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to ache is an art.

an art that the human soul is deprived of.

an art that everyone;
                    from toddlers
                             to corporate *******
                             must appreciate.

maybe it requires abrasions,
                                    gunshots
         ­                               or mockery from
                                some ****'s mouth

but the glory
of the slow-burn realization
                     that we're ******
is the wake-up call
                     that everyone must hear.

and we're stupid enough to understand
that aching
              is like drowning
                          in experience.

and drowning
        is preferable in deep wounds
            than in the shallow waters
                     of a rushed healing.


and it's saddening
cause
as the youth's yearning
           for the morphine that
                 'self-care' offers

the more we forget to ache.
aching
hello there, a
you probably have gotten what you want from me;

my flesh, the gore that you seek
hidden within me, in this concept that
you feel so satisfied with,
getting what's arbitrary

hello there, a
remember, when you used to tell me
that the perception of 'being enough'
lies on the lips of everyone else but me,
especially you?

I guess so.

hello there, a
you probably had the time of your life
from your driven authority
on me, on how I act,
as if I depend on you
to breathe.

probably, the past is past.
but I want your apology.

maybe your apology
would stop me from shaking
every time a good person, a genuine one,
wants my body
for good reasons.

maybe your apology,
would help me sleep at night
and would offer me rest
from running away from
the nightmares you have caused.

maybe your apology,
would stop these thoughts,
that hinders me from
building myself
back up from the
scattered pieces, big, visible enough
to be reassembled, back
to the old me.

i need it; your apology

maybe it would help me heal
maybe it would help me forget
maybe it would

fill the gap,

the void
that you caused.

please, a

I am desperate.
I need to sleep.
I need to breathe.
to trust my body, and somebody.

and maybe, just maybe
your apology,
is enough.

even though, it will never be.
Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
How we worry about the safety
Of our dreams null and dainty
And our wishes of hope and subtlety.

Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
Maybe a disorder in personality
Don’t know my main priority
But weary about a certain casualty.

Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
Forgot all my functionality
Living life with absurdity
Death with such acceptability.

Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
Please more of anonymity
Dealing with such difficulty
Of one having anxiety.
An old one, from my first collection 'Suicide, Ecstasy, and other Poems'.
I colored my hair for you.
platinum blond, like the ones
you always looked at the magazines
that you stole from the department store;
pretending to stroll casually,
walking slowly, avoiding stares
while we held the laughter
trying to burst within
our cheeks.

I colored my hair for you.
because of the inadequacy I feel
whenever I hold your hand
as we walk across the
judgement of bystanders, gazing
whispering, but you and I knew
that they don't matter as
long as I am holding you,
and you are holding me
I felt different yet
with you I am the same.

I colored my hair for you.
to express the liberty of your choice
to be with someone like me,
with black of hair, beneath your chin;
and being with you elevates
my being, and the contrast
of differences among differences.

I did it for you,
or so I thought.

you asked me why,
and I told you
I shed the darkness of my old persona
and the absence of pigments
on the crown of my head
is a blank slate; could be anything

for white is the color of a fresh start
or of deceit,
or of emptiness.

and I am but a mixture of those,
for I am weak but perceived as strong
for I am friendly but alone
for I am a freshly painted wall, with scars
of a graffiti screaming for a revolution

blond, I am.
a simple choice
with a taste
for a *******
freedom
of self - expression.

blond, I am.
a color I chose
to be.

I colored my hair for you.
And I remember, inside my head
I made you.
you choose who you want to be
I like to see myself in a blur
a photograph, trying to get my motion
without stillness in consideration
with details scattered
within the grid of capture
like a speckle of stars
each without correlation.

A blur, you see-
for I am as elusive as my thoughts
indecisive, un-unabridged,
a true reflection of me
luminous, grainy
incomplete.

Yet the murkiness excites me.
for I yearn to chase the
memoirs, fleeting yet
effervescent.
like euphoria, on paper
even though it only last
seconds.

