He was sleepless that night, the buffoon
Who questioned himself if he was a loon,
For he desired so deeply to compose a tune
Inspired by the darling moon;
Similar to those who died so soon,
Immortalized all by fading rune.

Across his desk, did lay the rune
interpreted by this buffoon.
He realizes in it far too soon,
That he was like the other loon
Who fell in love with the lovely moon
And also wrote a rhythmic tune.

He began to hum his heart's humble tune
And began inscribing his personal rune,
praying that he'll be loved by the moon.
He is quite a fool, this valiant buffoon;
For he never did care if he was a loon
And either if he would be gone all too soon.

Seemingly, somehow, so soon was soon.
The buffoon had sung his final tune.
There goes the buffoon who was a loon.
He lands on the pavement, made it his rune.
That was the end of this loving buffoon,
Who jumped off, thinking of flight to the moon.

There hangs the modeled, magnificent moon,
That was never too early nor never too soon,
That was died for by our busted buffoon,
That had been dedicated several tunes,
That had been depicted in plentiful runes,
That turns gentlemen to lunatic loons.

Tonight was the night of demise of the loon.
of the man who died for the love of the moon.
The moon's loon becomes part of the runes
of men who loved Luna yet died too soon,
of men who serenaded Luna with their tune,
of men who we may call "buffoon."

The loon became rune far too soon,
The loon who wanted to be of the moon.
He sleeps at last, the late buffoon.

I write of wrath, of rage and anger,
And murderous thoughts towards my betrayers.
I write with vigor and blood-lust,
In violent tempests, if I must.

I write of the madness she incurred,
In piercing fury, my heart concurred,
For solid as a rock it shows,
And red with rage my aura glows.

I write of indifference, my violated
persona can take only so much hatred.
Await me filling my soul with black,
Dark things as though there was ever a lack.

I write of the tolerance I have left,
For a loving patience of me was bereft.
In faces around me, I wish them only death,
My thought: I wish not the same air in our breath.

I write of the fires of my flaming hate,
The lack of gall in the events of late.
I no longer know how to remain humane,
in a state where anger drives one insane.

Were there things of I scarcely write,
Flesh-bound secrets: my darkest plight.
Unaided heat and aching skin,
A howling instinct come from within.

Such carnal longings... my guiltless crime
But none do know my mind sublime.
Left to myself, I twist and turn,
Frustrated flames in which I burn.

I feel the madness course through my veins.
I pull my hair; frustration reigns.
From my bit lip and furrowed brow,
Aroused, I ask myself "how now?"

In vast bedchambers, I lay alone.
My mind basking in depths unknown.
My toes curl tight and nails dig deep
for nowhere will my wetness seep.

I groan quite softly, left unappeased.
Such torment stands eternal tease.
Just one is tangled in pillows and sheets,
Trembling of wanting and unshared heat.

All over my skin the goose-bumps rise.
Perhaps a beast you'll find in my eyes.
What secrets be there in my physique,
Hidden within an element mystique.

How strange it seems for one to see
at once all that they’re meant to be.

Unlike the man who wanted flee
by death. “To be or not to be?”

Perhaps now do I ask to thee:
How is it to live and to be?

Not to the immobilized tree,
that knows of nothing how to be;

Perhaps ask not the humble bee,
A bee is all it is to be.

Oh! Our knowledge is like a flee,
which is a tiny thing to be.

Or is it like the deep blue sea,
A vast blue strange odd thing to be?

The strangest thing: the stranger’s plea,
asking on if we are to be

more than this. Is the question key
to knowing what one is to be?

Oh let it be, I say to me.
What you will be, you are to be.

The best of logicians make the worst of lovers,
They do not believe in four-leaved clovers
Logicians know what's done is over
Lovers in love-drunkenness don't often think sober.

Logic is a thing of "the free men".
And lovers are not free especially when
They are chained to emotion and even then,
Love lets them fly free over tall feet ten.

When love set's you free, you cannot be caught
In so deep, haunting, immersing right thought.
When logic makes you free, love does not.
When love makes you fly, logic does naught.

There's no middle ground, there's no in between.
Only one or the other, only one could have been.
Tis a truth that only I might have seen,
So deep for someone who's merely a teen.

