Matalino naman ako,
alam rin iyan ng mga tao sa paligid ko.
Maingat naman ako,
kung hindi ay hindi ako tatagal sa mundo.
Ngunit bakit sa sarili ko'y ginagawa ito?
Bakit ako naglalakad patungo sa'yo?
Alam kong masasaktan muli ako,
baka nga ito pa ang maging kamatayan ko.
Ngunit bakit patuloy pa ring lumalapit sa'yo?
Naglalakad ng masaya at magiliw
patungo sa aking kalbaryo,
para lang maipalasap sa'yo ang paraiso.
Habang pasan ang krus na tonelada ang kilo,
para lang madala ang walang hanggang kaligtasan sa'yo.

From my past job
To my previous love
From every cancelled flight
To my concert crowd fright
From car parking overtimes
To cutting into bank lines

I bless and I thank all of you
for my trauma on tickets!

Kasabay ng iyong pagpikit
ay ang imbay ng aking katawan,
pag-alon ng mga balikat at pagkibit.
Kasabay ng iyong pagtalikod
ay akma akong aapak at papalakpak,
dahan-dahang papalapit sa entablado.
Kasabay ng iyong pagkukubli ng damdamin
ay ang pag-muwestra ng tadhana sa akin,
pag-gabay tungo sa kung ano ang tuwid.
Kasabay ng pagtago ng nadaramang totoo,
ay ang siya ring paghahanap ko ng sagot
sa wari’y hindi mo masagot na tanong.
At kasabay ng pagsasara nitong kurtina,
ay ang paghinto sa pagpatak ng luha
at ang ating maligayang paglaya.
At kasabay ng pagdidilim nitong entablado
ay ang kaliwanagan na di nahanap sa’yo
at ang aking pagsuko para sa teatro.
At kasabay ng kanilang hikbi at palakpakan
ang pinakahihintay na pag-uwi sa kawalan
at pagsalubong sa sarswela na naman.

But he's out there standing tall,
making a difference
while I'm sitting here, falling short,
staying the same.

But he's far away, far-sighted
and breaking new grounds,
while I'm at arm's length, half-blind
and on the verge of breaking his heart.

And every day he's fulfilling
a bigger purpose.
And come what may, I am only
writing of sad proses.

And he's moving relentlessly,
he's ever-growing.
And I'm staying stuck and dry,
I am simply withering.

From his stares,
I would most likely seem small.
And I think he knows
by now he have won.

With his touch,
I would most likely feel like a little girl.
And I'm trying to grow
So I'll try to go...

Your sweat dripping and mixing with mine
Your sudden ramblings and whine
The uneven summer sun tans
The reds and scratches on your back
All natural, and all I ever want
These are the things
I daydream on the daily.
These are the days
I imagine myself living.
Your absence,
the single worst lethal threat
Your face,
so close while catching our breaths
Our hands,
always there for each other to hold.
All these makes for the moments
that makes our love worthy of it all.

Oh I beg you to please annoy me.
Cause me all these inconveniences.
Come closer, stop being such a tease.
Make me the most vexed woman to exist.

Here in this castle,
in my tower,
no one and nothing
can hurt me but myself.
Walls are built out of silver and gold
that I begged the laws of the universe for.
I might be the princess that sleeps,
but will never feel the pea
that lies underneath my piles of bed
made out of skeleton bones.
Now yes, I lie on them...
they reside not in my closet
but beneath my frail, sorry body.
Some nights, I am one of the skeletons myself.
I might be the very monster
that I have been fearing for the past two weeks.
I might be making the very noises
that keeps me up until morn.
Have you ever seen a fortress
with the enemies lurking within?
Gates with the robbers
who are playing cards inside?
Welcome to my little world,
welcome to my tower.
Where I can craft deadly words,
in here I hold the most power.

Climbing a mountain on a rainy day
inspires you to embrace
the light showers that comes your way,
and humbles you down enough
to appreciate walking in the city streets
on a regular sunny day

I miss her.
Me on the island.
The me that's carefree,
doesn't care about schedules,
about no rules,
eats healthier, sleeps better,
wears flowers on her hair
instead of carrying burdens in her head,
dances like no one's watching
and sings like no one has ever hurt her,
laughs her heart out
and hugs people and means it.
I miss the person that I was on the island;
she was everything I'm not
or I cannot be at home and in reality.

I miss her and I'm gonna keep missing her...
until I meet her again.

