Gusto ko ng panibagong balat.
Iyong maputi at makinis.
Mala porselana,
Na halos kuminang tuwing masisinagan ng araw.
Kabisado ko ang bilang ng araw,
Na ginugugol sa ilalim ng araw kakabanat.

Ngunit,
Ang panibagong balat,
Hindi nito ako kayang protektahan, alam ko.
Lilimitahan lamang nito ang mga nalalaman ko.
Ngunit,
Sa panibagong balat, nais ko magsimula.
Kilalanin at kalimutan ng halos magkasabay,
Ang imahe ng nakakadiri kong balat.

Bilang ang peklat.
Sukat ko kung gaano kalalim ito,
Noong sugat pa lamang.
Kaya ko gusto ng bagong balat para pagtakpan ito.
Baka sakaling iwasto ng bago kong balat,
Ang mga naimali ko.

Makikilala kaya ako ng ibang tao,
Sa bagong balat na suot ko?

Marahil hindi,
sana hindi,
panigurado hindi.

Nais kong magtago,
Sa paraan kung paano ako lulutang ng hubo't hubad.
Nang hindi ko na itatakip,
Ang aking palad sa aking dibdib,
Dahon sa ibaba ng puson.

Isisigaw ko ang salitang "PUTA!" ng napakalakas,
Halos magsisilabas
Ang mga putang mismong makakarinig,
At yayakapin ko sila.

Dahil bago ang balat ko, ito'y mainit.
Kumpara sa nahamugan kong balat kagabi.
Malinis,
Kumpara sa balat kong may dampi ng mabahong laway.
Mabango,
Kumpara sa mumurahing aficionado na nahaluan
Ng pawis ni Ricardo kagabi.

Bagong balat.
Ibebenta ko ang luma kong balat,
Sa gabing ito.
Bilhin mo ang aking balat.

May panibago bukas,
Pag-asa, hamon,
Mantikilya sa loob ng pandesal.

Gamit ang luma kong balat,
Makakabili pa ba ako ng bago?

Magkaiba ang bagong uri sa bagong palit.
Ang balat ko, nalaspag na.
Tulad ng puti kong damit,
Hindi na ito puti.

Marumi ang titig ko.
Marumihin ang aking naisuot.
Ang balat ko ay puno ng mantsa,
Ngunit bago ang aking suot ngayon, bagamat,
Iisa parin ng uri.

Balat na nakalaan para ulitin ang pagrumi at
Yurak sa puti kong suot.
Bagong balat, kulay puti.
Wala na akong maisuot.

Hubad na ang aking puri.
Hindi ko masuot ang salapi.
Magkano pera mo? Tara?
Nais mo bang makita ang aking balat?

Her ******* were like damp snow,
       teasing but letting my fingers
tread lightly.

She felt ever motion, the imprints
of my wonderings were left
                in the cotton of damp fingerprints.

I never went below the snow,
         sometime
just treading lightly,
       is enough to make her moan.

They may have this moment,
          immature gestures of
  what lies beneath there misgivings,
of pushing me against the walls of
                                    my self-esteem.

They may have this moment,
           glancing words,
          reverberating, like fingertips
                      on crystal shards,
within the static frailty of
                                        my self-worth.

But my moment was when,
                            I realized I wasn't
                                          broken
                              damaged,
It was all about there need for control
on a world that has none.
        And I'm no longer there's anymore.

My words of thanks, yes your quite charming!
With your systematic verses, but you need to
vary oneself.
As you sound like a repeat of
                       last nights show... And repeats get boring.
So what manner of vocabulary, abusive motions
do you want to play out?? if none please just move along...

i only see vague remnants of who i was*

i don’t have another poem within me.

i haven’t sat down to write since the last time it felt like my old memories and bad decisions were catching up to me.

i don’t know what it’s like to feel like me anymore.

it’s as if it’s the fourth of july and i’m swimming with my friends

drowning

but
      no
         one
                is
    helping

me

Oh, Winter...
She says, “Come hither...”

She is an alluring *****
with her pure and virginal whites,
chaste as an egg.  Mm hmm.

Her flash frosts,
her intricate, fleeting diamonds,
her dew when she warms
drips and drops into ******* spears...
She pulls you in.

She pulls on you,
draws you,
milks you to the core.

She whispers “Come hither...”
in her squalls,
but she leaves only shells.
Such small feathered things,
stiffened and dead,
touched by Winter’s hand.

But she is beautiful,
and you...
You can not help yourself.