Where do I even begin? How do I start this without leading myself on with feelings of sanguine but not also not ending it on the finality of a goodbye? These days I find both my head and heart in constant war about the logic of these questions I even have the audacity to ask when you’re probably never going to read or hear any of my words. So this is how it feels like to be a prisoner of wistful thinking. Huh.
I suppose I should just be as honest as I can? As honest as my heart could handle, as exact as my words can describe, as true as my mind could spare. Even though none of this feels conceivable in this version of reality-- the reality that I have to come to terms with.
Here it is:
I love you. I can feel what little confidence I have in my sanity slipping silently into the dawn as I try to process what I just wrote. Yes, I do love you.  As ridiculous as it may sound, I do love you--- at least in the way that I can, in the way that both time and fate permits me to. I love you  during sleepless 4 AM scribbles much like this when my head feels like a bomb going off every three minutes. I love you the second I open my eyes early in weekday mornings, I love you during rainy mornings, during good mornings, during late mornings, and even during bad mornings. And I probably will love you for all of the mornings of my life. I love you during midday chores, during lazy afternoons spent tracing I love you during the afternoon hours of long commutes when my feet feel like iron weight and my eyes are heavy with sleep and your smile is the only image my consciousness is able to perceive to jolt me back into a functioning state.And I am afraid, so afraid that regardless where the world will take me, continents away, in airplane rides, in bullet trains, in taxi cabs, in lonesome city buses, it will be there--this feeling, this false sense of comfort of you woven into my seat, etched into my heart, clouding my vision. I am so afraid because it feels like coming home, it’s an incomparable rush, a crippling kind of bliss that reduces me into a body longing for a pair of arms that have never even known my grasp and will never do.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I'm hoping that if I say it repeatedly,if I let each syllable just glide through my tongue,if I don't let the words linger on my lips, it will not hold enough value. Maybe it could just be letters on a piece of paper that looked good beside each other. Maybe it just sounded right,just felt poetic enough to spare me a fleeting warmth I was yearning for in between months of cold solace. Perhaps it might even equate to a mantra, as the words "I'll be okay,I'll be okay" had been etched in my mind long enough to convince me that indeed,in time, I will be okay. Only,these three words I wanted to whisper to you in the volatile silence only meant for two people whose souls have been tangled in time , my feeble heart requires them to work in the opposite way. Regardless whether I say it in a sea of people or in a  tete-a-tete  that feels like a cul-de-sac in my heart, the words need to bear no meaning---nothing that could be mistaken for tenderness,nothing that could make you see the vulnerability that consumes my soul every time I hear your name. Call it cowardice, call it insane, call it every name in the book---everything else will hurt less than the truth of what I feel. To love you is a privilege that is only intended for someone who has never known pain and cruelty the way I had,to love you is a sacred promise that only the purest of hearts will be able to keep, to love you is to be fluent in kindness and forgiveness---two things that the weariness in my bones had never known.

Loving you will not be easy, loving you is not all Sunday brunches, late night drives, cozy sleepovers, or quaint dog walking Saturdays in the park. Loving you is not all I-love-you's or You-are-the-greatest-thing-that-ever-happened-to-me. Loving you goes beyond the idealized version of you they have. I know this because I had known love in it's most fragile damaged state. I had known love the same way my human vessel has grown accustomed to gravity. And love,as I had memorized it is not always pretty, love does not come in easy to swallow bite-sized truths. In fact, love will often require the art of lying through gritted teeth for the sake of the person you love. Love does not come in conveniently packaged people who will meet all of the desires of your heart. Loving you will mean sick days for two, untangling darkness that has never made its way to the surface, breaking through barriers that are holding you down. Loving you will sometimes mean lonesome days that stretch out for months, it will often mean unwarranted judgement, missed calls, and bitter insecurities. Loving you will sometimes mean accepting the ugliest parts of humanity that reside within me.Loving you is a continuous arduous task, loving you is a not a promise to you alone but to everyone else that has loved you from the people who know what you look like in PJ's  to the people who constantly look at and cheer for you through rose-colored glasses. Loving you will start becoming a burden to some people after the spotlight fades and they look at you, seeing a human person instead of an idealized fictional man of their dreams. Loving you in the harsh light of reality might terrify them. See? To a certain extent,I do understand the complexity of loving a person like you, to a certain degree,I am already accustomed to it, deep down in my heart, loving you seems like the only thing in this word that is worth all the pain it might cost. I understand how hard it is to love, especially someone like you who deserves so much more than the world could spare for you, I understand that even though I could endure through the hardest parts, there is a certain kind of bliss someone soft and ethereal can only give you.
Know this,my sparrow, I have loved you even before I knew what love was, I had loved you through warm summers in my childhood home, I have loved you despite the oceans that the world never fails to put between us, I have weathered the storm of loving you despite of myself and who I am, I will love you even after I would have forgotten what love is and for these reasons, I will have to convince myself that I don't.  So please forgive me, forgive me for being damaged and only human,forgive me if I must say I don't and that I can't when I already do so much,when it's the closest thing to nirvana that I will ever be. I love you. I love you. I love you. One day, even just for a glitch in time,I might not mean it and my heart will know peace.

