Isipin mo
Sasagot ba ako ng “oo”?
“Anong ibig sabihin n’un?”
‘Wag na lang kung ganun.
Kung iisipin mo
“tungkol ba kanino ang mga tulang ito?”,
mag-iisip ka hanggang sa araw ng libing ko.
Kaya’t wag mo nang isipin pa
dahil hindi sasambitin kahit ako’y ibitay,
kahit sunugin pa nila itong mga tula,
silaban man nila pati ang dagat!
Kaya’t wag nang kaliskisan pa
dahil hindi isisiwalat at isasatinig
dahil hindi magkakasya sa mga patinig
lahat ng damdaming nilalaman ng dibdib!

"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.

Start with my neck,
and then go around my nape...
While you hold me from behind,
your body's like an unsung hero's cape...
Trail your left hand down my chest,
as the right one anticipates on my waist...
While you kiss me in the neck,
where your hands lifted their weight...
Let your hands trail some more,
as your legs join my sides...
My body, you're most welcome to explore,
or even crucify ****** into the night...
Pin down my arms and hands,
stab me with an emotionless face...
And as you end with my feet,
wash them, then lock my knees in place...
And finally, yet again, end with my feet.

Start with my neck, next my nape,
take me from behind,
then hold me from my chest, next my waist,
a little more in the neck again,
take your hands all over,
next are my sides,
then my arms,
then my hands,
then my feet,
my locked knees,
and finally ending with my feet.
This is exactly how you'd **** me,
and at the same time rebirth me.

Half a year has passed
Love has been recalled
and lives have been lost
Hearts have been split in halves
Lessons learned, wages earned
More questions left unanswered
Am I getting older
or just getting used to it?
Am I growing wiser
or just getting my old self back?
But all the love I think I gave to people,
out to the bigger world,
I need a little bit of that back for myself.
Even just for a little while.
I need some kind of balance
or even an illusion thereof.
Am I becoming stronger
or getting more careless?
Am I getting smarter
or just getting sheer luck?
Yet all the lessons I thought I learned
from all the people I gave my love to,
I think I didn't really need them.
All I needed was to do it myself.
Like I always do.
Is the earth getting warmer
or is my skin growing thicker?
Are my dreams becoming closer
or I just couldn't care less any longer?
More questions will be asked
and will be left unanswered.

Minsan may maririnig kang
mga tunog o hiyaw,
na mapapatanong ka;
“pusa ba ‘yon o bata?”
Minsan may makikita kang
dalawang taong magkasama,
na magtataka ka;
“mag-ama ba ‘yon o mag-jowa?”
At kung minsan din may madarama kang
mapapatigil ka na lang
at mapapatulala sa tuwina;
“pag-ibig na ba ‘to o pagkakaibigan lang?”

Ngunit sa lahat ng mga tanong na ito,
sa ingay ng mga tunog,
sa dilim ng pagtataka,
sa gitna ng tahimik na mga hiyaw,
sa liwanag ng pagtulala,
sa nakakabinging nadarama...
Ano bang pagkakaiba?
ano bang pagkakaiba?
Sa lahat ng ito, pag-ibig ay mapapakinggan.
Sa lahat ng ito, pag-ibig ay maaaring makita.
Sa lahat ng ito, pag-ibig ay mararamdaman.
Ano nga bang pagkakaiba?

⁠Even if you are an enemy
who's bound to hurt me,
I would still ask you
to come sit and eat with me.
Even if you are an enemy
who's sent to capture me,
I would still ask you
to stay for a while,
share even this one meal with me.
Even if you are an enemy
who's ordered to **** me,
I would still ask you;
"Have you eaten?
Kumain ka na ba?
Ya comiste?
Ja has menjat?
Xa comeches?"
And if you say you haven't,
I'll take out the plates, but
I'll be angered.
Because look at the time!
And if you say you already did,
then I'd let you take me out,
my head lowered.
You can waste my time!
Even if you are an enemy
who's bound to hurt me...