Gayuma
ang titig ng iyong mata
ang mga kulay nitong kakaiba,
pati ang labi **** nakakahalina

Nakakahalina
ang pangarapin ka
alalahanin ang iyong amoy sa tuwina,
ating mga alaalang tila ba milagro at mahika

Mahika
ang muli kang makasama
at marinig muli ang iyong mga tawa,
mawala kung saan mang sulok kasama ka

Ang makasama ka
ang pinakamabisang gayuma,
ang pinakanakakahalinang mahika,
at ang aking pinapangarap na sumpa.

I didn't even ask him
what kind of music he digs,
for his voice alone
is my new favorite record.
I didn't bother finding out
his kind of taste in music,
for my newfound orchestra
comes from his lips.

I didn't even ask him
what kind of films he watch,
for even reality feels like a movie
when he came from the side door,
that's a film I've never seen before.
The ****** is when I was falling
and he was there, ever ready,
waiting and willing to catch me.

I didn't even find out
what kind of books he reads,
for his way with words
is already a novel of poetry.
I didn't even dare ask him
what he thinks of the bible,
for his articles and greetings
alone are my homily.

I didn't even find out
if our taste in music, cinema and literature matches and if I should go otherwise.
You only do that in shallow,
short-lived connections.
I didn't even bother finding out
if our taste in things aligns,
for he already spiced up my
underseasoned life.

The way you have a way with words,
I bless every book and every poem
that has ever graced your sight.
I praise the letters you've strung thus far,
if I could, I'd stitch them with my own
to make a blanket of letters that would
cover and protect you in the next winter.
Now I am writing astray,
but from my original pseudonym
I am never too far away.
You are the one writing these poems,
I am just your hands and the veins on them.

Sung epics from afar
Half-shouted prayers nearby
Cat's meows by the window
and familiar howls by my bedside
Jesus christ, won't you
hear my cries?
Shut all these noises,
hush all these voices.
I want none of these songs
for these won't pacify me.
I want none of the prayers
for these won't save me.
But please thank your father
for introducing Joy Division,
The Cure and Morrissey to me,
for me.
They're the best substitute to noose,
knives and pills.

Your jacket with your trademark scent
Your deep-set eyes makes my knees bend
The sonorous sound of your laugh
The accidental touch from your hand
Occasional, yet each are monumental
These are the things I dream
of having even just once.
These are the moments I crave
the taste of, even just an ounce.
Your hands on my hair
Us breathing in the same air
Our hands, intertwined
These are the turning moments
I'll play on my turntable on rewind

Oh spoil me, please spoil me
Give me all these life's luxuries
Come closer, hold me, give it all to me
Make me the richest woman to ever exist.

Here's a piece of advice
from a lover who has gone through madness and back;
Don't say you're in love,
unless you are screaming for their name in the middle of the night like a madman,
writing sonnets with your blood; unless you are dreaming for death to take you together in the heat of the high noon,
unless you cried until your tears bring forth end to their drought,
unless you aren't singing for their pain until you get thrown out to the gutter, howling louder than the wolf who cried for the moon.
Unless you're willing to wreck what's "better",
don't proclaim yourself to be someone who's in love.
If you can still think straight,
if you think your words still make sense, come and be my guest.

Stop.
Don't puff.
See the ocean?
Run and go.
Want to make a new friend?
Put down your phone.
Or do as you please,
but please don't smoke cigarettes in Siargao.
Don't make an irony of your stay
and a fool of yourself here.
Don't disrespect her sweet air,
don't bastardize her fresh breeze.

See the ocean?
Run and go.
Make a friend.
Do what you please.
Breathe in the sweet air.
Feel the kiss of the fresh breeze.
Don't smoke cigarettes in Siargao.

When was the last time you've wondered what's out there waiting for us two?
Was it last year? Or the last time I thought I left again only to return and redeem myself from you?
How cruel must it be if we really are meant to be together?
We always chase and tug between time,
bet and roll dice on distance and its false promises.
Where do we even go from here?
Further away from the winning streaks
or closer to the losing games?
When was the last time we made wishes for each other?
Will I even ever find another whole crazy person to share all my little victories and enormous troubles with?
Someone who would not keep record of all my wins and losses,
someone who would meet me in the middle of the plays and pauses.
Someone to run across continents with, chasing chances and begging for nuances.
I'd rather chase and run with you between countries and cities and stolen moments than between life and death.
But as I reckoned the chase with you right here is nonexistent,
my own life and my own death would be chasing each other instead.