forever yours, winona

Isa,dalawa,tatlo.Binibilang ni Renren ang bawat segundong lumilipas habang siya ay tumatakbo.Kung papaanong binibilang niya ang oras noong kabataan nila habang naglalaro ng taya-tayaan.Ngunit iba na ngayon.Hindi na mga maiingay na paslit ang humahabol sa kaniya.Bagkus,hinahabol siya ng mga nagsisigawang naka-itim.Nakaitim sila ngayon ngunit alam niyang sila ay talagang dapat naka-asul.Ngayong gabi,sila ay nakaitim at walang mga plakang ginto o pilak ang nagniningning sa kanilang mga dibdib.
     Isa,dalawa,tatlo.Sunod-sunod silang nagsusulputan mula sa likod ni Renren.Nariyan na sila.Pagod na siya.Kapos na siya sa hininga at manhid na ang kaniyang mga paa.Ngunit hindi siya maaring tumigil dahil paparating na ang mga anino ng baluktot na hustisya.Alam ni Renren na wala siyang ibang magagawa kung hindi tumakbo.
     Isa,dalawa,tatlo.Ilang iskinita na ba ang sinuot ni Renren upang magtago?Pilit niyang sinisiksik ang sarili sa bawat sulok upang matakasan ang kapahamakang dulot ng mga aninong dapat naka-asul,mga aninong dapat sa kaniya ay naniniwala’t nagtatanggol at hindi humahabol nang hindi nagtatanong o nakikinig.Nagtatago siya dahil alam niyang wala siyang iba pang mapaparoonan o mahihingian ng saklolo.Tulog ang batas ngayong gabi,wala siyang mapupuntahan.Kaya’t heto si Renren,hindi mapakali sa sulok at basa ng malamig na pawis.Nanginginig ang kaniyang laman sa takot at awa sa sarili.Sana bata na lamang siya uli at ito ay isang normal na laro lamang ng tagu-taguan ngunit hindi.Nagulantang siya nang may isang malakas na sipa ang sumira sa pinto ng kaniyang pinatataguan.Nanigas siya sa kaniyang puwesto.Ayaw pa niyang mataya.
    Isa,dalawa,tatlo.Ilang mura ang binitawan ng isa sa mga anino.Ngayon ay papalapit na sila kay Renren.Agad nilang hinila ang mga braso nito sabay sabunot sa ulo ng lalaki upang patingalain at ipamalas ang panggagalaiti’t pakiramdam ng kapangyarihang mababakas sa kanilang mga mukha dahil ngayon sila ang mga hari,sila ang batas.Bagama’t napapalibutan,nagpupumiglas pa rin si Renren.Sana larong bata na lamang ito.Sana pwede siyang magsabing,“Saglit!Taympers.Pagod na ako.“Ngunit hindi maari dahil iba na ang laro na ito.Ang larong ito ay walang ibang pinapanigan o pinapakinggan kung hindi ang mga nakauniporme’t ang matandang lalaki sa upuan.Umiiyak na si Renren.Ayaw pa niyang mataya."Wag po!Wag po!Hindi po ako.Sir,maawa po kayo.Inosente po ako—”
     Isa,dalawa,tatlo.Tatlong magkakasunod na putok ng baril ang umalingawngaw sa parte ng lungsod na iyon.Taya na si Renren.At sa mga huling segundo ng kaniyang buhay inisip niya na sana tulad nung bata siya,kapag pagod o nasasaktan sa siya sa paglalaro ay iuuwi siya sa kanilang bahay,siya ay tutulungan.Subalit sa larong ito,palaging ang mga tulad ni Renren ang talo.
      Sa pagsapit ng umaga,uuwi ang mga anino at magsusuot muli ng asul,hahalik sa kanilang mga naglalarong batang anak o kapatid,nangangakong ipagtatanggol nila ang mga inosenteng inaalipusta’t inuusig—isang pangakong hindi natutupad. At walang Renren na uuwi sa tahanan nila,bagkus ay may bagong malamig na bangkay ang ipapakita sa telebisyon,tatanungin ang matanda sa upuan kung bakit ganoon ang sinapit ni Renren.Ngunit wala siyang ibibigay na tama at maayos na sagot dahil sa larong ito,siya ang Diyos,ang mga aninong dapat naka-asul ang instrumento,ang bansa ang palaruan at mga buhay nila Renren ang isinusugal.