𝑬𝒔 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒐. 𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒚𝒐.
𝑳𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒂,
𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒖𝒆𝒈𝒐
𝒚 𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒔.

𝑬𝒔 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒐. 𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒚𝒐.
¡𝑳𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒂!
𝒀 𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒂 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂,
𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝑳𝑨 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒂!
𝑳𝒂 ú𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒂. 𝑬𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒚 𝒚𝒐.

𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒚𝒂 𝒗𝒐𝒚.
𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒔é 𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒓é 𝒔𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐.
𝑫𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒆.
𝑫𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒅𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆.
𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒅𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓.

𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒔 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂
𝒚 𝒏𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒂.
𝑺𝒐𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒅𝒓í𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓.

𝑸𝒖𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔.

                            
                              𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐,
                      ­  𝑳𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒂

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 dysporia 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.

My body is a tropical island
Full of wonders, views are grand
A spectacle of various rare terrains,
overwhelming for the unadventurous
and exhausting for the meager brains.
My body boasts of all the different
exotic textures and new colors,
something your waiting eyes
must be ready to marvel at.
My body takes pride in its
mountain-like curves;
not exactly the perfect shapes
but awe-inspiring, like a painting.
Something your anticipating hands
has to feel thrilled to touch.
However, my body is also known
for its extraordinary yet abrupt movements;
scary for most and sensual for some.
Like earthquakes and typhoons,
you'll never know when the rhythms come.
Something your foreign familiarity
would either be thrilled or petrified about.
So I welcome you to this island of mine,
leave your worries back to the shores,
clear your soul and free your mind.
Leave you exhilarated and in monsoon,
my rainforest flora forever in bloom.

Crees que conoces la ley,
pero yo soy la maldita ley.
Y en realidad no me conoces,
así que en realidad no conoces la ley.
Permíteme volver a presentarme;
yo soy la rey de esta ciudad
y de estos mares.
Yo soy la maldita rey.
Debajo de mí, te arrodillarás y llorarás.
Para usurparme, no habrá manuales.
Porque no puedes acabar
con el régimen que es mi ira y mi furia.
Me cuentan en los cuentos de hadas,
estoy escrita en la leyenda.
Bebo las lágrimas de las perras,
sus gritos son mi merienda.
Crees que conoces la ley,
pero yo soy la maldita ley.
Y yo soy tu maldito rey.
Y frente a mí, te arrodillarás y orarás.

I write of love yet I don't believe in it anymore,
yet I still dream of love as it soothes me terrified.
I would give love if I could, but I have nothing more,
yet I still try to find it and scream it in songs at night.

I dream of love yet I fancy turning it into a nightmare,
yet men keep sleeping down their backs,
anticipating for even just a passing vision of me.
I write of love only to spin it into a cautionary tale,
yet they're awake deep into the night,
and I'm a book they're flipping, turning, eagerly reading.

I write of love, praise it yet I've already lost my faith,
yet I still pray for love as if it's my last salvation
I know now that love is all but a promise and bait,
yet I keep being hooked, like a tiny fish in the vast ocean.

I sing of love, write of it, dance for it,
yet at the end of the day, it's all but a dying art,
yet I'm an artist starving to make it to the other side,
even make it out alive
I have learned now that love,
with all its theories and truths, only breaks my heart,
but you're a new canvas I want to spill
all my letters, colors and lights.

Just seven will never be enough, nor
seventy or even seven hundred thousand.
It's an insult for how many words I want to say, how many are the grains of sand?

Just fourteen stops before I go?
Frankly, that's quite generous.
Twelve disciples?
All I need is you.
Just ten commandments by my father?
Honestly, for you I'd write them better.
Eight days until my rebirth and our reunion?
Painstakingly, that's quite a wait.
Just three falls going to my death?
Mercilessly, make it a hundred.
Just two nails to pin me down?
Respectfully, make it a thousand.
Just one cross?
Please, I demand millions.