First stanza, my upper lip
Second, his
The chorus, our tongue dancing
to the momentary rhythm.
Third stanza, my lower lip
Fourth, his
The bridge, a bite and a little pull,
sending us both to the brim.
Oh, this has to be my favorite song,
our kiss

"𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒊, 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒍 𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒈
𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈-𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏?"
"𝒀𝒆𝒔 𝑱𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆! 𝑨𝒉 𝑱𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆 𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒚ㅡ𝒀𝒆𝒔, 𝑱𝒖𝒏!"

Magkamali man ang iyong labi
ng pangalang masambit
magkamali man ang iyong ngipin
ng pagkagat at pagbanggit,
sa dulo ng iyong pag-uulat,
ako pa rin ang bida at balitang isisiwalat.

"𝑺𝒂 𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒑, 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒕𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒚-𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒚 𝒏𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒕, 𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆."

Itago mo man ang iyong mga tawa,
ikubli ang ngiti sa pag-ubo at paghinga,
ilibing mo man ang aking pangalan,
sa'yong dila at diwa ay nakaukit na ito
magpakailanman.

Dad wouldn't go to museums with me anymore
Dad wouldn't pick me up from school anymore
Dad wouldn't buy me my favorite sweets
anymore
Dad wouldn't take me to the mall
anymore
Dad wouldn't play pretend-princess-and-king with me anymore
Dad wouldn't go see movies with me
anymore
Dad wouldn't finish my popcorn before me anymore
Dad wouldn't force me to eat my peas and greens anymore
Dad wouldn't sing and rock me to sleep
anymore
Dad wouldn't let me sleep peacefully and soundly anymore
Dad wouldn't kiss my boo-boos goodbye anymore
Dad wouldn't help heal my scars
anymore
Dad wouldn't wipe my tears anymore
Dad wouldn't stop them from flowing for a few years more
Dad wouldn't piggy-back ride me up his back anymore
Dad just wouldn't carry me up anymore
Dad wouldn't fight the dragons in my head anymore
Dad wouldn't break down the walls he had built himself anymore
Dad wouldn't let boys hurt me the way he did anymore
It's been nineteen years, dad, wouldn't you want to be a part of my life anymore?

As if on cue, on my second step out,
one bell rang; that of the sorbetero's cart
and on my sixteenth,
that of the bell by Dominican.
I sighed "yes, I know, I'm going."
I appreciate the practice.
I appreciate the background music.

On one Tuesday, you asked me
why I check the words you use,
why I analyze the things you say,
and you also pointed out
how I see things before you do
And I might seem like a know-it-all,
but ironicaly, I do these to learn about you.
And unlearn my past mistakes and habits,
to learn how to love you better
so I can be worthy of a future with you
and be so good for you.
teach me. help me.

This isn't home to us, just an illusion thereof.
An illusion we love to play in,
eat in, sleep in.
And when it rains, it doesn't pour;
it is but ever dry.
When it's dry, all I do is die.
I die. I die. I die.
Only to live tomorrow and yet again
play, eat and sleep.
This isn't love, just an illusion thereof.
An illusion we love to pour in, die in
and live in again.

He softly touched her cheek
the same way cold touched
the first few mornings
of Februaryㅡfrigid but somehow fleeting.
Full of adoration
yet full of uncertainties.
And like the whispers of warmth
on some mornings,
he's almost always anticipating to leave.
With those cold hands of his,
he softly touched her cheek
and like the fury between
the cold and warm,
he kissed her
while whispering goodbye
at the same time.

What I'd give to see that one weekend all over again
In a film
or perhaps read it in a novel
ㅡa year's worth of tears to feel the warmth of that riverlike stream again and a half-year's worth of winter in his eyes

a half year's worth of anguish to have him watch me fall asleep in a cold rainy night again and tuck me in for a month's worth of his familiar warmth.

a month's worth of thrown up food to get a taste of the liquor in his lips once more, to get intoxicated by his touches' week's worth of sweet summer in September.

a week's worth of disappointments just to have him light up a day's worth of my cigarettes again.

anything.

or maybe a few more sticks will do.