Alam ko,ikaw sa kaniya ay unos, sinimulan ng mga munting patak na nagsalba mula sa pagkauhaw ng puso,niluklok ang kaluluwa sa sukdulan, panandalian **** nilunod ang mga pighati’t galit sa dibdib ay umaapaw. Ngunit ako,ako ang katapusang gugunaw ng mundo–mundong puro pait ang pinadadampi sa pusong nagpapakatatag anumang paggiba sa bintana’t pinto nito ang gawin ni realidad . Ako ang susunog sa bawat ala-alang nilason : mga litrato’t tula na iyong kuha’t akda. Ako ang tatapos at ito ang aking simula.

Grey ashes stain the skin of my thighs. I mutter a curse word at Caleb’s direction before dusting it off. He takes another long drag. It reeks of menthol and dead leaves. I ******* hate cigarettes. And most people I knew who smoked were as toxic and temporary as the object of their vice. It seemed everyone I love fancied smoking their lungs out and I had always been treated like another stick burning too close to the filter. Over time I had mastered the art of secretly holding my breath whenever they were all trying to burn their anguish. Now I feel like I’d asphyxiate to death if I try to avoid breathing in his exhaust. Sixteen year old me would have already pushed him to his demise just for the mere act of lighting a cigarette in front of me but three years had passed, and though it might not have happened in a rather drastic way as we retained our nihilism and self-righteousness, we had changed. I have my tamed my repulsion towards what I like to deem as a foible of a majority of people, and he went from being a quiet, well-behaved, clean-cut charmer to this womanizing edgelord ******. We were sitting on the same ledge we often sat on as high schoolers, contemplating whether jumping off would guarantee our death more compared to downing a dozen pads of Panadol but quickly realizing we didn’t want to die in this economy, with this **** administration slowly extinguishing half of our population as how those corrupt fascist rulers from that book he liked basically created the plague that caused mass genocide in third world countries. These days, we rarely talk about dying or fighting the oppressive beliefs we’ve been taught to perpetuate since birth. I find myself mentally counting all the times I’ve said to my father that I loved him as Caleb drones on about the girl I saw leaving his apartment this morning when I came to return a book I borrowed. This punk claims she was cute but kept on contradicting herself, says he met her when he reluctantly went with his guy friend to their church.

      “ She kept on preaching me about hell and mortal sins just last week but I figure that after last night the big guy upstairs wouldn’t be too sure about her salvation either,noh?”I rolled my eyes at him. I miss nice, good-mannered, geeky and gentlemanly Caleb. The emotional barricades and sarcastic comebacks had always been part of his package but he’s always been wary about hurting people unintentionally whether it was direct or passive. I don’t know how someone who still orders the same fruit drink whenever he eats out, who still likes the same bands, who still reads the same genre of manga and weird Russian novels, who still watches the same crime shows and anime could have changed in a way I can’t fully grasp. I comfort myself with the thought that he is just a boy after all, a boy with a tendency to be a ****** *******. “ Cut the bull, Caleb, I know you could care less about the religious ramblings of the poor *****. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? She got you off so let her have the same benefit through preaching . For someone who ****** around, you’re **** at people who are doing your libido a favor.”
       It’s a weak argument. With a face like his, he doesn’t even need to ask anyone to be with him. Girls have always been flocking to him. Weird thing is that women seem to like this downgraded version of him more. Ugh. When you’re as pretty and as interesting as him, life can be **** at times but at least you can pretend to be a lead in an indie coming-of-age movie as The Smiths play in the background.

“Wow. I never took you for a defender of their faith. Are you a believer too? Chill. You know that I was just kidding.”

“I’m just saying, even if we don’t share the same beliefs as them or if we have none, that’s no reason to say mean things about them.”

“ I didn’t mean it like that naman, eh. Lighten up. You know I am a good old Catholic boy, why, I even got my forehead drawn on during Ash Wednesday.”

“ Yeah, right and I’ve been singing in choir for a decade and collecting alms from the pews. You are a disgrace to your Church.”, I scoffed in reply. He just laughs and gets up to throw his cigarette **** in the silver trash bin he always had in his car. After lifting himself up, he motions for me to join him on the roof. I stand up from the rock I was sitting on and follow him.

