Is it every time I say no? Or couldn’t say no?
Is it every time I don’t do what they say?
Is it every time I say yes to what hurts?
Or is it every time I do what I don’t want to?
When do I stop being beautiful?
Is it whenever I don’t smile or be nice?
Is it whenever I don’t agree or nod?
Is it whenever I become what they think?
Or is it whenever I belong just to feel seen?
When am I not beautiful?
Is it every time I cross the street as expected?
Is it every time I stay still on the sidewalk?
Is it everytime I play pretend, even play dead?
Or is it everytime I laugh off unwanted jokes?
When do I stop being pretty?
Is it whenever my lips pray, sing, read poems?
Is it whenever I don’t open them to curse?
Is it whenever I only talk about art, not probe?
Or is it when I don’t ask questions or news?
When am I not pretty?
Is it every time I say no? Or couldn’t say no?
Is it every time I don’t do what they say?
Is it every time I say yes to what hurts?
Or is it every time I do what I don’t want to?

Gaano kalaking karatula ang kailangan mo?
Para mabasa mo ang nakapaskil sa puso ko?
Ako ay isang siyudad kung saan kailangan
kong sabihin na wag akong apakan.
Ako ay isang babae lamang, kailangan
kong maging dagat para wag silaban.
Isang posteng tutumba sa isang kalabit,
patawad, ‘di mo ko kaibigan o kapatid.
Isang pader na tulugan ng mga kalapati,
pangarapin ko man, ‘di nila ako haligi parati.
Hindi ako ang pinangakong paraiso,
baka nga hindi rin ako naaalala ng Diyos.
Hindi ako ang magiging para sa’yo,
baka hindi rin ako magiging parausan mo.
Gaano kalaking plakard ang gusto mo?
Para maintindihan **** bawal umibig dito?

Welcome to the thrift store of words.
In here, you can find everything thrown away so cheap, all at discount.
This is the bank of poems and other swords,
fancy loaning a new language?
This is where you can get a horse you never have to saddle or dismount.
“It’s all a numbers game”
but the world is a poet’s playground,
what a big, fat and juicy shame.
“The world is your oyster”
but what if I’m allergic to seafood,
gold mine is what I prefer.
Welcome to the black market of loanwords.
In here, you may find poems or songs you’ve somehow forgotten or lost, take them back.
This is the land of thousand languages,
knows no leeches or new lords.
This is where you can find streets of old age and churches singing for you: “come back.”
“Ah that’s another loanword”,
so collect the dues from my lips,
add interest and a little more.
“Ah but that word’s just borrowed”,
so I will return them, all then some,
if you return and get them yourself
from the vault that is my mouth.

The whole city hums in suspense,
even strangers are on the fence.
They all want to meet my poems’ legend,
everybody wants to read how the story ends.
The Pacific sings in hungry anticipation,
I thirst for your sea, quench my dehydration.
The whole city waits for your return soon,
they want to witness you eclipsing my moon.
You are the sun that I’m waiting for to set,
yet the moon and tides doesn’t force and beg.
And the earth spins, so will the other planets,
but my world is frozen until you’re on my bed.

Amidst the distance and dialects,
I only daydream about your kiss
and how I want your breath on my neck.

I got a whole city with people of all colors
trying to tell me to let you go.
I can’t be cured by even a dozen doctors.

Between our languages and latitudes,
I only long for longer nights with you,
tell you I’ve been longing for your attitude.

I got the whole world with people of no poetry
telling me to put down my pen.
If you don’t want to imprison me, set me free!

Because beween the borders and barriers
I only feel like I belong with you
I want to be beside you, to make you happier!

Poor strangers, they thought I'm gonna flirt
but all they’d hear are my poorer poems,
instead of my name, they’d know our history
and about your legend, one I wrote myself.
Unsuspecting waiters, I thought I saw you
but all I see is how much I’m going crazy
and how the city and the next would agree
and how they’re telling me to let you go.
But no one here knows how much I want you.
Pitiful boys in the club who'd buy me anything,
I said I want a ticket to X city,
now who’s laughing? And who’s crying?
No one knows how badly I want to see you.
Unassuming guy who looks like a friend, who hurts me just for passing by, told me his name, I said “you don’t look like a Tomás.”
And no one here knows how much I miss you.

I know, I listen to, I speak your language
yet you don’t know mine.
Eighth of the year, my language’s month,
tonight is the eighth night.
And still, I write a poem in your language
yet I’m counting to nine,
that’s all I can do, I hate counting?
What else can I do,
Eighth of the year, my mother’s birth,
it’s not her language winning the fight.
And still, I write poem in your language
with the help of grapes off the vine,
where’s the justice in that?