Have you ever longed for a stranger?
Do you find yourself zoning out, looking forward to remembering their mannerisms and quirks?
Writing of memories from a time yet to come—it's both hopeless and hopeful at the same time.
To get excited about something or someone coming from a time and place of uncertainty, that should make me feel something else aside from excitement itself.
Fear? I fear not. It's all anticipation running around my haywire of a head.
When you see me or when I see you for the first time,
What will you be wearing? In what color?
Would I be sad and sober? Or would I be happy-drunk?
As embarassing as it would be, we know we'll have to talk to each other, exchange a few words or we could say things enough for both of us to fall in love with each other right then and there.
Would I passively tell you how I hate that week or would I start to tell you about my contradicting dreams of setting out a life of restless travels
and living in a quaint little apartment that sees a good amount of morning light and how it's going to be filled with wilted flowers, antiques and fifteen cats?
I know I would want both although it's careless and contradicting. But this is just one and I have a house full of them.
Do you even think dreams have to be logical?
Do you believe that we have to be careful in order to get to our dreams or do we go the exact opposite way?
I hope you'd share some of your dreams, too. The more careless, the better.
Would my heart still be beaten up to a pulp by then or would it beat foolishly once more like a brand new snare?
How about you? I wonder how your heart would sound, even now.
Is it punk rock one minute and classical the next or perhaps Disney when you're spacing out?
And I can only wish you're not even half of the lunatic that I am, because I know I need a bit of a balance in my life right now but hey, whatever and whoever you are, come as you are anyway. It's just a wishful thought.
Would I even get lucky enough to come inside your room to dance and spill my last ounces of colors in every corner?
To splatter your walls with my poorly-written poems would be another careless dream to add up on my long list.
Would we like the same music? Would you like drunk dancing as much as I do? Would you prefer watching the moonlight or basking in the setting of the sun? Would you fancy my humor? Would we romanticize escaping reality and the city because we know it imprisons us like nothing and nowhere else? Would I hesitate or anticipate seeing you for the second time? Would you anticipate seeing me over and over again even after seeing me cry because I'm too drunk or too sad or too happy or everything at once? Would we surf with the currents or confine to the safety of the shore?
Or do we stay friends?
Or do we stay friends for only a night?
Or do we become strangers, just strangers?
Or do we become strangers again after being fiercely in love with each other for so long, after being there for each other through the sunny days and storms, after being friends, after we were strangers?
If you see me for the first time, I hope my made-up face and my ever unruly, hand-combed crazy hair would make up for my much crazier mind, to say the least.

But may we hurry up a little if we can, answer these careless questions before they pile up.

My kanluran is your nán
but my seas are my sons
and my seas are mine.
It's spelled as seas,
not to be misread as seize.
Feel an unforgiving mother's wrath
through the heat of my sun.

My most beloved,
I've always known, it makes perfect sense.
Why they all want to take you,
away from my arms and from the lull of rest.
Why they all want a piece of you,
it's because you are simply, utterly the best.
My dearest,
it's all because you are heaven-sent.
Because of you, I am brave and I can win.
Your waves are weaved by God himself.
Because of you, I can surf, sink and swim.
But my love,
for you, there is no war I wouldn't fight.
There is no battle that I wouldn't triumph.
No forefronts I wouldn't lead.
No enemy I wouldn't bury dead.
My most beloved sea, my dearest,
𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘬 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘬𝘢
For your laughters, waves and sunset,
𝘐-𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘬𝘰 𝘣𝘪𝘺𝘢𝘨 𝘬𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘭𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯.

I study and read about it
Sing songs in the glory of it
Carve it on your tongue
and lips
Tattoo, etch and kiss it
on my hips

Interpreter of dreams,
you see the future
once a cynic but it seems
with you I am sure.
So I kneel and crawl
slowly towards your temple,
I am a broken statue
that only you could reassamble.

I pray, please do not humble
yourself before any god,
for you know your words
are worth more than gold.
I praise and worship you
as my one and only king,
even your sins are the
absolute truth I'm praying.

For you I would blindlessly
find a new Babylon,
for in your holy name
I saw eternal salvation.
Darling, there is no more
unbearable exile
than being far away
from you in miles.

Still I exalt you and in you
I put all my faith,
for you are the beast
my demons see as bait.
Yet you call on me
like an angel from your dream,
my songs are whisper,
while my poems are screams.

I found you one fateful,
raging night in the lion's den
we ran away with the wolves,
never returned again.
My religion is loving you
and blessing your name.
One touch and forgetting you
is a losing game.

In your quiet I found my
passing repentance,
yet our love is a loud,
deafening covenant.
On my knees,
I cast away your burdens,
in your name
I can move mountains.

You can kneel to pray,
before you commit one more sin
as you do every hour and everyday.
You can pray to avoid the calls of sin,
before you take on a bigger atrocity,
throwing both law and faith down the bin.
But rules are meant to be bent,
just like my body against the table,
or across the vastness of your bed.
But I am the revolution, your new law,
and you would learn the best way
that without me, you're as good as lost.