“ I think we’re going to hell”, he jokes as he took my left foot to remove my sneaker. He snatches the other pair from my hands and crouches down to reach inside the driver’s seat where he puts both of our shoes.

“ Isn’t it unfair how we could be thrown into the pits of a burning void when there’s not even someone up there to judge us?”

“ Maybe there is but we’re just ******* who’d rather rely on the theories of our favorite philosophers for meaning because it’s terrifying to accept the futility of our existence as it was given to us by the big Guy upstairs.”

“ That’s just you. I don’t know if I believe in Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, nor God Himself. It’s all just bleh.”

“ Well, if you don’t believe in science or nihilism or God, then there must be something you believe in.”

       I almost laughed —not at him, but how pathetic my answer would be. I almost told him that the last thing I believed in threw me away like trash and shattered what little love I had left for myself. I almost answered him, half-crying, half-laughing that even if I didn’t have any of it to keep me on my feet, I used to believe that love could somehow hold all of us together; that a dysfunctional family is still a family as long as a parent loves their child enough, that even a bully can be a friend if you keep forgiving and trying for their sake, that it’s okay to tread through eggshells and landmines as long as the person who’s led you there is holding your hand. And I thought I stopped believing in fairy tales at nine years old. I knew I wouldn’t be able to crawl out of this rabbit hole for months to end if I let myself slip again this time with my emotions. So I keep my pathetic thoughts to myself and avoid his gaze.

       It’s late and I’m pretty sure back in the city, the person I used to believe in, the person who made the thought of smoking more unbearable to I, the person who’s the reason why I’m on this ledge again is probably either sleeping or talking to another girl.  A pretty China doll with delicate features, a shy demeanor, and an eloquence for the things he likes. Maybe he’s kissing her and for the first time, he wouldn’t taste like the last girl he loved. Maybe he’s fumbling for her zipper while I’m here trying to grasp how cold and unbearable was the truth he gave me about my worth as a person. Maybe he’s stalking that girl he always had a crush on since high school. Maybe tonight he’d die. Suddenly. Horribly. Maybe he’d disappear and everything would disappear with him. Maybe I would try smoking too just to spite him or I could stop pricking my throat with my index finger every time I feel I’ve consumed an amount intended for a human when I know I have to be a porcelain toy. Maybe I could stop measuring my wrists because like my thighs, like my stomach, like my heart, it takes too ******* long for them to finally shrink into the size that’s most convenient for everyone to love. I should probably stop cutting too— even if it is only in places they cannot see— no one likes a scarred ****** up excuse of  a girl after all. Maybe I could stop thinking that there is something horribly wrong with myself and I could pray for forgiveness for it to a being I don’t fully believe in. If I could just try, if I could try harder, if I could try to force my worn out spirit to try again, a lot of these possibilities might be achieved instead of just being another list in my head. I tell myself that maybe tomorrow, when I’m not twenty feet above ground and when dying isn’t the only thing on my mind, I could try but for now I’ll do my best not to jump.

        The night sky is so stretched out and I’ve never seen it as bright as it is tonight, because I’ve stopped looking at it for a long time and I’ve forgotten how all- consuming the feeling of so is, I finally concede and cry. I think about God and the universe and all those dead men that tried to explain the void that’s been within all of us ever since we were born. How Kierkegaard died slumped at an alley, probably drunk out of his mind. How Cobain refused to go on. Maybe I don’t entirely believe in the existence of Almighty beings and maybe I also refuse to accept that life is pointless but at the very least, I want to believe that this reality is never still meaning that even if I quit my existence, the world will go on without me. In that context, none of us truly matter all on our own in this world. It helps to know that we’re all part of something so much bigger than our feeble emotions, that the Universe is one big organism that contains us yet at the same time is inside us, that we are nothing but systems that modulate and emulate themselves for themselves. It’s comforting to be small and insignificant as a speck of dust in this world as it suggests this pain that’s been tearing at your soul for what seemed like centuries now is a force that can’t survive in the slow descent of mankind into oblivion. It is a mere pulse in the system. It is fleeting and will one day no longer hold this power over you. Or so I believe.

       It dawns unto me I still haven’t answered his question but I figured he already took my silence for an indefinite answer as he turned his gaze to look ahead instead of at me. I do the same and soldier on.

