deep in the forests,
in dead-silent houses,
in deep blue seabeds,
in dusty shelves
and empty streets,
you shall be light
you will rebuild yourself
among silence
you will do all the things you want to
and be all the things you wish you could
you will be fire
blazing brighter than you
ever thought you would.

my boy's got sunshine in his hair
and his mouth can rap pretty verses
he's looking up at the same sky
he's speaking in an entirely
different language but i can
understand how happy he is
his sharp canine smile
crooked in the light
his laugh is a lullaby i use
to sing myself to sleep
my boy's got galaxies in
his eyes and i still wonder
why i love the stars
my boy is a golden boy
and half of me
cannot compare to
half of what he is
someone once asked me
what i would love
about him if i
was given the chance
i pointed at his heart -
*"this, and so much more."

no one taught me
how to love
without the mandatory
'i love you's, without
fabricated appreciation
just because everyone else
was doing it,
no one taught me
the rawness of it all
how the feeling
consumes you like
fire and makes you
speak in a language
you never knew
you could speak

no one taught me
how to express myself
in ways that don't
slip between people's
fingers like water,
with palms up
heart cut out and bleeding
every pad and print
facing the earth
each vulnerability visible
from the stars

no one taught me
how to keep my emotions
running like a broken tap
because for years
i'd switch it off
once i thought i was done
dealing with them
and afterwards i'd never
want to run my hands
through the water
ever again because
i was scared to feel

no one taught me
how to love how
to express myself
how to feel
that once i loved
i burned like rome
i loved people more
than they would ever
love me, i'd always
love them too much and
once i learned how
to be vulnerable i
ended up tearing my heart out
and giving it to the
first person that
would listen
once i learned how
to feel i felt
too much to the point
of drowning my hands
rubbed raw from
running through
the water one too many times

no one taught me
how to live in greys
so i live in
blacks and whites
all or nothing
too much or too little
a constant push and pull -
i just want to be whole.

i just want to be whole.

to the little girl
who sits by the tv screen,
watching encantadia—
lireo is where you belong,
your palms big enough
to hold the kingdoms of sapiro,
lireo, hathoria, and etheria in
your hands, keeping
the brilyantes of air, water, earth
and fire in the four chambers of
your heart to keep peace
in our world.
you are an amihan,
open to the truth of
an entirely different continent
coexisting with the mortal world
that you know,
never letting death keep you
from closing in on yourself
like an abandoned cathedral;
you are soft and gentle in
all the ways she tries to lead,
dangerous in the way
cassopeia's prophecy was fulfilled,
bringing the ruin of hathoria.
do not be afraid when
pirena comes, rage and
hade! hade! hade! against the beating
of the earth against your feet,
stealing the holy fire in your heart.
it will keep burning, arrows aimed
and the war won and you will
get it back.
you will get it back.
ilantre ivi e corre?
ilantre ivi hasne masne?
the people wonder.
you are a descendant of the
diwatas powerful and
almighty in the elements
of the world you hold close;
under your reign,
corre will return,
masne will start its journey.
kingdoms will be brought
to their knees.
you will never forget
the land where you came from
mingling with the magic
in your veins
you are one of many
a lot of things you can never compromise.

*ivi esna adelan e...

life always came in twos
two hands, two feet, two eyes
two lovers, two houses, no home
let's call this divinity in its purest sense
two wooden deities to come home to
two cathedrals to worship
a father in one, a savior in the other
let's call this a crusade
let's burn all inhibitions
and set the world as it should be on fire
let's call this a calamity
when the ceiling leaks from summer rain
let's seek refuge in the walls of another
let's live in twos
let's call this fate
let's call being torn - destiny
let's call this drought a blessing
let's love backwards in between
abandoned castles and rotten citadels
let's call living between two creators
the natural order of the world as we know it
let's look to where the sun rises and sun sets
let's forgive the world for being in twos
let's forgive this covenant
and make one of our own
let us accept this cosmic symmetry
we are not halves but whole too.

my boy's got me tongue tied in two different languages
he's calling me baby on mondays and sinta 'til sundays
he's got me looking for him in between eskinitas
and cathedrals from quezon avenue to intramuros
all i see are his eyes
and 7,107 islands in the palms of his hands
and i never knew love could be so hard
when your words ran faster than your heart
makata is what they call you
a master of poetry and performance
you called me your greatest work
and you are a master of fiction
manileño is what you are
my boy's got manila's grime and glory
pulsing through his makata veins
he's got makati's lights burning through his irises
he's got the danger of manila beating in his chest
he's got the cries of san juan lodged in his throat
he's got the rhythm of the city in every step
my boy's still a boy
hijo is what you think you aren't
he's got three stars on his back
and he thinks he's the sun
he thinks he can change the world
himagsikan is what he wants
a revolution beginning with him
but tell me makata, manileño, hijo,
my boy
how are you going to save me?
how are you going to love this country?
my boy's tongue tied in two different faiths
my boy forgot to save himself

I suppose if the arts had any real power
Michaelangelo's David could have healed my brother
Rimbaud could have saved Hiroshima
Monet could have painted the world in shades of peace
Desiderata could have protected me
But this is the real world
And where poetry once grew comes the art of fabrication
Dali's obras are no longer enough to make me forget
Moonlight Sonata never warned me of this hurt
The waltz never healed a broken family

I suppose if the arts had any real power
Beethoven wouldn't have gone deaf
Van Gogh would have been happy
Hemingway would have loved better
And Ginsberg wouldn't have been afraid to love

Yet here they all are
When the only light I see is on hundred year old canvas
When the only solace I have is a dead man's words
When the only thing that keeps my heart thundering
Is the promise of a Boticelli ending in Picasso figures
All colors, beauty, light and metaphors
The promise of a Renaissance gleaming in the ashes of prose

This is the real world
I suppose if the arts had any real power
It would heal more than just my heart
It would build me a new Garden of Eden
And I'd pave a way to nirvana
So the world could join hands
And start anew

But it's saved me for now
That is enough.