I like to see myself in a blur
Cause to feel the pang
of describing my faces
there, on the canvas

I'd like to think I was, happy.
Cause I only see it in a blur.
the upsurge of these saline dew
is beyond control
knows no emotions,
nor stimuli
for when it flows,
expect an uprising.
there are several things
I forgot to tell you
before you leave
and step right outside

your car keys
are inside the cupboard
there's a snack in the
fridge, in case you get hungry
on your way out
and I’ve ironed your jacket
in case you get cold
until you get
inside her

these are the last things I’ll do
it'll keep me sane

cause I’ve been telling myself
the day you cheated on me

I am not your wife
I am not your best friend
I am not for you

I will not tell you that
I loved you
I will not beg for you
to stay

go now, you are free
it's the choices we've made
that defines our freedom

you are free now

I just hope that

you won't find me inside her
he'll wait for you
to get home, at a party
where your soul is
practically naked

then you'll come home
to a beast, lying
dormant until
he laid his eyes on you

he will kiss you
like there's no
tomorrow

you'll beg for him
to give it all
like a savage beast
unchained

he'll *******
with such ferocity
and you'll ******* fall
in love

with the idea that
he is
your little secret

-

he'll hear what you say
while you're walking
in the reality
outside cages

you'll want to
with great desire
to hold his hand
but you must not

he'll snap
at the slightest moment
you touch his hand

you'll wonder if
you're with the same
beast, the one you've
been in bed with

after all,
you'll give up trying
while he's out
of his cage

cause he
is your little secret

-

you'll wait for him
to let go of his
chains that he put
when he's out


you'll try to kiss him
in the open, and he'll
resist, resist until
you get tired

and you'll blame yourself
for his lack of
courage

one day you'll ask him
why must he
be
your
little secret?

but you can't blame him

cause you've learned
to love
someone
who
doesn't embrace
who you are
what you are

but then again,
it's not his fault
it's
actually
yours.
El
El
a seven-seven-seven freighter lands down at a runway
as I watched it unleash its landing gear
touching the ground after a long airtime.

I waited in forlorn as I sat at a nearby Starbucks
with my mocha and several granola bars
that I’ve been eating since I started
to distrust the image
I see in front of the mirror.

you caught my eye; with badges cladding
your tight suit, and the way you fiddle
that hat of yours while looking sharp.

the café was empty; as was my heart, as I sit along
the table that spreads across the center
you came inside, alone, dazzling
but your eyes are saying
that you've come a long way from here.

I was drowning myself with thoughts
as I wait for someone whom I didn't know
I would miss this much
when suddenly a tray landed
near the vicinity of my rented
personal space; it was you
smiling, along with your thick brows
and tired, sad eyes, asking me
if I would mind sitting with you.

I said no.

your voice; raspy yet pleasant
as if you've fought in countless rallies
but still manages to fight on for
another day
as if it echoes your masculinity
yet wanting some company.

you offered me your bread in which
I gladly refused, then you take a hearty bite
while asking, "what are you doing here alone?"

two a.m. it was, when we started talking.

I can't hide the fact that it was
charming, the way you talk
as if you were listening to someone
endearing but in reality
I looked like a *******, sitting at Starbucks
drinking coffee at two a.m.

I told you I was waiting for someone
and you told me that someone is that lucky
to have me waiting.
I let a soft laugh because it was funny
funny to a point that I didn't even knew
why I was here in the first place.

you told me you fly planes.
that flying was your dream; but you never
thought that it was that tiring; that flying
was meant to be off that repetitive and tiresome
place called land, and touching the skies and
gliding along the horizon was the reason
for dreams.

but you told me you were a bit, wrong.
you told me that however eager you are
with reaching heights, you'll always come back
for land; that landing makes you humble
that landing makes you believe that the sky
is not the limit; that yourself is the key
and travelling is not always the way
in finding one's self.

then you told me I was beautiful
no matter how I call myself a *******
sitting in Starbucks, with my mocha and
granola bars.

you told me that I have passion for love;
that you see sacrifice in me

as if you knew every inch, as if
I’m a ghost that you can see through.