Just one life will never be enough, nor
ten or even a millenia to hold your hand.
It's an offense, really, because how much rain do you think can the sea withstand?

Empecemos.
𝘜𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯.

Cojamos las sillas, sentémonos
y empecemos a comer.
𝘒𝘶𝘮𝘶𝘩𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘰 𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘨𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘺𝘢, 𝘶𝘮𝘶𝘱𝘰
𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯.

En esta mesa, eres el único discípulo.
𝘚𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵𝘰, 𝘪𝘬𝘢𝘸 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘰.

Toma mi cuerpo...
𝘒𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘰...

Y mis huesos, vale, rómpelos...
𝘔𝘨𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘰'𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘪-𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰...

Y te digo;
"Esto es mi cuerpo, entregado por ti,
hacer esto en memoria de mí."
"𝘐𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘯, 𝘯𝘢 𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘢'𝘺𝘰,
𝘨𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰 𝘪𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘨-𝘢𝘭𝘢-𝘢𝘭𝘢 𝘴𝘢 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯."

Y toma la copa, lleno de mis lágrimas,
esperanzas y sueños.
𝘈𝘵 𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘢, 𝘯𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘨𝘢 𝘭𝘶𝘩𝘢,
𝘱𝘢𝘨-𝘢𝘴𝘢 𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘬𝘰.

"Esta copa es el nuevo pacto en mi sangre,
que es derramada por ti."
"𝘈𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘢 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘶𝘨𝘰,
𝘯𝘢 𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘩𝘰𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘢'𝘺𝘰"

En verdad, créeme, me traicionarás...
𝘈𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘰, 𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰 𝘢𝘬𝘰 𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘴 𝘯𝘢...

Pero está bien, lo estaba anticipando...
𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘰 𝘳𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘰...

Pero primero come conmigo, quiero
disfrutar esta ultima comida contigo.
𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘬𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘬𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘬𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘢 𝘬𝘰,
𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘢 𝘮𝘰.

Quédate conmigo, hasta que me lleven...
𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘪 𝘴𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘰, 𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘢 𝘬𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘬𝘱𝘪𝘯...

Oremos toda la noche, hasta llegar al cielo.
Y antes de enfrentar el calvario...
𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘥𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘢𝘣𝘪, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘵.
𝘈𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘬𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘢𝘭𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘰...

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.

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.

Long story short,
I walked alone within the walls of fort.
He’s not mine, so I'm not his valentine.
My heart may be his, but his lips I won't kiss.
I might be in love, but I'll still hit the club.
Long story yet also short,
as I’ve already cut the cord.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
no need to guess and find any clue.
I cried alone within our favorite church.
He’s not my valentine, he ran out of time.
My letters have him, my lights are now dim.
I have another’s flowers, I'll remain a lover.
Long story short, unlike those letters,
without each other we'll be much better.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
image of my smeared lipstick, it’s not by you.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet
Did the past month really occur
Or I just hallucinated that we met?

Consectetur adipiscing elit
Did I regret it
Or did I wish I stayed longer for a bit?

Sed do eiusmod tempor
Did you regret it
Or are you wishing now for more?



Placeholder,
I'm just another design page,
whose lips are a passing, familiar symbol.

A replacer,
You're just another pretty face,
whose eyes I already forgot the color.

We move along and away,
Get on with our diring days



I couldn't even dare call you a lover,
we really just both filled each other.

Coffee for fuel, wine for relaxation.
Beer for party, water for hydration.
Green tea? I fancy.
*****? One for a kiss.
My words shoot when provoked,
my poems heal when deserved.
My quill could ****,
my sword are my words.
My mouth could bring drought,
spit that could send you down to pits.
Liquid is for assets, solid for *******.
Gas is for air, gas is also for fuel.
Come back here, why fear a little duel?

If little me comes to me
running and asking for help,
I know that I will hold her near
carry her, run faster away from hell
and tell her, "for you I would do anything"

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...