Dear Reader,

If your winter becomes unbearably colder,
your summer a little less hot,
If your spring lacks flowers and colors,
and your next autumn full of drought,

remember that it's summer all year here,
yet my nights are colder since you left.
But I'll be waiting until you're back or near,
to go where or do what,
we'll just have to wonder and guess...

My heart has had enough
My mind had its final run
But my body
Oh god, my body,
My poor body...
It remains unsullied, untouched

Years have passed
and the past have yearned,
spells were cast
and lessons are learned.
Still, my body remains hungry
It remains still, and it's still at rest
Still, it's been at rest painfully
I remain unfed, receiving only less
And it wants to run, climb and fly
it wants to bleed, shed and cry

My body;
not only does it ask me for more,
but it demands the most.
It asks me to tour down the earth's core,
commands me to find what's lost.

The exhaustion
The falling
The soreness
The failing
The bouts of pain
The flying...

Everything my heart has fought with,
everything my mind has battled with,
my body wants every taste,
craves every punch and hit.
It craves some kind of feigned balance,
it craves a round of some dangerous dance

Yet I wait
I wait for nature to grant me the green light.
I wait for the stars to lull me into the night.
I wait for the trees to give me some reason.
I wait for the moon to pull me into seasons.

Oh it's for sure a delicate time.

For me and you both.

For every gaze,
old wounds open once again.


For every unanswered SMS,
scars freshen up like new from yesterday.


For every unintentional graze of
your fingers,
the old wounds heal themselves.


For every shared laughter on and offline,
scars from yesterday springs back
to years ago.

You are my summertime,
my burning sun, my tropic,
my morning dew, my sunshine.
You are the reason why
my sunset and sunrise became one,
meeting in the middle of my equinox.
You are the reason why I felt again,
why I can feel the seasons all at once
like feeling both pleasure and pain.
But when winter swings by,
I'd hold your hand close
to my chest like a locket.
and pull you closer to me
like my favorite jacket,
take in your scent
like my mug of coffee,
consume you
for your warmth and ease.
In the morning if our porch is piled in snow,
we'd greet the cold with laughter and glee.
I would wrap you around me
like my thickest scarf,
hell I would even be
the fire to keep you warm.
You are my summertime,
but when winter and cold comes around,
I will stay beside you in the blizzard,
eternally blessing the day
that I have ever walked your ground.
This is a promise I am making
right in the middle of summer,
that I would be with you
in any season and every weather.

As I breathe the taint Manila air in,
I knew I was about to fall in love again.
Oh how I craved for the smoke belching out of the jeepneys, how badly did I want that signature smog to have me begging for fresh, precious air?

Ah, nothing would beat the musky, filthy smell from the streets and the constant fear of being pickpocketed that no feeling in the world would ever compare. The last time I felt my heart beat like a wild beast was when I was walking alone down Raon to fetch my first few vinyl records.

Commuting is a breeze. Except that breeze is in the apple of the eye of the storm that I would gladly, willingly look straight into. Quiapo is but an irony; the only place in the world where you would feel safe and protected by the church and the very same place you would feel fear of being mugged or robbed or both.

But the food, dear god, is incomparable. The blood enemy of my melancholy. I find peace in Binondo, a haven that makes me forget all the political dysphoria going on with our good old neighbor and ***** lover, China. Let's take a breather and bask on our shared heritage and cuisine instead, shall we?

Manila. Her chaos, her charm, her history and the dreams she holds for me...
these are what I will always come back here and battle death for.

You think you'd have another chance
to make a dying wish
I was thinking I would take an endless glance
over some long lost art
We thought our tongues could have another dance
with an exceptionally good dish

We think we'd have another go
over things involving me and you
You were thinking there'll be more tomorrow
until tomorrow becomes "please, just go"
I thought I can have another taste of you
until your restaurant updates its new menu
until finally, there's no more me and you

Sweet envy,
I'm envious of how she was blessed by the gods to have looked into your eyes, eye to eye. To study their color and watch how they look when you lie.
She knows the way you blink and how you close them when you sleep at night.
I hate thinking how you've both spent some nights.
The thought of her taking granted of breathing the same air as you boils my blood.
I'm jealous of how she was able to graze her fingers upon your skin, let them travel across your back
and how her hand once held yours... only to foolishly, finally and thankfully let them go.
I curse and bless the day she broke your heart.
I curse each day that I have to live with this jealousy.