To concur, I say that even I don't know
Of on which side I would dare go.
I could have both, maybe, although,
Only one will reign a worthy glow.

It seems as though I no longer conceal,
the things and nothings that I feel.
I comprehend not if these be real
not if such things I can with deal.
How strange my heart was quick a steal,
and I at a loss of strength and zeal.
The blanketing warmth seems so surreal
Unserene sensations make me their meal.
I once thought my affections were steel,
but strong thick layer perfectly feel
to your way of breaking my solitude seal,
my sentiments sway, so such they kneel.

It's divinely inscribed that loving means patience
and kindness, honesty, humility, and hope:
Most things that are lacking in my personnel essence,
a setback tying me down like a rope.
Now the challenge arises, to tread a new pace.
Take the road less traveled, unlearn what I knew.
As for weakness written well all over my face,
I'm not only hopeful, I'm horrified too.
To watch things unfold to the slow beat of my heart,
see things as they are instead of how it might be;
and though I am eager to see the next part,
I revel in the unrushed, gentle moments of happy.
Because good things come to all those who wait;
I know that one day, it will surely be great.

I said "I've had enough", you didn't hear me.
Right now, it's too late. It's too late for you clearly.
No life is left for you, and I've got no rue,
There's no way I'll ever feel blueful for you.

You have bones that crushed, some were just broken.
The sound of neck snapping? It is truly golden.
Blood that was dried up, and blood that was dripping.
Oh my my my, I was not even tripping.

Your skin would make a mighty mighty fine gown.
After all this time of you putting me down.
I do want to **** you, no questions asked.
Let me have my moment of brutal bloodbath.

I think your teeth would make fine accessory.
Again, no, I will not be ever be sorry.
I'll stop when there is no more fluid in you:
Saliva, blood, sweat and maybe *** too.

Now this seems unlikely of someone my age.
Yet maybe you weren't warned of what fits my rage.
And maybe, just maybe, it is your own fault,
For flaunting too much until I've lost my gall.

Perhaps I will tear you, your sad flesh apart.
Watch 'til it stops in my hand, your beating heart.
You and I both human, I wish to live longer.
I wonder if you look pretty hanging from the rafter.

Ending you swiftly won't be all that fun.
Slicing you with knife or shooting with gun.
Maybe I'll make art, creative, intricate.
Maybe you got no guard up, check and mate.

And this question lies: Where my sweetness went?
Well I'll say this is the furore years spent.
Let me bite my lip, appease bloodlust call.
I present my masterpiece: ****** in the hall.

It is a curse, to feel so ******.
When love’s salvation is a fail planned;
When even at best, all is not enough,
there is no way to still be though.
When your strength attacks your weak-
ness and fear the hurt so refuse to speak,
wrap it in riddles and locks and questions,
bundle the worry in subtle depressions,
Carry it lightly, as though it a babe,
break not the fragile, make it be save.
And pray really hard it repairs itself,
so whole and displayed on a shelf.

A shattered pride, I do not mind,
I just now hope that I do find,
the courage to pick up the shattered pieces,
by emotional maladies, sentimental diseases.
How do I begin to try and heal,
after being struck at Achilles’ heel?
It’s what I can’t admit, feeling so pierced,
by one I had hoped to have me blissed.
A careful thing, to hide the hurt,
hide bleeding scars beneath a skirt.
all so quickly, down it falls.
my heart feels vacant, hollow halls.

but shallow, but true,
holding unreasoned rue.
emotional sighs, and the best of my lies.
to disguise and hide my bitterly cries.
a pathetic thing, to fear and self hate
the failure to entirely captivate.
The desire to be the center of the world,
too much for a pretty but stupid girl.
Perhaps it’s what makes me not at all enough.
possessiveness over the worsest of stuff.
but as I tell anyone, I don’t know if I care.
because trying is all that I could even dare.

I sat there and saw you at the dinner table.
To speak up, I couldn't. To get up, wasn't able.
But now if I tell you, it's not like you would listen...
Right now it is hell, not our usual heaven.

But you won't understand, even if I tried,
Even if my eyes dried from the hours I've cried.
I hoped that you would have been instead so gentle,
But now I feel broken, into pieces unsimple.

But I'll take the heat, from your offense so brash...
'Til burns can't be cooled by my tears and a splash;
And I do not know if you'll ever understand.
To be safe, I'll just do whatever you command.

