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Red sheets, a thick comforter
I am entangled in it.
My curves and edges are entrapped
and I have no weapons.
Left to my own devices, my fingers
scratch whatever there is to touch,
be it a headboard or even
my own skin.
The red welts appear, and I swear
cracks surfaced even.
This tightening feeling, rippling
like firestorms and typhoons,
a tsunami of numbness and
pain in my chest.
(oh god, it can't be a heart attack, can it?)
I gave up the nicotine sticks 4 days ago
Dying at 23 isn't the best way to go.
Suddenly the buzzing comes,
the endless hum and incoherent
voices that dictate scenarios
too romanticized to happen.
Stop it, just stop!
I can't breathe

I can't

*******

breathe.

Screaming isn't an option, it's too dark
for anyone to know.

That is anxiety.
I survived an attack last night

I don't want to die tonight.
Dripping in
        faded memories, past conversations, Messenger

It's been weeks when you stumbled into
my moon garden,
bathed in soft, white light and violets
the scent of curiosity.
          You called me beautiful, how I open my
          soft, hard heart and diamond mind into the world.
(tell me something I don't know)
We dove into whatever this was; I am hollow
            but you are full of flowers,
             I can't handle this
why do I adore it?

It's midnight now, I walk with familiar feet,
to a university, it was 400 years old
that housed us and
even more memories along its sidewalks and
   tiny streets in flickering lights.
Your eyes were covered, then you saw me
    I am in your spectrum, honey,
        mystery, secrets, apples and cigarettes personified.

Don't mind being touched, as we downed
liquor and boxes of nicotine,
laughing with your friends, this is my idea of fun.
     Your arm was around me,
      felt your fingers intertwine with mine.
You're tired, honey, I am not.
Bright eyed, streetlights, darkness
we whispered stories into the night and you
said I was worth it.
             Where is this going?

We hold hands and walk ahead of our friends.

Seventy six seconds are left on the red streetlight until
the pedestrians were allowed to cross.
   I am in your embrace, you cling onto me,
      we cannot kiss, don't want you to
believe me when I'm broken.
           You are in love,
I am not.
           Don't fall in love with me,
I'm a bird, you're all heart,
     my wings need to go where I need to be
      but I care about this
      Whatever the hell 'this' is.


Goodbye and take care.
Surprise, Miel.
Remember the first time you fall in love,
it felt like a shower of petals
The color yellow on the sidewalk, gleaming
and the soft trickles of raindrops on
your face and the puddles
you and your lover run on.

Remember the next few times you're in love,
Raindrops against a warm windowpane
heavy breaths; you can taste them
The texture of their ivory to their tan skins,
sleepy eyes in the morning,
early cups of coffee.

Remember the time you stay in love,
habits and fights and compromises begin
memories of you both
hold it together and
the light shines through again.
Are you sleeping it off?

Remember the time you fall away,
break apart, tear at the seams
They leave after so many promises
like a bitter wind next to a raging sea.
You're caught in the storm, lost and afraid.
Everything you have painted,
their eyes, lips, nose, the ***
The way they smile, and the sound of their voice
melts into the storm of

leaving.

Revel in the now, my love,
You are walking in your little red shoes and
your favorite dress.
the storm has made you beautiful, radiant
you are not the sea or the land,
you are the
Daughter of the air, free and untethered.
they were a past you open your curtains to
but now you remembered to close the window.

You walk across a mural, and find it to be old
faded and eaten by shadows

but the colors are brilliant

and so will you be

in the rightest of times.
It's funny how a handful of
stories that make you fall, love, cry and sparkle
make one's heart so hard.

The ones I have met, these
lovely, flawed strangers in their eyes
full of rain clouds and shimmers of hope
They tell me of what's happened; they believed in lies.

I keep them at arm's length; tired of hurting but
not entirely closing them off; my ears hunger for
their lost souls and the depths of their bodies.
Learning to trust and listen is fun after
crashing, burning, dying momentarily.

They have also fallen, tears frozen on their cheeks,
like I did, in the arms of a past lover; the familiarity was comforting.
It's funny, I say, how life brings us all around in its
magnetic pulls and waterfalls,
We get to be thankful, to be grateful, because
We have turned into diamonds after ashes.

Diamonds, they said, are created after immense pressure,
So we were thrown down from the heavens of
false promises and cracked lips,
We are beautiful, hard, cold and
glowing as bright as the fire
that nearly killed us.

Let us hold hands and
learn from it all
so we can heal

and then choose to be kinder,
in this world of ambivalent edges.
I have tasted many cigarettes on these lips
that no longer feel like my own.
Strangers have come and kissed them,
leaving only ash trails.
It's not every weekend you find me
at the softest sofa in the living room,
downing gin, ice and juice
with newfound friends and old classmates
I'm usually on smooth sheets and
surrounded by silence
with only Netflix to keep me company.
I think of past lovers often and
with every stick that has passed my lips,
I wonder how would it all have turned out
if we didn't end or if it ended differently.
I want to love again, I really do.
What girl would not love to be called baby
or honey, or love?
What girl would not love to be given homemade meals
in a glass lunch box or tulips and violets just because?
What girl would not love talking
about the existence of other worlds, mythological creatures?
The planets and the stars? The afterlife
Her favorite books, her favorite tea and
the things she does when she tries to calm her anxiety.