"what are you looking for, in life?"
I asked, trying to comprehend you.

"someone who interests me, every day
someone who understands why I fly
and that not all the time I wanted to"

I gave you a heartfelt grin
you gave me a granola bar.

his phone rang. it was time for him to go.

"it was very nice meeting you. I hope I see you again"

I hope I’ll see me too, I guess.
from my first book entitled, "encounters".
An apple, they say
But why Eve?
Was it a woman who first saw
Lies beyond God’s command?
Was it a woman who first decided
Not to follow blind orders above?
Free will, they say
Yet He was angry at her.

Hey, Eve,
What was it like ?
Tasting knowledge at the first hand
Were the devil’s promises
Appetizing?
I think so too.
a prose about an apple, from an old collection.
there's so much I wanna tell you
.
.
but I know I can't anymore-
.
because you are
someone else's

listener.
I miss you
#ex
“I dont know”
was my response
when you asked me if
I still love you

the world stopped
for the both of us
as I wondered on the thought
of me, being selfish
or being true
and yours upon the
realization that
maybe, just maybe
my love for you
is fleeting

neither of us was speaking
and the silence echoed
through the depths of my head
and you uttered
‘oh’

that moment, I knew
that you gave up
on me, and my inner
indecisiveness

I crumbled upon
the guilt of telling you
those words, so instead
I let my tongue do
the talking and said
'maybe'

cause it was never hard to say

but it is always hard to face

the reality of being responsible
to someone

as if I have to breathe
through somebody’s pair of lungs
and scratch the loneliness
with someone else’s fingers

we parted
I changed numbers

cause I had to stay afloat
on the clouds of solitude
free from attachments.
a PowerPoint presentation

woke me up, as i input the wrong

numbers that produced a chain reaction

of wrong combination; unacceptable

unhappy

across the room, your voice echoed

as you mentioned five-hundred discrepancies

I have yet to fill

five-hundred mistakes

I have yet to correct

unhappy

five-hundred more, I say,

cause you were wrong

five-hundred more mistakes

with four-hundred ninety-nine of them

is me existing,

and one, is for the wrong calculations

splattered across my dusty screen

unhappy

I am rich; but not in the way people perceived

I am rich, but not in the way that people would envy

As I sat here, feigning attention

I saw him; no harness, with hands displayed

as though he was gifted with the ability to fly

but his wings we’re vestigial

cause humans are made to walk; not fly

unhappy

I stared at him, ignoring the mechanical movement

of my hands, ignoring whether I’m corrected by my

muscle memory

I watched him.

Happy.

Dirt poor, with all adorning him was the flicker of light

dimly reflecting throughout, to avoid collision

I want what he had.

happy.

The freedom to fly,

even though flying means death.

happy

The freedom to choose,

to embrace the air,

breathing my last.

happy.

I could just imagine.

for my hands corrected

the mistake that makes me envy

the man with a reflector vest

unhappy.

All i knew is that

the more i press the keys onto the screen

producing what i never wanted,

I’ll always be

unhappy

unlike the man, on the top of the building

at peace, even though,

knowing that one single misstep

can cause him

to cease breathing

at nine point 8 meters

per second.

that to me

is freedom

and I'm

happy.
Take my hand
as we walk along the patio
surrounded by clay
and fine china

As we look upon
those who are caged
eternally, timelessly
aging through
unbothered by the
deafening arms
of the clock as they
clap to meet.