-W.

delicate little flower,
i don't know how to speak the language of the perfect– i can only try not to let violence seep off of my anger
as how these words stain the pages,
so there's no other way to tell you this

i've been told you cannot claim what you cannot touch,
so do know this love will never meet your grasp
for
i will break your wrists,
those outstretched hands of yours, little bird, i will tear them from your limbs
i will pour gasoline in your rosebud mouth and light a match against your soft,naked cheek
after the flames,there would be nothing left to fear in the ruins

chained in strings of unsaid words that have strangled me in my sleep a hundred days ago,
you will subsist on crumbs and leftovers of my love, as how i had waited on the scraps of your heart long before
i will make you bleed until you strain your lungs screaming,pleading to be spared
but my dear,
your tears cannot move me, that anguish will rain,feeding the earth as
your agony fuels my desire to feel

all of hell will never compare to the fiery pits of rage where i shall leave you to rot,tangled with the remains of the boy whose love you had
love will save you after all,will it not?

the heavens might pity you, attempt to end your suffering before i slit open that pretty little throat, so be rest assured that your corpse will meet my blade soon enough
and your measly flesh will weigh the same way i did while you had me beneath you–when i carried so much of you yet still felt less inside–
i will bury you beneath my sanctuary where i'll live out my days,
where i do not have to starve to be beautiful like you,
where i do not have to be used and destroyed to be loved like you,
where i do not have to be someone who can't be you
and there
i will not wait for anyone to bring me flowers that i know have graced your heart first,
i will grow a garden above your grave as the worms have their way with you down in the dirt where you belong ,
and you can take my heart with you
–W.

1) Muster all the courage you could, take these foreign roads, see that they stretch out longer than the well-lit streets you used to walk together,
2) Remember how fear was cold metal, iron weight on your mouth,but you took the blade between your teeth, kissed the edges all for his glory,
3) If you have walked miles and miles in the landmine of his heart, each step anticipating an unwanted end, tell me, darling, what else could render you petrified?
4) Remember, your bones didn’t rattle, your skin didn’t betray you, your resolve didn’t crumble when you saw all the ****** remains confined in his closet, so why are you shaken now?
5) You learned how to fold yourself to make room for his doubts, his fears, his demons that go beyond the realms of his self-made prison, so why do you now refuse to occupy the space that had always been yours?
6) You’ll drive away, you’ll stop thinking who else could be seated in the front with him, you’ll stop feeling him next to you as he traces the lines of your hand like a map, as if you were actually headed towards anywhere other than the cul-de-sac where you first found this love
7) And there are other places left for you to fill other than the void inside that boy,the world gets so much bigger than the haven you found in his room
8) You’ll crawl your way up to the pedestal, grant yourself all the power you have been denied in the name of being more for other people when they treated you less than what you deserve
9) Baby, swear with all the sad rage of a girl that only served as a cigarette break that you will forgive, that one day you’ll sit across a boy with vacant eyes and you wouldn’t flinch,because he’s just a boy and you are so much more.
10) You are so much more.
-W.

burning hues of red,
of bright indigo and yellow,
crashed into the grey horizon
(you are told
your eyes should rest soon),
do not stay as witness
when the depths come
in furious waves of regrets
to drown the ache that
refuses pleas to be heard
by his eyes
denies truth to seen,as
it falls on deaf ears


again i hold my breath,
i'll sink further into the pit
of madness crafted by
my own mind
through your words,
you will ignore their
silence that comes
piercing through,
a thousand decibels
reminding you:
who the hell was I meant
nothing to you,
better will you be loved,
so much more you could be
if you choose to bury
me in the moondust and leave
as for I,
when you've outlived
every bullet,every blade
greeting you in their
violent glory,
when your lungs
are accustomed to the abuse,
you'll learn how to hold your
breath, and
how beautifully painful
it is to beg,cry,and hurt underwater
where tears aren't real,
and pain serves as oxygen


one day,
my body will untangle
itself from its endless slumber
as how you pried off your fingers,
your hands,from their hold
on this cold body,
you know,
i used to be your anchor
now i'm just dead weight
holding you down with me
as i drown
you know,
this corpse understands
how hard it is to love
someone who's
always treading lightly,
who can't shine as bright
as other dying things,
who isn't as phenomenal,
as world-stopping, as mesmerizing
as how your heart pleases
this dying creature knows
that love will never be given
to something that
keeps on bleeding hurt


you should bid farewell soon,
do not stay as witness
leave while it's dark enough,
while the facade could still
lie for us,
leave,let the water wash ashore
let it devour the remains,
let it carry this shipwreck
to its abyss
where,
the body will decompose,
it will die and forget
what the heart wants to remember,
what the mind denies touching
i know,
you will remember
to associate me
with your darkness and demons
who wear another pretty face
and i will remember to forget
the way you wanted to forget me
i will hold my breath until the Sun
could assure me of your departure
-W.

