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 Apr 2018 Bram Dela Cruz
Bee
hell is a place where
you constantly love those that
do not love you back.
 Apr 2018 Bram Dela Cruz
camps
.

i want to buy these mice a home so
that their presence helps keep the table clear
i think i’ll place it in the gap between the door and the floor
in the hopes of keeping the noise out and
of having at least one of us feel
a sense of being welcome

the paper bags in my hands wouldn’t feel
heavy if they knew where they were going maybe
and hitting my head against the bed again doesn’t stop me from
showing off the letters on my chest although
i’ve been known to miss the mark

if there's a spark in her eyes it’s 'cause she stole the light from mine
but i like the cold because it makes me feel alive

my favorite part comes around
when the two trains meet and for a second
i can catch a glimpse of everyone’s place in the world
before we’re whisked away to
our respective loneliness

or maybe it’s where the streets
run narrow like those in the places where
connection, if anything, tastes a bit more genuine
it's quite polarizing but this time i’ll seek
comfort in the grey of it until it
all comes rushing back

they say home is where the heart is so this probably still isn’t it
but it will do for now

.
[new york city] | [definition of home] | [pursuit of cold]
a bittersweet call
of Pomp and Circumstance
that echoes in the wind,
like a memory from a photograph.

soon the school band
will chant a Recessional song,
the brass ensemble roars
like an inspiring church choir.

today's hymn will become
tomorrow's nostalgia.
the teenage years filled with misery,
we will forget, in years.

but we'll remember the times
as if they were golden.
 Feb 2018 Bram Dela Cruz
kenzo
Night.

It makes me sad that we choose to sleep at the prettiest time of the day.
Put down your phone. Pause what you're doing and go outside. Go outside and lay down and stare at the stars. Forget about everything for a while. The night sky is so becoming, isn't it? It makes me seem so small, like the speck of matter I am and feel. It's the time when my thoughts are efflorescence; when I grasp a pencil and begin to write down whatever visits my mind.

Though those thoughts are quite evanescent, and that seems to make my writing 10 times better than when the sun is present. (I write better under the influence  or when I'm depressed as well and I think that's ironic.) Maybe it's the lack of of halcyon from the sun, but when it comes to night, my emotions are lilting. Knowing that there is so much to this spinning colossal cylinder we live in that I have not yet explored and most likely never will makes me so unbelievably sad. Knowing that nobody seems
to acknowledge it anymore, that we are neglecting earth because technology and narcissist have taken their toll.
We are told we have freedom yet we spend more than 17 years in school full of ****-sapiens differing in traits, personalities, class and abilities. Traits that don't clash with yours, making it easier for them to judge you based on your differences from them, putting pressure and preventing some people to  be who they're not. It is human nature to judge what we don't understand. We are forced to get a job to pay for cars, houses, bills , insurance and  cigarettes (well, for some)
Go to college, fall in love, get married, have kids, watch them grow up and barley ever call you and then, you die. Congratulations, your skeleton is turned to ashes in a urn in your daughters closet tucked behind old boxes and you exist only in peoples memories and photographs and stories. It's something we neglect to think about, the truth.
At a young age, we are asked what we'd like to be when we grow up. Silly us, we responded with an astronaut, firefighter, doctor etc. Nobody ever told us that we most likely won't achieve those goals.
Nobody ever told us that through all the pain, you must maintain that grade because It's not about the lessons, it's just about your GPA and how good your memory is.If I could go back in time to my 6 year old self while being asked that as I play with my barbies, I would say I don't want to grow up. Life isn't dulcet. The word life itself isn't very mellifluous to
me. It only gets worse as you age, and thats the bitter truth.  All the people I love will pass away, more responsibilities and stress will be piled on me weighing me down, my lungs and heart might get weaker due to my nicotine and cannabis intake which is my panacea. Then again, you
can live your life as if you were to die any second, which you could.
For **** sake, I don't want to live a life of a normal human being. I don't want to follow the orders of life, I'm naturally rebellious, I hate living like this ******* it. But I have to. Pieces of paper run our whole entire world, community and ecosystem that we have completely destroyed. It doesn't matter how you are in person, all that matters is what is printed in files and
papers. Your future is based on how your grades are in school, not by our intelligence, but how different teachers graded you. Not only that, but some of our lives are lived by a book. Some of our lives are ended by a book, and destroyed by a book. The Bible, if you didn't catch my drift, and frankly I don't want to live by a book. I want my life to be my very own pastiche.
I want to travel, not only to every place on the planet, but in the stars and in space. I want to make imprints, to leave something behind as proof I was here, I was somebody, that I survived.
I want to come face to face with the man in the moon, to touch the milky way with the palm of my hands and I wouldn't even mind being ****** in by a black hole if it meant I  had the opportunity to be in space. This is what the world does to you. It makes you believe that you can achieve your dreams, that you can do whatever you want. That's the demon of it all.
I am so sick and tired of just staring up at the dead stars, smoking my cancer stick and imagining scenarios in my head. The stars make me feel so alive, yet so dead. Dead knowing that I'm probably never going to go up there, maybe in astral projection, but my meditation skills are not up to par.
When I die, I want my soul to be in space. I don't care how cliche that sounds, I want to be with my loved ones exploring the places unknown to the majority of  individuals on earth.
There is more to this earth than we know, life itself is one big mystery and I don't know how far the universe goes, and that to me is scary yet astounding.
It only makes sense that there is a world after this one. There just has to be. Think about it. We have no idea how earth got here. We know we're made of flesh and bone and stardust, but we have no idea how we are formed. We have theories, so many theories, but no proven facts as to why we are here. So many varieties of different life forms and different planets. There just has to be something after our organs give up on us. We're more than our organs, so much more. I don't know how to explain it. But I guess until my time to leave this earth for good comes,
I'll never know the denouement to life.
 Feb 2018 Bram Dela Cruz
Elioinai
It is so nice to know,
That I am me,
And not you,
I can do,
What I feel is right,
Instead of what you say,
And if I come to believe,
That what you said was right,
No shame,
For living my way,
It is shallow,
To follow words,
Lazy,
To obey without question,
And many times,
Fear,
Afraid to find the boundary lines myself,
Standing in a black lake,
That’s turning into gray,
I’d prefer you didn’t judge me,
I value your advice,
It certainly won’t help your case,
To sentence me in mine,
Trust is a virtue,
And teachers have their place,
But as a proverb wisely said,
Experience is best.
I understand it’s hard,
To always deal cross-culturally,
Your children are so different,
They change every day,
How can you know what’s relevant?
Please don’t say,
My generation is not deep.
My songs are meaningless,
My books can’t measure up,
To those of long ago,
My clothes are immodest,
My speech has lost the richness,
Of our glorious history.
Ha! I say,
And how? I ask,
Can you come to the conclusion,
That your generation was any better?
If it was, why did it not produce even grander children?
Why could it not stop,
This apparent decline?
Do not blame us,
Or forget,
How you longed for freedom,
And acted out as much as possible.
If our acting out seems worse,
I argue it only takes on different forms,
And our craftsmen rival yours,
Every day,
The grand reflection,
Of God I see in us,
Great beauty is wrought,
Throughout the earth,
And if evil is increased,
It is only because,
The number of men has grown.
Everything,
In greater scale.
May 24, 2014
Sana iyong maisip
Ang aking nararamdaman
Hindi maipagkakaila
Ang nararamdaman ko ay tunay