Walk with me
through panels and
countless oil paintings


As we listen to the
songs of the violins
that cannot sing anymore,
tip-toeing onto
the sycamore tiles


Funny,
how fleeting
was considered
immortal


and only one
can differentiate


fleeting
from
timeless.


cause
fleeting,
are we
among the immortals;
we are just
passing through.
you've always told me
that your personality lies
on whatever's in between
or who ever is in the outside
of a conflict


watching
                weighing
                                wondering


you told me that
you'd want to be that guy
           whom everybody can talk to
                     whom everybody can relate to
                              whom everybody can look up to
who's always


watching
                weighing
                                wondering


a wallflower
   a grandfather's clock
      a lost artifact


sitting in a room
  flooded with opinions
    storming, crashing
      through the shores of
        your acceptance, and perhaps
      your side


but you never did


like a sterile tree
       I waited for you to bloom
to grow fruits


you never did
and you never will


cause you're just playing god


watching
               weighing
                               wondering


but never helps.
to those who play neutral
petrichor is to VX
as temporary is to eternity
for a long sleep
is considered 'la petit mort'

let it pour down the porcelain
stitching
of thy hollow carcass


cold, shivering,
along with
the music of my teeth,
tattering

to calm is to wait for precipitation.

and I want it so bad.
to all the rain lovers out there
The things we do
that we can’t do
in public
excites me.

Kiss
Hold hands
Embrace -

I thought
our consciousness
was supposed
to tell us
we are alive,
we are human.

But why does
it stops us
from doing things
others can?

We are different;

In public,
we are private
In private
we are public.

Who’s to blame?-

Never mind.

I love you,
And that’s all that matters.
How do we
forgive ourselves
for the sins
we didn't commit?
it's called responsibility
'I love you'

I can say it a million times

and not feel a thing.
I guess
my life is an
endless and
continuous search
for people
whom I
can lay my
head on
shoulders to
cry on
and bodies
to share
heat with

cause I believe
that finding one's
self is a life
long journey
and I think I am

afraid

of being alone

so seeking home
in the kindness
of strangers with
a little bit of
attachment
comforts my lonely
soul

amidst the
constant reminder
that I am
certainly lost

along with
the possibility
of meeting death
without ever
meeting
me.
there was
a boy
who brought me
flowers
everyday

but it's just sad
that I can't
touch,
see, or
smell them
cause

I'm
six
feet
under ~
ode to lizzie
I got a weak lung
and you got this charm
that captivated  me
when you clutched your cigar
between your perfect teeth
and began puffing
nicotine smoke

'it won't **** you'
you said
as you repeatedly inhale
the poison
embracing it
with your lungs

I've tasted your lips
smoky, cool
when we kissed
how blissful

I asked why
you do it
you said
'to **** demons'
I pointed to
your head
'but they're up there'
I said,
and you
called me a smart ***
and then
kissed me
again

you told me that
you love me

but

I knew

that you don't

cause

I got a weak lung
and yours are strong

but that's not bravery

cause bravery
is
quitting it for me

I'm selfish, am I?
for Lann ~
I remember
                   faking sleep
just to count your breath
                    memorizing
all the details
of your face-

your               eyebrows
your lips, and the mole
on your              
                           cheek

trying to find                         peace
between the strands
of your h a i r , along
with the rhythm
of your
h  e  a  r  t  b  e  a  t
                               that lulls me
                                                  to sleep.
I miss you
it was raining that night
when we sat down at the
patio surrounding
the well - lit
building that I used to
love and hate

we were there
and it's almost
impossible
to hear you breathe
as the raindrops fall audibly
on the roof.

"what am I to you?"

was the thing I had never
imagined asking

and I could almost feel
the churning
in the pit of  my stomach
and the upwelling
feeling of regret

if I would ever, ever
like your response

and there, I realized
in a chain of thought that

asking you of what
I perceived me to be

is a
dead-end risk
and the moment
I doubted
'what we are'
I knew
that
things are never going
to be the same
anymore

I tried to focus on the rain
waiting for your answer
and you muttered
'I don't know'

we drown, together
in the silence
and I can hear us
detaching.
what am I to you?

things we hate to ask
remember i brought it up
and you told me i
was
paranoid.
TW.
i trusted you.

i gave my body to you, a permission
to wreck this body, as long as you give me
a chance to recover.

i wanted this, i wanted to feel you,
inside me, in this fleeting sense
that we are one.

and there it was, my trust,
went away as you take the barrier
the symbol of our agreement

and as you ******, inside me
i felt the warm sensation
of the consequences
that i'm about to face.