Just like how I sat there, involuntarily froze.
I'll take my place with you, forget what I know;
Just like how I took it to myself not to cry,
I'd rather live with you than I'd want to die.

I'll take the nights tossing and turning in sheets,
Accepting my losses and suffering defeat.
I'll no longer move the way I used to...
I'll paralyze myself, like that night, for you.

Except this time it won't be fear or surprise,
It will be the product of too much from my eyes.
I'll choose to be with you, just how you like it.
Til death do us part, in the heartaches of it.

It all began with a simple search for a cure.
But tomorrow is filled with fear for sure
Crocodiles and snakes will now need to lure--
Who will go to jail next to keep the nation “secure”?

The Filipino ferocity is finely defined.
We will always fight until the end of the line.
For the justice, we’ll charge then add a finel
Everything that has started, finds an end in design.

What would the past “terrorist” Jose Rizal say
If he knew the elected far from duty astray?
Would he join the gagging nation in this age and day
For rights and freedoms nabbed like thieves all the way?

Politicians aren’t gods to be expected of mercy.
So we’ll do all the work and then make them see.
Do they witness and laugh, lay back, take it easy?
Are their souls still present or just absentee?

Do they not hear all the people who sing
In the Kawit-like pride at independence’s first ring?
Where now is the candidate who won by promising
That he’ll be fine in hell if we were paradise-living?

Everyone who was chained will meet freedom too.
Just so if peace was the goal, real and true.
Won’t stand anymore for a sky in dark hue.
There’s a change coming in the way the wind blew.

Don’t walk away, and keep your eyes open.
Listen to what was spoken, read up on what is written.
History will remember all our actions taken,
If to God, people, or nation, your loyalty was given.

10
There were ten adorable dogs at the dog cafe,
the one you took me to on my official last day.
From there we planned on our would have been first adoption.
Little did I know I would only mean to you an option.

9
The size of the pair of ballet flats you bought me,
As I needed a good set to walk to work (and you) daily.
You also made sure that they fit nice on my feet,
and yet here we are now, at circumstances' defeat.

8
Were the short weeks from our beginning to our end,
I was hopeful, as you said there was nothing that could bend
Our dedication but it turns out it was just on my side
As my photos and faces were deleted as you decide.

7
Here was the floor that had started it all.
The elevation from which I had jumped and fall.
From where you also found the next best thing,
and, love, now you'll never know the greatest I could bring.

6
Were the places and locations that meant most,
from my joy at conventions to our intimacy hosts,
I may never walk through them the same way again
But you'll never be there again with an absolute ten.

5
I had five trips without you, but you were carried in my heart
though, admittedly, it wasn't the plan from the start.
But from here on out, my path is surely without you
Yet at times I would wonder if you'd think of me too.

4
Names of good people, who you and I let down
at the beginning and the end, thought of us with a frown.
Finn, Casey, Gayle, Blake... They hoped only the best.
They once rooted for us, darling, but now only detest.

3
Three words that were never simply said as is,
but shared in a language I shared to you with bliss.
Despite this, I'll know I'll probably care forever.
Though many still tell me I should have loved you never.

2
I know now that you breathe with both lungs for another,
and hold tight, with your two arms, some other lover.
I'm certain that with your two eyes you would see,
You've got two hearts as well, yours and the one from me.

1
There was only one us, one you, and only one I.
Looking back at our history, I could happily sigh.
I have only one life, one I'd prefer not to waste.
Now after you, I think I've got much better taste.

You're a pest that plagues me though I never ask.
You linger in my head at every one of my tasks.
You are where I look for where you shouldn't be,
You really are becoming an obsession to me.

You are also a fear that I might not admit.
You are something I've lost, though were we ever "it"?
You are the wish I make at every 11:11;
You're always protected, as I pray of the heavens.

You are a dream, and you, you're a nightmare too.
You are intrigue, making me want to be with you.
You're my first waking thought, and I have no idea why.
You're the whisper in my heart saying the last line was a lie.

You are the truth I try not to loathe so.
You are the home I want to carry wherever I go.
You are gravity, but stronger-- like Jupiter, not Earth,
You're the reason I acknowledge a deeper self-worth.