I was asked if I would
let my hair grow back again because
I looked like a boy from the back.
Deceiving people is funny in this superficial way but
I would not let strangers touch my hair.
If he comes by, this anyone whom I will
start to feel my heart flutter for and
my eyes dilate in stars
then he can twirl his strong fingers through the silky strands.

I was asked if
Men were pursuing me.
I had no clue, I did not want to know
if there were men who actually liked me
and not the bubbly side that
everyone was accustomed to, after my past lover left.
I was never shockingly beautiful, nor effortlessly charming
Not athletic skinny or even dazzlingly voluptuous,
Always never an option, just a passing stranger
Everyone falls in love with my pretty friends
Also, they say I'm too
rough around the edges,
soft but full of fire,
grounded but lost in the clouds.

So I didn't want to know.

I can't breathe sometimes.

I'll quit the weekend cigarette boxes and maybe
disappear for a while.
Because I missed the sun and
the comfort
It'll get better

I know it will.
Crawling on this sidewalk,
blood rushing from
my burnt tongue, caught in between my teeth,
and the cigarettes, oh Marlboro Ice Blast.
A refuge of carcinogens,
memories in pieces much like
a torn letter, shards of glass from an abandoned shop.

You took me, inside rickety jeeps,
all we hear and smell are the shouts of vendors
the yawns of tired mothers and
the trash being piled on the side.
We see Quiapo, in red, yellow and blue
Neon lights, girls in heels, men prowling.
They're okay, they will be.
After dark.

Joined foot steps,
shoes scraping against pieces of loose concrete.
There we were in the heart of Ermita,
painted women, bearded men, animals of
feelings and desire.
We found a piece of the home I left
4,673 miles away in palm trees and golden sands.
Every crevice and crack was filled with nostalgia
you're my new refuge.

Oh Luneta, lovely Luneta
we ran with the grass and the smell of
sweet corn and roasted nuts.
Cheeks pressed against a warm night,
a cool breeze followed after
then light rain showers.
Lying under a flag of heroes and long forgotten histories,
this is a country I would
stay loyal to, with you.

Taft Avenue; this is new.
I watch strangers with voices that
sounded like bells, a symphony
Coffee, papers, thin framed glasses, sweet scents.
My eyes were hungry
till you appeared
it was raining that night, underneath a maroon umbrella
Letters were read, my tears mixed with raindrops.
Our lips became one, and
flavors of mint, wood and bubbles
could it be love?

Years later,
scratching at the layers and
I cast out this old girl
she is not human, she is a bird
a beast of lust, heart and resilience.
I see your house, but you have
plucked out your eyes, with sewn lips,
you won't recognize me

with this last cigarette, I burn again.
It's 9 in the evening,
Coffee rings on the table that was once
filled with parchments where your touch was the ink
and I was the pen
We glided on the parchments, writing pretty whispers
on our skin.

It's 9:09 in the evening,
I remember kissing the faded pink scar beneath your right jaw.
Nobody said it was easy,
when all I could remember were the dips and divots
the slopes and curves
all the jagged edges and velvet eyes,
of how you used to look when we
made love until the sun rose.

It's 9:17 in the evening,
We got into that van and
suddenly we found ourselves up north.
The cold winds froze my cheeks
and my teeth chattered with loneliness.
But you were a familiar summer breeze and you turned into
an amber sunset and finally
I was warm again.

It's 9:32 in the evening,
I keep your letters,
Someday, I will bury them on a mountain so high.
If a wandering soul should ever find them,
They'll know my heart was in pieces there.
Plus the large framed art of us both
as cartoonish figures,
as foolish as how cartoons are make believe
just like how you loved me.

It's 9:55 in the evening,
The sky turned indigo
and bled into streaks of tangerine.
If this was change seen with red eyes
Then I will start building walls of
porcelain, steel and gold.
Tied with the titanium fibers of
old promises, old wounds.

It's 10:03 in the evening,
I have shed the skins of past lovers who have
left bruises and feather kisses,
who have bitten and tasted with tongues
of impermanence.
A wolf came by, ate my insides.
Then a fox trotted and
kissed what was left of me.
Yours is the skin I keep ripping,
from my ******* to the navel.
I will keep ripping, tearing, all of it apart,
Because I wanted these scales to stay
But I am a child of the Air
They said I was a phoenix.

I burn and **** and hate and love and burn again

only to be reborn

A cycle it is.
Without you in it.
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