Holy jealousy,
I'm jealous of the kind of jealousy you've made her feel, like when you would glance at another girl when you're together.
Or how you'd talk to a girl in a cafe or bookstore when you thought she wasn't looking over her shoulder.
Or how you'd talk to anyone about anything at all without uttering her name.
I'm jealous of how you two probably used to stand across each other in a room and throw blames.
I could imagine countless of scenarios but then
I also imagine I'm the one feeling that too.
I can take that any day, as long as we're together too.
Because the only jealousy I feel is jealousy of your past. This fiery envy towards your history.

****** history,
I'm reading into every words you said like memoirs and piecing every excerpt trying to look for answers. Answer as to how and whyㅡhow she broke your heart and why she did it.
Would you change a thing about everything you did?
I ask and scream these questions to the moonlight.
Yet if you tell me and show me the answers yourself, there's not a single battle that I would win and fight.
Yet I search for clues in every old photo, in every message and through my sly, secret ways.
Must I scour every corner and highway?
So I can come up with answers to my own 'how and why'? How can I mend your broken heart?
Why do I love you this much?

Because above all, I am a revolutionary.
I acknowledge my envy, work through my jealousy and respect your history.
But then again, with every dark history comes the need for revolution and change.
And I am the catalyst who will spearhead that game.
I am your new age.
I am your renaissance.
I am your vengeance, nirvana, revolution and everything at once.

I have been walking in a dark cave
for quite a long time,
Never felt more caged and jailed,
as if I've committed a heinous crime.
Defeated and bruised
from the gold rush,
I heard songs of victory
in your calm and hush.
Little did I know,
I was just passing through,
forgetting all the woes and blues,
I walk towards my gold mine,
Threw all of my lights on the line,
Left my knives by the door, risking my life.
And little did you know,
you wouldn't just walk with me
through the dark,
but would even dance with me
right on my mark.
When I felt like I was
in an eternal night,
you came marching along,
my valiant knight.
Now we walk hand-in-hand,
I can see the light from our land.
Waiting for us there is our *** of gold.
I have all the riches in the world
from your kisses and by your hold.

I am filling my days with tick boxes
and to-do lists
Entertaining myself with others' inconveniences.
To save my heart from further
crack and freeze,
I play games and reward myself
with my own prizes.

I am burying every lingering question,
like you kept yours
locked inside the closet.
Like disposing our shared laughters
of their echoes and sounds,
I cover my own mouth as I cry
so no other soul hears it.

I am reducing my feelings to logic
Even my poetry and art have
become awfully calculated.
Compartmentalizing my daily plans
into sorry yet efficient lists,
I survive the nights by believing
losing me makes you elated.

I am weighing in the pros and cons,
like dancing with my own body
on a brittle balancing act.
Whispering lullabies
to my own weary heart and soul,
I find comfort in knowing
it will never come back.

I believe I've written of the sun, sand and sea countless of times;
even when it's pouring down and even when the cold december wind is tugging at the strings of my heart.
The last time I wrote of my summer,
I told myself that the next time I would, it would be from experience and not of make-believe.
Why should I write of the seagulls' noises when all I ever heard this year were the familiar chirps of the Maya birds?
I just trick myself into thinking that the chirps of a Maya is much more relaxing anyway.
Why should I write of the heat that burns past through my skin then onto my heart when I get to feel the same heat while walking the streets to and from our old house?
I could achieve my dream tan by doing that twenty times a day.
Why should I make poems out of the waves and shells when life here in the city is enough to drown me lifeless but could also leave me so dry at the same time?
Even more ironically, I never went out of my room—my safe shell that I never actually felt safe in.
April and May, farewell and apologies.
I took you for granted and now I must wait another weary, barren year and daydream for my summer.

The people from your hometown and I
got something big in common;
we always wait for you.
And your words.
They complete and make our days.
If not all, then most days.
We await news from you
like a rooster would wait for sunshine
before it sings in the morning.
Like I would wait for you
to tell me you adore me before I can sleep,
and wake and repeat this all over again.

