wander
about the clouds
the sun
the moon
and the stars
because they will
prove to you
the greatness of your being
they will persuade you
to accept and pledge
that you really are magnificent.
trust what they show you
for
the clouds
the sun
the moon
and the stars
see everything
and tell us nothing
but the truth

here they love you
and here you are safe

You will be loved
Loved deeply, by a poet,
You will be narrated
In a verse
And be flattered by its complexity
You will fall for his honest rhyme
And drown in the melody of his singing words
You would want to curl in the meter
Of his thoughts
And hunt for his raw desires
You will be loved
Deeply, honestly and plainly,
By a poet.

broken glass on the floor
spread out, oh so evenly.

you know,
i broke that mirror.

it was me, who realized
that beauty shatters
us all.

those vile words,
so twisted and cruel;
they, too, cut us until
we bleed.

we bleed
until we are pretty,
pretty enough
for ourselves

and no one else.

I continue
to write
about flowers
so they
never die.

Perhaps your body is composed of thousands of stars.
Limitless  constellations make up your fingertips
your eyelashes
and the curvatures in your ears.

Galaxies are interwoven under your skin and how you glow.
You glow like the moon in the sky when it is at its brightest.
When nothing compares to the sight of the moon and the tiny specks in the sky are just insignificant floating circles.

Your hair flows like the Nile River.
Boundless, pristine water overflowing at my fingertips.
You are more than the ocean; you are all the bodies of water in the earth combined.

You are the last drop of coffee in my old, vintage, mauve red mug.
The last caffeine induced sip that flows through my oesophagus with a relinquishing taste of sweetness.
You are the sweet nectar that hummingbirds look for in flowers and when they can't find flowers with a taste that will satisfy them, they settle on trees.

You are the trees that produce oxygen, and the branches of the trees that tower over me like a netted blanket.
You are the cotton blanket keeping me warm on windy or rainy days because it doesn't snow in the Philippines.
But if you were snow, I would gather you in a plastic container and keep you in my ice compartment so you wouldn't melt.
You make me feel like I'm melting.
Like every possible emotion i possess flows out of me like vapor.

And you are the smoke that forms after you've blown the flame of a candle; you gently float in the air surrounding the space where the flame used to be.

You are the compacted tissues in my chest; you fill the void I once had.
You comprise my veins, my arteries and vesicles; you are a vessel of euphoric elation.
You are my utopia.
You are.