you do not remember,is what you should know first,
remind yourself that:
you do not recall writing an eulogy as a love letter,
you forget about the graves you've dug,
all the pretty faces and estranged loves you've buried here in agony once

foreplays should not burn as repeated pictures in the back of your mind–do not speak of how you have this body memorized—
so you do not put the same record on,
you do not dance in the same room,
you do not sway to the same tune,
offered first to those that intoxicated you with life

you do not light her mouth,gasoline boy
you do not fuel her insides
with the same lies that burned you
you do not kiss her still tasting like the bleeding red of someone else's lips

you do not,you cannot **** the sadness out of her
corpses do not feel anything,do not hear you pray to another god
corpses do not have hearts that break upon being touched by hands that know pleasurable pain well in the most repulsive ways
you do not look at the eyes burning with saltwater
you shrug it off as how you ignore warnings and triggers
we revel in the body's warmth,it feels good pretending it's alive, but the body pretends it's not here
pretends it's just paper skin and friction igniting,acting as catalyst of our self-initiated destruction

you chase your high
the locks come loose
everything unhinges from their hold
darling,there is nothing ghosts fear more than being lost

and after the deed is done
you do not stare at the remains,
you do not paint your face with empathy
it's all for love,it's all for fun
besides, dead girls do not bleed
nor do they cry

i love you
and your coffee-stained lips that set my system on fire
–countless voices telling me I’ll burn so i’m supposed to run
but i argue, i love you
–even your parts i thought i could not
your bruised knuckles, fingers that
reek of smoke and betrayal
your tender hands that cradled cigarette packs
when your feet led you to cold alleys and parking lots,
where you thought the pain could be extinguished in the November air
you were looking for something in the dark, polluted haze
it never came to you, but in its absence
you found something else

i love you regardless of this story i’d rather not speak of
as my life is already haunted by my own ghosts

i love you despite of the things that we are
and things we chose to become,
despite how I should remind
you constantly we are not defined
by the the people that we had loved,
who dismissed us as their mistakes,
collateral damages,
as if god had seen our names,
and crossed out their life resumes
what of it then, love?
we could exist beyond those truths
you’d be the wrong that is good
and I’ll be the risky second best choice

i love you although it is not sufficient
to heal us, to numb life
i love you despite how fleeting our moments are,
how i can never stay here or in your heart
i love you even if it can never be enough
-W.

let them be heard from beyond the grave,
let them tell the stories of everyone
ravished and burned
buried alongside the evils the ignorant and privileged
threw six feet below this blood-soiled land
while the fool who granted himself
the glory, the honor, the memory that will never be rightfully his,
lies peacefully in a sacred place

do not silence them if they shake the streets with rage
do not shame them if they burn the metro with blinding fury
this is the least we can do, we cannot simply contain the memory
of every homes extinguished into grey smoke,
of every dungeons that turned into homes,
of every child that only had hunger and violence
for teachers rather than their parents,
of every girl that was marked against her will,
of every iron fist that instilled fear,
of every every bullet fired onwards from that day
of the humanity that ceased to be

let the people fight for the yesteryears,
let it be known that the deeds of the devil will never be forgotten
let it be heard that for as long as we draw breath,
he will be condemned back to hell,he will pay for his crimes
and along with him are those that do not speak their minds,
that choose to remain foolishly blind,
that do not sympathise,
let them all be reminded:
history cannot be changed, only remembered
and if bound to be repeated, will be fought like hell because the Filipino may fall but never bend, may falter but never break, may stand in front of the edge, but with crimson-soaked cheeks and wounded fists,
we will take with us to the death, our oath: never forget. --W

taste the metal on your tounge
you are singing a death song
stop firing your word bullets
for they do not all wear vests

stop asking how does this feel
if it is made up or real
pain does not need evidence
for tragedy has no face

please hush your judgement for now
listen and take it in slow
after,tell me,tell me then
things are always what they seem:
‎
silences that are too loud
drowning the beats of our hearts
wounds that are not surface deep
shadows robbing us of sleep

look,there are monsters that feed
on us,not just under beds
even while in broad daylight
even when we seem alive

they all suffer a slow death
the end—they meet like their fate
only here they still remain
their bodies numb to the pain
-W.