I can carve your name among the stars
with my paper, pen, acrylics, and art.
I can turn you into a museum
through my own pain, sadness, and gloom.
I can display you like a gallery,
with my lips and hips seared onto your skin.
I can raise your name into immortality
through my songs and poetry.
I can give you eternity
with my madness and mercy.
I can make you a living God
through my beauty and love.

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕á𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒐,
𝒂𝒒𝒖í 𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒊 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒊ó𝒏 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒔;

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑷𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔
𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔,
¡𝑻𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒛𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔!

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑹𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒔,
¡𝑵𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒊!

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒓ó𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒓ó𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔,
¡𝑻𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔!

¿𝑸𝒖𝒆 𝒎á𝒔?
¡𝑨𝒉, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐, 𝒄𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔!
¡𝑴𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒍 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒐
𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒖𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔!

𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒔,
𝑬𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒈𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍,
𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒔.
¡𝑵𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒊, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒕ú 𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔
𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒆𝒍 𝒈𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓!

¿𝑸𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒎á𝒔?
¡𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒎á𝒔!
𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔,
𝒍𝒂 𝒎á𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕í𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂.
¡𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒗í𝒂 𝒏𝒐 𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕í𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒔, 𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔!

¡𝑨𝒚, 𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔!
𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕á𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒐𝒔
𝒚 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒐,
𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒂 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒒𝒖é 𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔
𝒅𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒖𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒐.

𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐,
𝑵𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔,
𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂 𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒐𝒔,
¡𝒍í𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒛 𝒚 𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆!

𝑨𝒎𝒆𝒏.

Behold this box in which I carry my secrets.
If I ask you, would you be able to keep it?
Behold this case in which I kept my youth.
If I answer this poem, will it make the due?
Here lies all that there is or ever was...
If I would try to, could I make it last?
Here comes all that will come or will be...
If I fight for you, would I end up bruised?
Behold this ring which I’ll kiss with fists.
If I duel with time, could you give me a kiss?
Behold this arena in which I will be boxed.
I will brawl with pain, leave me knocked.

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.

Do not listen to the preachers.
Do not listen to the non-believers either.
Here's a piece of advice from a revolutionary,
a soldier and a slave for love;
Don't say you're in love,
unless you want to wage a war against every doubt, every dread on your lover's racing and raging heart,
wielding your sword against their anxiety,
never minding your own worries,
unless you are in dire passion with changing the course of their history,
spilling your blood or covering it with art,
forgetting about your own sob stories,
unless you aren't having sleepless nights from planning for strategies and fine-tuning your tactics so you can put your best foot forward and your Achilles heel before them,
unless you aren't willing
to die for their peace,
unless you aren't willing
to live to see their freedom,
don't proclaim yourself
to be someone who's in love.
If you're enthusiastic for the worst,
When words doesn't make sense anymore,
come and be my land forevermore.

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.

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.

Ikaw
ay isang mataas, malakas at malaking alon.
Kung makakapili at may pagkakataon,
ang mga manlalangoy sa paligid mo
ay hindi na muli pang aahon.



At ako
ay isa lamang butil ng buhangin,
alikabok sa hangin na nakakapuwing,
nakatadhanang tangayin din ng hangin,
isayaw ng agos patungo sa'yong direksyon,
at mananatili sa'yong karagatan ng panaghoy.

Cuando la noche es gris y fría,
te espero como esperaría
un atardecer colorido cada día.

Cuando la montaña se vuelve traicionera,
me aferro a ti como a una piedrita
que me ayudará y salvará mi vida.

Pero cuando esta ciudad se vuelve demasiado exigente,
¿serán nuestro amor el teatro
al final de cada agotador mes?

Y cuando la vida se vuelve
demasiado implacable,
¿sería este hogar el confesionario
o la iglesia al fin de cada semana horrible?

Pero cuando la música se detenga
y todo deje de ser divertido,
¿me seguirás abrazando,
manteniéndome a salvo del frío?