I said,
"This is only gonna be a summer thing".
For six weeks, you can have me
as your shiny bling.
I would let myself get lost
in your ocean's blue,
but only until the first drop of rain in June.
I would let myself drown in joy,
be your new toy, but boy,
I never thought "summer"
would be our most favorite ploy.
"This is only gonna be a summer thing",
But then we live in far-flung distances,
stretching and bending from east to west.
Summer is here, spring is his,
when it's rainy where I am, he's at ease.
And when I'm feeling the summer breeze,
It's as if I could almost hear him sneeze.
And when summer comes where he is,
I am the one who's cold and about to freeze.
"This is only gonna be a summer thing",
but when my summer is over,
his summer is just beginning.
And when his summer is around the corner,
my summer is yet again just starting.
"This is only gonna be a summer thing",
says she who lives in the tropics,
where summer is all-year long.
"This is only gonna be a summer thing",
says he whose heart she has melted,
summer is forever and winter is long ago.

What do you say to fear when it settles in?
Do you ask it to leave?
Do you run away from it?
Or do you look it in the eye
and crawl closer in?
Do you befriend it?
Or do you swear it's enemy?
Do you set it on fire, cover its tracks?
Or do you run your hands
tenderly down its cheeks?

What do you do when fear takes over?
Do you fight it?
Or do you ask it of its favorite color?
Do you talk to it too soon
about the weather and the future,
hoping it leaves on its own so soon, too?
Or do you savour it slowly day by day,
and pray every night that it will stay?
Do you decide that you are bigger than mere emotions, or do you embrace that such a feeling can overpower even your body?

And what do you do when fear
finally runs away?
Do you kneel and thank the good heavens,
or do you bow and beg hell for it to return?
Do you stay in bed, curl up and cry,
or do you defy and run
the hundreds of miles?
Do you ask for it to stay
and settle down with you?
Do you surrender
and ask it to take over you?
Do you stay and surrender,
do you settle down and take over each other?
Do you accept the where and when
of the right here and right now,
or do you decide that there is no forever;
that even fear can flourish into brand new feelings, take you to new heights,
so new that you have no choice but to embrace it,
accept that such feelings can indeed overpower
your body, mind and spirit,
and encompass your logic, reason
and instincts?

Tell me, look me in the eye...
Crawl closer in...
Set me on fire, run your hands tenderly down my cheeks...
What do you say?
What do you do?

How my hands will reach to grab the demons' hands out of your body,
pulling you, redeeming you as close
as I can possibly get.
How our lips will utter the words
we cannot say while pressed together.
As your teeth mold against the
skin of my neck,
the stars shall hold me up and make me forget the word 'wrecked'.
How we will leave each other breathless
but still screaming for more,
how we wanted to curse so loudly
and also softly whisper our 'thanks'.
Both of us are shaken.
Broken, but finally fixed too.

I hope we both bruise lifetime bruises.

I can't see them, can't hear their chirps even.
They can see me, best believe they can hear my cries
in the teasing of the morn after eleven.
Maybe they even hold my secrets as tightly as they cling onto that tree next to my tower;
a tower I've built out of the very secrets
they know of and keep.
Secrets as dark as the Manila night sky
in the middle of the week can be.
They are but wary visitors, as I am myself.
Stuck between a new world and old,
roaming restlessly in an uncharted territory.
Only one can see the other
but we can both smell fear from each other.
Swinging and lounging across
but we're never parallel, we're unnamed.
We're untamed, in the detachment
from the grounds do we bask and dwell.
They're not out to get me;
they don't even have to try.
They get me better than my friends ever would.
They get my sleeping habits
better than the planks of my bed.
They understand my poor diet
better than the plastic utensils
that ever touched my mouth,
they've memorized my daily routine
better than all those cigarette butts.

Rain was pouring hard
when my cheap fastfood coffee was full,
my cold sweat does the same
as soon as I finished the cup.
Bringing an umbrella in Dapitan
is not necessary.
At least that's what I said
before I was all soaked and in dread.

This is a sweet poem of relinquished gratitude

For a man who has done nothing but dig a hole that goes through the core

Like a worn-out book binded by threads of thirst that doesn't wish to be quenched,

A daughter who can only whisper prayers of solitude for a man who traded a jade for his *****.

Now that jade he's turned his back away from is not so precious anymore.

Rather a daisy all rotten, vines growing around the cage with which despair has clenched.