and then followed your words,
assuring me, but
i was foolish enough to be happy
with the pleasure
i brought you

and i realized
i was stupid enough
to trust you
and to put the weight
of the permissibility
on a thin veil
that protects me,
from you.

i was stupid.
my body told me, months later.
and there you were,
gone, away
with my trust, and my permission

i wish that, you'd stop
with
my stupidity
but i know you wont.

cause hurt people
hurt people.
see - cah - moh - re
you used to say that
the wrong ones
dont matter to you, baby-
what if im wrong?
what if i'm not the right one
for you

see - cah - moh - re
you used to say that
the wrong ones
don't matter to you, darling-
but what if you are?
and you're not the right one
for me?

sturdy, sturdy
as the sycamore tree
is my love for you,
my darling thee

but as the roots, spreading
continuously till bedrock-

there is end to us,
there is end to love.

see - cah - moh - re
you say that
the right ones dont matter to you now
for they have no stories
to tell
no regrets to burn

and like the sycamore tree
that you've always pronounce wrong;
till there is growth in stagnation.

I know you're right for me.
You used to care
But now you call me
The boy who cried wolf

Telling me, in unison
That when it comes,
You don't need me telling you

That moment I realized that
I can't wait
For the wolf to tear me apart.
the wolf is suicidal thoughts
every time
I get the urge
to write I
always find
myself in the
most frustrating
situations

~

like not
finding a pen
and paper
or being
in a conversation
with
somebody important
or being
caught in
the moment
wherein emotions
and thoughts
are flooding
but deciding
to
write
it all for
later

~

but when
I finally put
the courage to
allow my pen
to kiss the
surface
of my paper
it all
goes
away into
the void
of my forgetfulness

~

and of course
ill be in
remorse for
letting
those beautiful thoughts
vanish like
a *******
having done
her job
leaving the
customer
me
on it's own

~

trying to
fathom
what to do
next for
the next few hours
or days
weeks
or years

~

contemplating
about what
when
how
to get
back to the routine

~

so when I
did remember
the same words
that makes
my
brain ******
again

~

I found
myself
in
the same peculiar
position.
meeting men
was always that easy.

it was evident
     in the way I
     plan to prepare myself

to venture out
     in the uncertainty of the open

trying to align
the inevitable disappointment
        on my self-predicament.

the way I trace
        the marks of ugly, visibly seen
onto my body

hoping that someone
               would like the art;
                the interpretation
of my
               flaws and sad beauty.


it was always easy
     to try calming the nerves
as I knock at his door, the pounding
of my heart
     from excitement, fear
     and self-loathing

as soon as the eyes
of the outside world cannot see
what lies
           behind these walls
that covers
            not only our fragile bodies,
            but also, our weakened souls
till everything is a blur.

meeting men was always
                 that easy.

it's the same thing
       as we put back our clothes
and maybe,
       kiss goodbye

then run away, with such bliss
          from the thrill of doing
what others can do freely


             amplified
by the pulsing adrenaline
             panicked, weary
if anyone saw
             what we have done.

-----------

meeting him again?
                 that's the hard part.
hello, stranger
finally,
we broke the boundary
of virtual and the physical plane
rummaging through
instances wherein
meeting you, and I
was in our circumstances.

we met for caffeine
and paper bundles
and ties within the philia
and you were unexpectedly
familiar
as if we knew each other
from a long time ago

undeniably
there are a thousand thoughts that
rushed through the gallows
intersections in my brain
and there are a thousand words i ought to say
freely, blatantly
for safety is better associated
with the anonymous
I found with you

a step, I say
to knowing what's beyond
the lashes that flickers through the air
majestic, entrancing
and eyes that glimmer
when intersected even with
the dimmest of light

and to my surprise
I felt safe
yet
in this indescribable feeling
of the need to detach
my claws onto the skin
of the unknowing stranger

I have to forget that
our existence
once crossed

for meeting you
was a mistake
that happiness forced me to commit

and as the cycle of building and destroying
the image of you, tangible and the like
continues

hurting, burning
like acid to flesh
yet recovering with no scars
at all.