Y cuando el telón cae
y el escenario se oscurece,
¿te quedarás aquí conmigo
hasta que veamos el amanecer?

Ang pagkain ng croissant at floss buns
sa public places.
O ng saging o hotdog sa jeepney.
Ng chocolate ice cream habang naka-all white ka.
Ang umibig ng mga taong may mental illness.
O ng taga-malayo o magkagusto sa pari.
Ng taong hindi maaaring ibigin.
Ang maki-apid sa asawa ng may asawa.
Ang kwarto **** napabayaang linisin
dahil mas masarap nga naman ang siesta.
Mas nakakahalina ang tawag ng pahinga,
kaysa talak ng pagliligpit.
Ang trend ng salted caramel everything
dahil mas mainam ang may konting alat.
Ang nakaligtaang lakad sa government offices
dahil mas kaakit-akit ang gumala.
Ang buhay **** salat sa kaayusan
dahil mas masarap ang makalat.

I miss her.
Me in 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.

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.

Kumain ka na ba?
Anong oras na.
Oras na para kumain.
Umupo ka na, 'wag mahiya.
Para sa'yo lahat itong nakahain.
Isang oras lang.
Pero busog ka na ba?
Isang oras pa.
Merienda lang, mahal.
Kahit pa hanggang almusal.
Pasensya ka na, ito lang ang hiling.
Hindi na nanaisin pa na ito'y patagalin.
Pwede na ba akong umalis?
Hindi na aasamin na lalong magkamali.
Boses mo ang siyang multo at baon ko.
Ang mga mata ko'y suki ng alaala mo.
Mali ang ito'y piliting maging tama.
Tama na siguro ang muntik na.
Plato at kubyertos ay iligpit na.
At ang basura ay aking susunugin na.
Kutsara at baso ay itago na.
At ang alaala natin ay kalimutan na.

You hit me good where it hurts,
and you hurt me where it's good.
If you ask me to weep and burn,
I happily and willingly would.

Where your betrayal is,
that's where I long to be.

You want me bad when I want to hide,
and you hide me when it gets bad.
If you ask me to be your victim and bride,
my "yes" would be my quickest nod.

Where your anger resides,
that's where I dream to be beside.

So kiss me softly where it stings,
and kiss me hard where it kills.
If you ask me to die for your sins,
I would even do it on a cross uphill.

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.

Penitencia número uno:
Intentaré no pensar en ti y en mí en la misma cama.
Y tú también, intenta no pensar en el color de mi piel
ni en mi cuerpo.

Penitencia número dos:
No hablaré contigo, esta es una oración
y una promesa.
Y tú también, sigue haciendo lo que haces,
finge que no quieres mis besos.

Penitencia número tres:
Intentaré imaginar que eres el sol quemando mi piel.
Qué dolorosamente bien besas mi cuerpo.
Y tú también, trata de imaginarme
como si fuera la luna de tu marea.
Como si no pudieras estar sin mí por la noche.

Penitencia número cuatro:
No te hablaré, pero me arrodillaría frente a ti como un altar.
Qué fervor te oraría y te adoraría.
Y tú también, intenta orar a Dios por mí cuando
ya me haya ido para siempre.
Como si pudieras vivir sin mí en este mundo loco.

Penitencia número cinco:
Es simple. Iría, saldría de tu vida y te regalaré mi silencio.
Debería ser simple. Déjame ir y regálame el camino de salida
si no puedes darme el cielo.

𝑰 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒚, 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒅,
𝑰 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒊𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔...
𝑶𝒉, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒙
𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆...

𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆
𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆?
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒐 𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓
𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅, 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒉?
𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒉𝒚𝒎𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅
𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒓?
𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒖𝒎
𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕?
𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒎 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏
𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔?
𝑩𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆,
𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒖𝒊𝒕?
𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅
𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓?
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒍,
𝑰 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓.

𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅'𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒆, 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅,
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔...
𝑶𝒉, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒆
𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉...

A poem that shouldn't be. A poor attempt to express an affection so otherworldly, it will probably seem comical.

Rather offensive; my words wouldn't justify such affection.

A Manileña doesn’t mince her words.
She doesn’t sweeten up the bitter truth.
A Filipina’s words strike like a sword.
She would get down and ***** to the roots.
She could sing like an angel, easily join a heavenly choir.
But she could curse the devil, make him quiver and cry.
She could recite poems and prayers,
think of you during novena and death alike.
But she could also write your eulogy,
hold a funeral for you while you’re still alive.

My words shoot when provoked,
my poems heal when deserved.
My quill could ****,
my sword are my words.
My mouth could bring drought,
spit that could send you down to pits.

And even when I hate,
it’s out of care and love.
I know I’ll never lose a war.
And when I don’t feel the best,
I simply breathe, read, and take a rest.
And I write poetry, you can never **** or defeat me.

It’s up to youㅡwhat’s it gonna be?
You write and decide, should I heal or ****?

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 handpicked you,
with these hands that clawed their way out
of death and then back to your inner city.
More carefully than finding shells
on a beach, on an island down south.

I handpicked you,
with these hands that engraved stones
and carved runes from the walls.
More desperately than ancient men learning
how to write and draw for the first time.

I handpicked you,
with these hands that shook with the devil
and in the same manner, greeted saints with.
More intentionally than touching artifacts
in a museum, within a country of colonizers.

I handpicked you,
with these hands that wrote law, poems,
and stabbed enemies lurking in the tombs.
More defiantly than a monster experiencing
how it feels to be betrayed for the last time.

𝘚𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘢-𝘪,
My chosen,
you have no choice but to give in.
My love,
it is now my heart that you live in.
My destiny,
it is my body that you will be buried in.

My city...
I was here before it was even one,
my toys are older
than the high-rise buildings.
Yet all of my oldest dreams
have long been gone,
this is where new people
from far-away are dreaming.

People dream to visit here
even for a day,
I can't count the years
I've been trying to escape.
People travel here
to have a sip of coffee,
even the taste of water here
can tell that I am sick.

In the inner city,
while everyone takes photographs,
I try my best to walk
with my shoulders not dropped.
In the chic cafes
where others strike a pose,
I knew I never wanted more,
I had my dose.

My city,
that many people dream
of visiting and living in,
why, then there's me
who's here and feeling livid in.
My now-larger-city
that still feels like a small town,
I feel suffocated,
as if all my life I'm in a tight gown.

My favorite poem
is your hands on my neck.
If you need my lips all over you,
I'll deliver and keep it in check.
What about you?
You see I don't write love poems on paper,
I write them on the sheets.
You know my mouth and my tongue
are your new favorite sweets.
Enough of these rhymes,
we are just wasting time.
Just show me where your bedroom is,
and tell me how much you want me.
And I'll show you what you've been missing,
and it's heaven when you're deep inside me.
What about you?
What is your favorite poem?
I hope it's your hands on my neck.

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

They are the drops of rain in an island
as you ride through a storm on a motorbike.
The coconuts falling down your head
on a quiet beach.
They are the songs and poems
addressed to or meant to attack politicians.
They are slippery rocks on a river
and the current of a whirlpool
for the heavy steps
of the enemies.
And they are the soft cashmere carpet
and the fine, powdery sands
for the careful steps
of my lovers.