Kung para sayo wala lang ito
Para saakin ito ay isang pangarap
Pangarap na hindi kailanman matutupad
Pangarap na tila isang impossibleng pagkakataon

Isang pagkakamali ang mahulog sayo
Ako man ay umaasa pa rin
Ngunit iba ang iyong gusto
Alam kong hindi ako at hinding hindi magiging ako

Kakaiba ang turing mo saakin
May konting aliw at kilig
Pero hindi lahat ay totoo
Kasinungalingan ika nga

Pagpasensyahan mo na
Ikaw ang aking natipuhan
Hindi ko ito sinasadya
Wala ito sa plano
We were tangled in a blanket of lost moments
And asleep in a bed of fluttering feelings
The sound of our beating hearts was an insomniac's lullaby
The words screaming out everything we would never say

When the lights went off our souls went to foreign territories
Where thoughts dripped with contradictions
And wandering souls flirted with danger
Night after night, forgotten dreams spilled into a world too big for sleep.
-s.a
 Feb 2018 Bram Dela Cruz
b
just what i needed
a storm through my room.
my clothes
on different parts of the floor.
it was a mess before you rolled through.

she dances
sober
and smiles when she does it too.
its really a sight to see.
Put an imperfect impression on me
Kept on giving me a false reality
It was such a lonely feeling
The end of a world, came crashing down
Down, down, down, down,

Giving scars to the earth without a sound
Shaking and trembling, now I am loud
Sending prayers to the hurt
Taking shots for the crowd
The guns of Aleppo, can't be heard in U.S. towns

Copped, coined, catch-phrased and cowed.
Convinced the mass the religion is proud
It no longer safe to put your head in the sand
IED's soon to be buried, made by rebel hands,
Funded, armed and let loose by Uncle Sam.

A dollar fills a Saudi Prince pocket,
A contract to **** a million strangers
Fathers, mothers, sons and daughters
The gun barrel, the oil barrel, all for profit.
Ask yourself what can you do to stop it?
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