I long for the soft swaying of the boat,
the calls of howlers nearby, signaling the
oncoming of another heat-ridden shower,
a sweet taste of red wine on my lips
while I watch as he stands on the bow,
the wind brushing hair from his eyes
as the rain begins to trickle down,
a nearby camel rushes for cover
beneath its sturdy shelter, and I wonder
if this is what peace feels like

Everything you say hits a little closer to home 
It's slightly below the belt
Like a soccer punch to the gut
And I just laugh it off 
Because with me
Everything is just a joke 
I would laugh at a funeral 
But how would you know 
I'm good at ruining things
It's what I do best
Always my fault 
So I keep secrets 
You don't know the half of it 
I'd rather seem cold and calculating 
Heartless and ruthless 
Because caring will show you the real me 
And I don't like who that is 
A bunch of insecurities 
Flaws stitched together 
With good intentions 
A past smudged with reasons to forget 
Lies that make me everything I am 
People who turned their backs and ran
Trust that I found hard to get 
Played like a game and now I'm in debt 
Don't tell me you care
Don't make me trip 
I am no one anyone can fix

Words do not escape like warm honey
They gather up like black molasses
Entrapped for all of time

Dare not speak them
Too prideful
To name would be to admit
To confess
Love fallen and no regret
To love without promise of  love
To fall in the infinite
Knowing not if one will be caught
Or bathed in pure bliss

Unspoken words are bottle up deep inside
Causing pain, anguish and sadness
An unfathomable hole of darkness
Awaiting recognition of it's true nature  

So lost in the illusion of what once was or could have happened
Too busy avoiding and hiding to pause and let the darkness unveil
To let it name itself for what it is
Only moving day through day with the undeniable need to unleash the madness

With the vial pulled over
The search for unknowable answers persist
Falling victim to loving others who do not love themselves
Lost in delusions
Constantly trying to escape truth
That will only be revealed when paused and left to be undefined

The faded flicker of the far off clock was my only source of light. Until I picked up my phone and let my 2 A.M. thoughts run rampant. They made my fingers race across the screen. Made them play tag. They swiped and pinched until finally there you were. At 2 A.M. you were in my hands again. You're smile was as wide as ever and your eyes held the same glitter like they did when you used to talk to me. And You spoke about me even more. People would often come up to me and say that my name was all that would slip off your tongue. And I remembered that snake. The first time it brushed against my lower lip wanting access like a lion knowing that there was more to life than it's own cage. But to everyone, you spoke of me like I was the one who made the sun rise, who put the stars in the sky, who made the wind blow, and who made your world as you knew it turn.
My 2 A.M. thoughts made my fingers dance again. And another you appeared before me. All dressed up. Like we were married. But far from it. We sat like we had to save space on the Mayflower. I was in your lap and your arms were around my fragile frame. And I knew I would never love someone as much as I loved you that night. And my 2 A.M. thoughts brought me to the messages. Where are little "I love you more" fights were held and our futures were voiced. Remember that?
I was only a few months older than you. And I remember saying that I had to wait longer for my soulmate to come to me. And there you were again. In my head talking to me when we were bestfriends. While tapping on the plastic on the screen, the fingers fought for their right to voice the will of my 2 A.M. thoughts.
And I wrote about how I met you so far, way back when. I wrote about the dances we went to, the dates we laughed about. And then ultimately the 2 A.M. thoughts brought me to the deepest places I never wanted to let set free again.
And they scrambled on the keyboard of the phone! CAPS LOCKs, sorrys, pleads, and begs. Explanation after explanation and so many what if's. And I read it and read it. And only now did I realize that I was choking on the tears that you left me with. And I continued with the rant, and blamed you for what happened and blamed you for the causes. And then I stopped. And wept into the cold tear stained pillow, screaming into it like it was my last shot at everything I could ever have been. And once I felt numb enough to pretend that it wouldn't bother me anymore I let the small sobs escape my quivering lips and I destroyed the barrage of words that was my 2 A.M. thoughts. And instead willed my hands to let the fingers dance once more as I typed:

You're coming back, right?

_____

You're coming back right (sent 2:35 A.M.)
  (read 2:36 A.M.)

. . .

And the dots they came.
And I waited.
But inevitably,
Just like you,
They left me with the question:
You're coming back, right?

Onward, soldier.
Onward.

That’s what they all
tell me, but
let me
slow down for a moment.
There’s a little something I gotta
say,

Thank you.

To that swing set in Greenhills Music Studio
San Juan City,
without you,
I’d never have learned that sometimes
it’s the other way around—
feet in the sky and head on the ground.

Mrs. Arambulo, the swing set’s owner,
who made sure I was well versed in
sonatinas and arpeggio scales
before I found out they’d already made
a piano that didn’t need tuning, and

Ma, who’d test my memory by
asking me if I
could recite
whole paragraphs at age four,
she’s why I remember things like
the smell of pilmeni,
the color of our first house’s carpet,
and nine page spoken word poetry,

to everyone behind that old kids’ show, Bayani,
watching it in my
second grade HEKASI class
would bring me to tears each time — no kidding,
you all paved the way for my homeland’s history
to make its home in my heart,

my English teachers from
sixth all the way to eleventh grade,
who all believed and still believe in the words I put down on paper
and spew out on dark stages armed with imagery and the Spirit,
you made me fall deeper in love with the way words can be waves
or flames,

Dad, who taught me
to climb mountains, to read books,
to let myself run free among the nations
but to always remember to leave a part of my heart at home,

to the four little boys I met in Hong Kong,
if we meet again, I owe you a better explanation to your question,
“Why do you dance?”
thank you for asking me that, and I’m sorry for my cowardly answer back then
but I’m braver now, and
I promise it’s for more than just fun or exercise,
it’s for this God I hope you get to know,

and to every Philippine history teacher I’ve ever had,
keep teaching like that,
we need more young ones who’d be willing
to die for their homeland,
you taught me that there is so much more to this country
than its own people tell me, so
burn on.
and make sure they catch fire.

Onward, soldier.
Onward.*

I’m not sure where I’m headed,
but I’d rather be uncertain of the road ahead
than forget
where
I started.
I’ve told you mine, now

tell them yours.

You had so much potential, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
I couldn't pull the trigger, because you said "please."