I love every single bit of it.
For Aries.
define trust

trust is more than just
taking off our clothes and
revealing bodies to each
other
or looking me in the eye
as you try to get
inside me
asking if it hurts
and permitting you to
speed up a little

trust is in the way
you look at me
when it’s obvious that
people are trying to get
your attention
or admitting that you did
some of your
little mistakes
and temptations
you’ve recently avoided

trust is how
you hold my hand
when we’re walking
down the alleys, unafraid
of what
people might say or do
or when I tell you
I miss you and come
running right after

it’s more than just ***
and loyalty
and accompaniment

it’s when
I say sorry a thousand times
and you never show tiredness

it’s when you ask me about
how my day went and just listen

it’s when you tell me that
you love me when
I did something out of place

for me
it’s how you
understand
listen
act

so,

should I trust you?
Don’t preen my wings -
I told you, even though
In the beginning I was just
a caterpillar crawling through
a sweeping field of chrysanthemums

Soft, fragile
were my dreams and hopes of
admiring the robins, as they
thrash by their nearby nest
nursing their young
as the babes chirp, beaks wide open
as their mum feeds them hope
that someday they’ll fly like robins do

I hope I can fly, someday
I told you that
the night we feast on the leaves
of Milkweeds
in hopes of growing wings
like those robins
that we admire the most

Little did I know that
You started chewing on what
was mine, my wings-
are imaginary, you said
that my hopes and dreams
to be one with the robins
are farfetched

And you chewed, and chewed, and chewed

till we grew hard and tough on self-loathing
upon the realization that your
words are always the truth that
we avoid since the beginning
when we got drunk on that
Milkweed

I admit, that you chewed
and it forced me to follow

Don’t preen my wings, I told you
that time when we hang up by the
branch of the fully grown Hawthorn
along the red, plump berries

We ghosted each other
on the shell we were forced to take
Like those hermit ***** that we used to watch
by the thorns of roses, seeing them take
the burden of one another makes us
laugh

But as we sit in silence as the
darkness of our own making envelops us,
but I was, contented
knowing that darkness
is an old friend
and you by my side
is a way - a company
to spend the time
blinded

What happened?

What happened that night when
a gust of wind flew
through us, I felt the
chill of the upcoming gale
I shouted

but you are too busy

dealing with the darkness
you’re in

Don’t preen my wings, I told you
as I detached from the branch
that we used to hangout
as caterpillars

But we don’t crawl  anymore

Now I am nothing
but a fallen chrysalis
waiting for those mighty
wings of those robins
I admired so much.

I got the beak.
dearest stranger
is a stupid endearment i have for you
cause how could you be ‘dear’
when I don’t fully know you

And it’s okay that
your messages are so out of the blue
First one, on a Wednesday
Up to wondering if
I’ll get one today

And the next, two weeks
you’ll disappear like no traces
but yet I’m reignited
when i see the bubble
containing your
unregistered number

no designation
yet i know that its you fully
ingrained in my head
trying to catch the rush
that i felt when you’re with me
as if going back
to the night you gave me
a little bit of attention-
And I thought it would

complete me.

dearest stranger
Oh how im helpless
on your lips taking away
the courage to delete
Your unregistered number
For digs
Our steps crackled onto the tiles of sycamore
Thudding prints lashed beneath our shoes
Merrily advancing on such pavement
Along with you.

Side by side we barely stopped
Expunging air around with nature
Our bones twitched with each other’s ligaments
While our eyes took moments.
Pacing freely with the wind
Of autumn trees blessing us with leaves
Fallen it may be, but it will be felt
Like a wedding with petals on the carpet.

I barely notice the faces as they bounce
Or the blank mask they wear at the parties
For all I see is my sun
And I will bask with him eternally.

As we were approaching towards the way
Grip within a grip, steps are on square
All it takes to be happy
With you, I realized, it was simple.
From the 1st debut collection 'Suicide, Ecstasy, and Other Poems'

— The End —