You're the root cause I longed to be from a different town,
You're the last excuse why I will willingly clown.
You've brought ink back to my fingers and words in my heart;
You, you most mythical masterpiece of art.

You, who I want to protect from the pain.
You could gain it or lose it if with me you remain.
You are the destination of both my heart and mind.
You should leave my daydreams and see what we find.

You are not just the fantasy I have in my head.
You are not just the deep aching I want in my bed.
You are more and I know it, but how can I be sure?
You are someone I want but can't act on for more.

It took valor to deal with what the water gave me.
It took grit to jump and fall into the sea.
Though at loss of my bearings, I have no regrets,
for what little comes of it, it is still the best.

What the water gave me struggles, as I am the storm.
But water is complacent, and takes whatever form.
There's not a lot I won't give to live life with a tail,
chase this high 'cross the ocean with a fragile sail.

What the water gave me came through and overflowed.
The current rushed in too quickly, I can't pay what is owed.
It was never a sin to ride the waves of your emotions,
but fear the undertow and surf only with all of the cautions.

What the water gave me was the white whale to my Ahab.
The difference is I can't give what I don't think I have.
So it comes back to me, the pointed end of harpoon.
Like a paradox tale, everything was "too soon".

What the water gave me ever slips through my fingers.
Either way, best let go 'cause it's harmful to linger.
Like a sailor fallen prey to a mermaid's last song,
one can only wonder where it will all go wrong.

What the water gave me is a treasure I hold dear,
the best dream, strongest vision, my weakness and fear.
It is love and compassion, everything I wish I could be.
All this time, it was you who the water gave me.

It's one thing to be known for, though it won't last forever.
This thing they say lies in the eye of the beholder.
And yet I see it not when I stand before a mirror,
what about my visage sends crowds into a fever.

Have I been reduced to nothing but just a fine face:
a pretty thing to look at in a crowded place?
Embraced by the darkness of an unholy grace,
I'm no more than a gem floating about in space.

What value is left for what's solely coveted
when tasted by many and left undefended?
When hope is a drug for one who's pretended
for so long that it's alright once it's ended,

Is there worth in what's empty? A hollow shell?
After heaving and spewing hot tears from hell.
But as long as I'm pretty, it will all be well.
As long as there's beauty and physique to sell.

There is pain in ignoring the words they say.
Nothing more than "you look beautiful today."
Nothing more than the contagion in the way
they say my smile can brighten up a day.

Yet with where I am now, I just wish I weren't
gorgeous, pretty, or lovely, a nice looking ****.
Maybe if good-looking was something I wasn't,
I wouldn't be hurting, feeling spent or burnt.

Will I spend my whole life running from hands
who only want to touch me and feel me up grand?
Only to run to hands who will be nice and
not leave me crawling in the gravel and sand?

Words and rhymes are valueless as my plea,
if it isn't something on my face all can see.
Though my heart is as vast and as deep as the sea,
It's the last thought of anyone who looks at me.

Dear Next Ingenues, this piece was made for you
From a predecessor who had one wore that shoe
of innocence and trust, and hoping all men were true;
May you navigate the world with much more than a clue.

Drown Not In your tears, or sorrow, or regret,
For all this youth, one day, the pain you'll forget.
Keep my hope for your future somewhere in your pocket.
There will be far better memories to be found in this market.

Desire No Indiscretions to be made on your part.
Remain guarded but never shut off wholly your heart.
It's never like the movies, but we're all pieces of art
unfinished forever, but always welcome to restart.

Determine Neither Idiocy, or martyrdom, or the like.
Make the pushy and needy go on a well-deserved hike.
Better protect your peace than have your heart on a spike.
Stand your ground, loud and clear, if you can into a mic.

Do Not Interact with those of unclear intention,
Turn the other way if they're of a degeneration.
Best redirect all of that wide-eyed attention
to a more worthy, appropriate target selection.

Detest No Impossibility of hope in the future.
No wound can't be patched with a metaphorical suture.
While scars may remain as a mark of the mature,
Nothing is set in stone that you won't pick to be sure.

Dare Not Intimidate and undermine your youth
for such a life is, at minimum, an inconvenient truth.
The world may demand eye for eye, and tooth for tooth,
but what is growth if not lives lived ever unsmooth.