I see you wincing in pain, eyes half shut
knuckles turning white as you tried to fight
tried to fight their words in your head
crying out, screaming in pain,saying
"You don't understand and you never will"

It feels right to struck them
slicing through their flesh with their own blade
sharp words fueled by foolishness and self-assurance
screaming, screaming
"You don't understand and you never will"

Because you are what you are,
Each time a laugh
escapes from their poisonous mouths,
amused with their callous jokes
feels like a stab,a strike, a blow

You grieve for your people
while they sit and jest
forgetting how we are of the same blood and flesh
only separated by miles and faith

And if we could only scream:
It's easy to joke about the chaos
when you're not helpless in the city of lost souls
using your gun trigger of a tounge
ignoring the fact that somewhere real bullets are being fired
the sound of bombs going off piercing the air
as people scramble, scatter, and run for their lives

It's easy to joke about it
when you're not there
robbed of your rights
staying hidden, cowering in fear

It's easy for you to act like this
like an immature piece of sh*t
hiding behind your screen
convincing yourself that if you pretend long enough
maybe they'd cease to exist

But they won't disappear
see all the bodies laid in the sidewalks to rot
see every household and streets stained crimson with blood
hear the children weeping for their mothers and fathers
hear the sound of mosques and hometowns crumbling to the ground

See them, see the fallen men in green
their eyes cast upward to the sky
their blood sprinkling the earth
agony written on their faces
for this is the price of keeping their solemn vow

It's easy to wallow in apathy
easy to carelessy throw words around
when you wouldn't be greeted with caskets
when you wouldn't be driven out of your land
when you wouldn't lose the home of your faith
when you are not them

You forget that once Mindanao
is completely consumed,devoured
they'll be coming for us
by then, who will fight for you
who will pray for you
maybe no one,maybe they'll just joke around
and they'll laugh because they aren't you


And you'll remember when you weren't them

So see them, flinching as you laugh
fighting your words in their head
crying, screaming
"Please, please, please stop"
-W.

it feels like
two opposing forces meeting halfway
drowning you as it fills you up
until your lungs give out
pouring out all of you
feeding the earth with your anguish like raindrops

it feels like
a searing pain digging into my flesh
fire making love to my skin
there's little time left
until I implode, bursting into flames

then there will be nothing left of the paper girl

there are tangled wires
twisting around my neck
angry sparks of black and grey
blinding my eyes
as I blend into the background
fading further away

it is not darkness
that cloaks this little world
but white skies and open roads
stretching out far and beyond
this state of mental abyss

this is not the place intended for her

at least, that's what I've convinced myself
but fear continues to grow and sweep like skyscrapers
extending towards the oblivion like endless rivers
and it lingers,"maybe this is well-deserved"

there is the pungent smell
of our inevitable death
as our bones fail, bend and break
only the end means us well
because,there really is
nothing more for us to be

that's how it feels
-W.

here we are, silent as a city burns between us
so, this is how it feels like to gaze upon the ruins of what once was and never will be again
so,this is the aftermath of an endless string of almost's and could-have-been's
look at this, look at what we have done
to the people we used to be, to the people we could have been
look at the crumbling walls, look at the ashes, look at this burning debris
this is all we will ever be until it claims us again
please remember this moment, the beat of my heart drowning out the sound of the chaos happening before us
remember this moment, them burning as bright as we had
remember how my name sounded like on your tongue, like it has been the one you have been calling out in all of your lifetimes
remember how we built this city for our empty souls only for us to be blinded by the lights
remember how I let you read all the tragedies my paper heart had bled
and you showed me all the oceans you had cried
please remember because I will remember you
I will remember you like how the books remembered all the kings and queens
I will remember you like how she never forgot all those that have wounded her deep
I will remember you like the way she has always remembered to forget how to forgive
this is how it ends, you with your temporary peace
me, envying the forgetful for remembering is my curse
-W.L.A.C.

this is the end
of everything we were,
everything we weren't,
everything we could have been,
and everything we couldn't be

