all.

In the end, they can invite you over for dinner and a movie and it'll be the first time you meet. It'll feel nice when they hold you in their arms and carefully trail a single finger down your lower back.

It'll feel nice when they pull you closer and kiss you, your socked feet trailing down their leg.

It'll feel confusing when they pull away and tell you to follow them to their bedroom.
It'll feel strange when they shut and lock the door behind them, gesturing towards their bed.
It'll feel uncomfortable when they climb on top of you and take your pants off. Your underwear is thrown away, too.

"No ***. Okay?"

It won't feel okay when they *******, regardless of what you've said. Who knew a ceiling could look so interesting in the dark?

It won't feel good when you lay there and realize you're being used. Who knew my first time would be so ******* memorable?

You can spend a long time believing that the world is perfectly defined and that the people within it are as raw as the sunsets we witness everyday.

But the sun never truly disappears. Our eyes are fooled by the coming of night, the arrival of the moon and the stars. Those never truly disappeared, either.

They were just hiding in plain sight.

You can spend a long time believing that you know someone, that everything they truly are is within reach -
but then you would just be fooling yourself.

People are not sunrises and sunsets.
They're everything in between -
dreams, fears, locked doors, eyes squeezed tight, and a smiling face in the dark.

In the end, you need to wake up.

Takot ka?
Sabihin mo sakin Takot ka ba?

Hindi tayo isang pelikula na ginawa para mag paiyak ng batang madaling mapaniwala.
Hindi tayo pag susulit sa matematika na gustong iwasan ng lahat sa takot na bumagsak sila.

Oo takot ka.
Ako din naman.

Nanginginig ang kamay ko sa takot na baka kahit piling piling mga salita ang gamitin ko ay mali parin ang aking maisambit.

Hinagpis.
Hinanakit.
Kapit.
Kaya pa ba?
Sabihin mo sakin kaya pa ba?

Ipagpapatuloy pa ba nating ang pag tupad sa mga pangako.
Pagtupad sa lahat ng mga "Itaga mo sa bato..."
O, iiwan nalang natin itong nakabinbin sa dating tayo.

Tayo.
Meron pa bang tayo?

Nasaan na yung ikaw at ako.
Nasaan na ang mga salitang "Hinding hindi ako magsasawa sa iyo".
Napagod ka na bang punan ang mga pagkukulang ko?
Kailan ka kaya makokontento.

Takot nakong tumingin sa karimlan ng langit na baka may isang bulalakaw ang mapadaan at hilingin kong tayo nalang palagi.
Hindi naman maari.
Napapagod din ang damdamin.
Hindi na alam ng tadhana ang gagawin.

Pagod ka na ba?
Sabihin mo sa akin pagod kana ba?

Kasi ako Oo.

Ayokong katakutan ang bukas.
Ayokong manghinayang sa kahapon.
Ngunit Mahal pagod na ako.
Pagod na ang puso matakot.
Nahihirapan na ako huminga sa hindi mo pag pansin sa patuloy kong pagkapit.
Gusto ko ng matapos ang pag hikbi.
Ano pa ba ang silbi.
Ako nalang ang natitirang sundalo.
Wala kahit na anong baril na dala.
Sugatan na tumatakbo.

Tama na.
Talo na.

Pagod na ako sa pagiging hindi sapat.
Hindi ko na mawari kung ano pa ba ang dapat.
Patawad mahal sa pag suko.
Pero eto na ata.
Tapos na ang gera sa isip at puso.
Tapos na tayo.

my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.