The monsoons of the heart
The cyclones of our whereabouts
It's all brewing and burning
at the same time

Within the all-seeing eye of the storm,
the haze and hail over my island are born
It's both evening and morning
at the same time

The violent destructions on the east
The threatening strong winds on the west
It's all beginning and ending
at the same time

You left me in this scene of the crime,
in the mouth of your enemy;
but unbeknownst to you
is an undefeated one.
Undead like yesterday's song.
You found me on one fateful night
from your days of valor and prime,
blew sonnets on my wounds out of charity; the terror's nowhere to be found, it is gone.
The enemy is *******, his legs are helpless.
Now he's gnawing on my flesh,
this dainty darling rose could care less.
He's determined to cut my petals,
slice them each by thirty-fours,
out of the petals he shall denounce
the rebirth of a new rose, grow it fresh.
I am a rare rose,
but the dying kind,
so they say.
Now they are determined to find you.
Force me to speak the way they do,
I would never sing and betray you.
So run, run into the dark of the night
as I bleed and wilt into this
one chaos of a delightful plight.

𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘺 (𝘯); 𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺;
𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘴: 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘵, 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳,
𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘯'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦

I know who I am
Yet I don't mind being contained inside a stereotype
I'd even laugh with them or crack a harder joke,
if that means with you, I'll get to spend more time.
I know that in surprise of my truth, they will all choke.

I know myself
I've sworn with blood I won't throw my heart so far
like a boomerang that carelessly takes flight,
but I don't mind the comfort of being inside your car
even more so being found with you there late at night.

I know what I want
I chase my dreams daily, men only every two years
And I don't mind the name-calling and naysays
Because what I want can't be bought with tears
and all they'll ever know about me is my name anyway.

I know what I'll get
But if it's you, I'll take what I can and hope I won't need
Even if it feels like looking into those eyes of yours is a crime
Because life before you have been stereotypical indeed
So I don't mind, no I don'tㅡin hundreds of jails I'd merrily do time.

I know what you'll get
And if it's not me, there are always the girls
waiting for you back home
or the ones who anticipates you
wherever you may cross, dock or land
Because I have a feeling life after you
would feel like I've always been alone
But would you mind? If I ask you
to hold me longer and take my hand?

Do we know where we'll get?
If it's not with you and me,
there are thousand other pretty faces and luscious lips...
But can they ever fill the void I've left
and will I never stop thinking about what they lack?
Because I have a feeling there's more to this,
I've never missed anyone's hand on my hips...
But would you mind? If I ask you
to give me another night, will you ever come back?

For an instance, we would meet and exchange passive glances
on the metro station for the very first time,
we're going to be looking at the same advertisement or propaganda poster,
knowing of each other's presence
but never acknowledging...
then we would ride the same train.
Perhaps we're holding on to the same railing but our fingers are never touching.
How I wish that was a busy monday morning instead of an easygoing
sunday evening,
so then I would've been smashed against you the moment I stepped foot in the train
or should've felt your body heat around me
at the very least.
Just like in the movies.

For an instance,
we would see each other for the first time
in a lazy corner coffee shop,
there are going to be about fourteen to twenty-seven people in.
There's you, me, the baristas, the harmony of your voice among the chatters of others.
Sadly, you were sitting with your back turned from me and fairly enoughㅡI am too, because we both hate looking at people's faces or being looked at while sipping our coffee.
Or maybe I'll choose one of the high stools for the time being, forgetting the fact that my back would hurt after half an hour.
I'll pretend to be productive while you're in one of those couches, and God knows what you're trying to pretend about?
That you didn't notice me as I walked by?
When you know so well that your whole atmosphere and realm just shifted for good?
Oh, this is why I like you in the first place,
you're a bit funny, too.

But what if we'd first talk on a record store?
You're rummaging through alternative rock while I slowly feel the new wave record sleeves run through my already dusty fingers, slightly tapping them too with the beat of the store's background music.
Not knowing of each other's presence,
I'll turn to the isle and see you there.
You check me out, you're preoccupied but you still paid me a glance,
before giving me a faint, subtle smile.
I'll smile back at you sweetly and my heart will then have to faint a bit, too.
Or we might both be looking for the exact same album, how idealistic.
But unlike the movies, we'll talk about it instead of fighting over who saw it first.
And who should get to bring it home.
We would both be surprised of each other's preference in music, possibly amazed.
Or perhaps a little in love already,
one foot down in the grave.
Either way, I would know right away we would touch and create melodies, just like needle to record grooves.

It could be on a mountain trail,
a near-death experience, on a hospital, on a beach or in the middle of the ocean,
a museum, my birthday, the airport, EDSA, your grandpa's death anniversary;
any location and any scenario,
there would be no better place
and no better moment.
Because the very moment and time
we would meet for the very first time
Would be the best way right away.
However.
Wherever.
Whenever?
No I wish, pray and beg it to be sooner.