you didn’t like the way i answered the phone,
and you thought it was gross that i liked mushrooms on my pizza,
and you told me i was weird-looking when i was a kid,
and once i sent you a tattoo and you said you didn’t like it, you didn’t know they were my words that were written on her body
you told me what “too much damage” meant on halloween after all the trick-or-treaters had fallen asleep
and when i kept silent for three days after,
and winced at every kissing scene on television, because they flooded the insides of my eyelids with images that made me feel very small,
you said i was being unfair
because i was the one who decided we were just friends,
and i told you we weren’t, you knew we weren’t
we couldn’t be after what we used to be

i told you i still had feelings that hadn’t gone away yet,
you said they hadn’t gone away for you either

i pictured you holding my hand

but then you said,
“that’s why it’s easier to run from them
and hide in other girls beds.”

you always told me every thought
that popped into your head, and i used to find it endearing,
i kept telling myself that you deserved my ear,
but i really hope you have nothing more to say
because, i promise, i’m done listening

so clear off your bedside table, and cut the
blue string that’s wrapped around your wrist if you’ve yet to do so,
and stop asking me if i miss you,
because this is me saying
i don’t.

he’s telling me about the girl at school
he can’t get out of his head,
and how he feels like
it’s always this chain of
"i don’t want all these people that want me,"
(i winced)
“and the one person i want doesn’t want me
in the same way.”
(i inhaled sharply)

i told him he’s overthinking it,
and when he asked, “how do you not?”
(i forgot to breathe)

my eyes got watery, but i blinked quickly
before they could settle
(i exhaled)

and replied,
“i'll let you know.”

Nauubos na siya
Bigyan mo ng oras para mapuno
Maghintay.

Nauubos na
Hindi mapigilang magduda
Maghintay.

Nauubos
Hindi mo na kaya?
Maghintay.

Ubos
Sige lang
Maghintay.

Kawalan.
Ano?
Maghintay

I want to be your first
And I want to be your last.

I want to be the first person you text
as you wake up in broad daylight
And I want to be the last you see
as you yawn and call it a night.
I want to be the first to hear that joke
you thought up in a Biology class
And I want to be the last you’d want
to respond with a few vacuous laughs.

I want to be the first you tell of
a scalding sensation on the way home
And I want to be the last ingredient
to your creation — your critic over the phone.
I want to be the first you ask
what jacket and shoe colors suit you more
And I want to be the last to
be blamed if your heart feels a sore.

I want to be the first to see you draw up
a plan for a dream you’ve had for years
And I want to be the last beside you
if it fails and you’re drenched in tears.
I want to be the first thing that comes
to you when you hear the word “happiness”
And I want to be the last to know that
all along, what I’ve been rejecting is your best.

I want to be your first
And I want to be your last
But I can never be your first,
A question still if I will be your last.
For now, I am happy that I am
Neither your first nor your last
Rather, that I just am.

We all die the same. No one really grows flowers from their graves but we're all pansies, soiled by the dirt of hopes vested into unrealistic stars at night. And you took me by the hand and led me into the bookstore on the square, and I found myself between the cardboard. Heart beating for small fonts and graffiti letters on rotten wooden doors. Maybe flowers are growing there, from inside the heads of kids with far better futures than those hanging in front of me on black thread, boiling the air with the vescent gloss of winters and leaves long gone. I'm up to my shins in trash and up to my neck in excuses, always hoping to find a reason why I should never be the same, never again. Screaming circles frame the open fields, and whispering spherical expansion pushes forward through the wind. Insanity steeps in present, and I'm working on acceptance. Still-footed or not, stagnant, I'm done forcing it.

the shrubbery looked like sheep
pale like your grandmother before she died
and I climbed though the hills to find you
but this is not your country, this is not your land
the tires shook like trembling hands and we made eye contact through the fog,
signed our names in the mud,
splintered out hands on telephone poles,
replaced our veins for the roots of weeds
said they look about the same,
the waves looked tamed,
I think we'll make out okay.
then I started running, crushing yellow toys under my toes
and you chased after me,
bringing an east dust
that we inhaled like like smoke
and exhaled in a kiss.
we followed the spill in the floorboards
and held eyes
we wet our fingertips like paintbrushes
and stroked 'I love you' 'cross our noses.
you made stories of the dead leaf branches,
told me they were only clouds
but I mistook that for clowns
and I laughed over my shoulder.
you caught me as I fell
and so we fell together
into our favorite weather
soaked our clothes in promises we don't worry about keeping
they will keep themselves
and I'll keep you
here in the tangles of my scarf
in the pictures of my mind
and in the smiles that we breathe.
I traded oxygen for this
and I have never breathed easier,
I have never trusted better,
I have never known this color.
dawn comes with black lids and dimmed stars,
we head home with lightbulb hearts.