I want him to be smart and funny,
so I can forget curses and bury older jokes
with the music of our laughters.
I want him to be happy, I'll make him happy,
so we can drown our worries and sorrows
when we're in each other's company.
I don't want him perfect,
I want him faithful.
I want him to take care of me better,
I don't mind a little cold here and there,
as long as we know that our home
is full of warmth and it's ours alone.
I want him kind too, and warm,
so I can forget for a while the world is cruel
when I'm in the safety of his arms.
I don't want him perfect,
I want him gentle.
I want him to hold me tighter than ever,
I don't mind storms every now and then,
as long as we know we are each other's
own sanctuary, safe space and shelter.
I want him loyal and raw as I am,
so we can rest easy and sleep at night
knowing we're the same soul, we are one.
I don't want him perfect,
I want him all to myself and mine alone.

I would do it all over again:
Leave my safe space
Flee from this city of foolish sanctuary
Burn my body and face
Strut into an unknown territory
Fall down from grace
Give up my false sense of serenity

Trade my gold jewelries for pearls
Swap my diamonds for seashells
With the island air, I'd dance and twirl,
Along the ocean breeze, I'd twist and bend;
this bottled feeling is a message I won't send.

But I would do it all too:
Leave everything behind
if it's you I'll get to be with in the end
I would cut my own good hand,
go somewhere nobody can find
just for another day of me and you
in the island.

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

You don't need to travel all over the world
to know that there are many Gods.
Plenty of teachings, multitude of words,
from west to east to your nest and back.
Hundreds of chants and hours of prayers,
written in ink of blood or black.

And I don't need to travel all over the world
to know that you were made by the same God
who created the vast oceans,
who sculpted the mountains,
who made the lightning,
who moulded the earth.

And I don't need to practice every religion,
learn the ways of all man,
to know that you are already my answered prayer,
to know that you are the one that I want,
to know that you are the man I would kneel before,
and pray as if your kiss is my final salvation.

And you don't need to pray anymore from now on,
learn the ways of no other unworthy man,
for you to know that my name is the only prayer,
to know the truth that I am the one you want,
to know that it's me you would sail the deadly seas, fight crusades for,
and call my name like a prayer, as if my touch is your new religion.

Before we know it, it will be another year.
A crisp, brand new air, an integration
of the piercing cold and blazing warmth.
Feel that tinge of satisfaction left by the aftermath of the rain and sun's
constant tug-of-war.
By then, my hair will be longer.
The bags under my eyes could become puffier or I could do something about them over the next summer, who knows.
But April and May can be deceiving.
They can make girls like me do things
normal girls only does in November.
I might crack a fortune cookie
or smash my head onto a crystal ball.
Just trying my luck. Or lack thereof.
That's if I decide that I no longer fancy
dancing to the sound of raindrops in July.
Hopefully I will grow taller, like your girls.
You've always adored my complexion
and I've always wanted it to be
a little darker; like that of light cinnamon.
By then, I wouldn't have to blink twice
when you tell me that you miss gazing into my eyes, the same way you yearn the feeling you felt when staring at the moon when you were a child.
Or I wouldn't have to force a smile out of my weary lips when you try to tell me how you're in love with me, with your lips falling into a grim line right after.
My eyes will be unfaltering, unchallenged.
My ribs will become protruded, I know.
The bags under my eyes, more pronounced.
I will probably become skinnier, and I might not really do something about it over the next and summers and more.
As this passing September air is a quick breath and a stained glass window to the ensuing months and switching seasons,
until it kisses the back of the hands of departing August, pull it closer to the end,
I will no longer have to wonder.
I write about September in hopes that
when I meet you in the eye,
I will be what you were wishing for.
But I'm afraid how my monsters are slowly becoming scarier each day.
Scarier for you to look in the eyes.
Scarier for you to dance with, even.
Next september, everything will be sweeter.
I am helplessly lusting over the mystery that
lies between all these tears
and couple more months of misery.
Next september, I'll be prettier.
I'll be stronger, smarter and braver.
And we'll be full of memories or regrets, more poems or everything all at once.
We'll be everywhere or nowhere to be found. Maybe they'd find us in one of the clouds or in a full theater without sounds.
By then, I hope I'm still not dead.
I hope our love is still burning bright red.