"How could you write about someone you've never really known?"I do not know exactly.All I know is that there are silences in between our waking hours that can only be filled by the tune of a young boy's laughter— a sound that will never again echo in the four walls they can no longer call a home.All I know is that there are moments when you'd hopelessly reach out to empty space,holding out your hands,wishing that they will once again feel the familiar feeling of clasping two tiny hands.All I know is that there are pictures left to fade at the back of a tiny room because it hurts too much to look at them,knowing that whatever those pictures hold will stay as how they are—frozen in time like how a little boy will never grow up to be a man.Like how there are questions that will forever be left unanswered.Why?Why?Why?Like how there are a million promises left unkept,apologies left to rot inside each of them,slowly poisoning them.I'm sorry I wasn't there.I'm sorry I left.I'm sorry I had to leave.I'm sorry I never had the chance to even be with you in the final moments.
I'm sorry I'll never see you grow up.
I'm sorry you'll never have your first kiss.
I'm sorry you'll never know how it feels to fall in love with the world,with life,with your own person.I'm sorry you'll never know how it truly feels to be human.I'm sorry,little Prince.It's been a long hard five years and everyone's shouldering on.
I hope you're happy being part of the sky,
I hope you're more than okay.I hope that up there,you're able to live the childhood you deserved—never growing up.We were twelve when it happened, you were two.
Now,we're seventeen and you're still two.
And when we're seventy, you'll still be two.
You'll forever be two—something that both breaks me and makes me oddly happy.
The world never dimmed your light,perhaps that would be enough to make up for all that you never had the chance to be.Here's to you, little angel.
Here's to the man that you could have been.Here's to the life you could have lived,the life that could have been.
Here's to you,little King.
-W.L.A.C.

I cannot lie,the city will always have my heart
And I will always stretch out my arms towards the Great Perhaps,
Towards the wide cerulean oceans,the grassy plains and the freezing mountains
For I long to be free—not the kind of free you made me feel,the kind of free I need to be because I am trapped,crushed under the weight of existing
But always remember that you have always been and you will continue to be,my home
There are spaces in my heart left for you to fill,
My hands will always long for the feeling you made me feel as I danced with your winds,
And my skin will never find another lover as great as your Sun—it will always miss the way your Sun kissed my shoulders,I will always miss the exhilarating feeling I felt whenever I ran chasing your Sunsets
And the rush I felt climbing your mountains,spreading out my arms as I stood at the zenith,wondering if that's how it felt like to fly
I will always miss your stars—they taught me how to love the night,taught me how to map out my dreams and plot where we'll be in your skies
I'm sorry I can no longer dance under your moonlight or play hide and seek with the little urchins
These days all that I hide from are the versions of me I try to bury deep beneath the bottom of my childhood drawer and all that kisses my skin is ink and sharp steel
And all that I feel when I stand at the top of the city's towering heights is the fear of free falling and the inevitable death of each and every piece of me left as I do so,as I let myself fall and sink into the abyss more
But I will climb back up again,I can and I will climb multiple mountains,travel a thousand roads and get lost in all of the cities of the world,I'll find myself and I won't be too afraid because I know I will always have a home
You will always be my home,will you?
-W.L.A.C.

As a young girl,I was taught that I shouldn't hate boys,I shouldn't fight back to them regardless of what they did to me because it wasn't ladylike,they probably only did it because they liked me and boys will be boys,right? I tried to remind myself that when in fourth grade,I went home with cuts and bruises because a boy was ****** that I did better than him on our English test and he wanted to get even with me.I didn't fight back because as my teacher had always said,"that's just how it is,honey,boys will be boys".It was one of the two things that she had said to me that never left my mind,along with the reminder of how a real boy and a real girl can be distinguished from the "others".
I was twelve when I was molested repeatedly but I didn't do or say a thing except try to get out of this *****,wretched skin because it was probably my own fault, I shouldn't have such precocious ******* at an early age.
Ha!What was I thinking?Going through puberty like that,looking all sexualized when I know that grown men cannot control their urges.
Stupid little girl, how could she forget that boys will be boys?
I was thirteen, when I was told about the "proper" way to dress and act because I might provoke the boys and they could be ruined for life.
I was fourteen when I was first told what my hips,my thighs,my legs,my bottoms and my chest should be like,in the way that most boys like.
Because the only way I'll ever validate my existence is when a boy takes me as his and to do that I should be what most boys like:
not too tall,not too short,not too skinny but also not fat,witty,funny and smart but I also need to know when to shut the hell up.
And I can't change that because it's the unspoken rule in our world,and no,I can't try to convince the boys either (my ability to know when to shut up is put to use here,because it doesn't matter if you're the oppressed, you need to shut the hell up and grovel before the patriarchy just like everyone else) because that's just the way they are and boys will be boys.
I was fifteen when I witnessed the torture that some of my guy friends experienced because they acted like "girls",as if my gender is an insult, as if being a girl automatically makes you weak and helpless.(Since when did being supposedly invincible and not crying made a boy a real man?I don't think that's what real masculinity is about.Does being a real man or woman come with corresponding terms and conditions?)
It was only a few months ago when a ****** walked free despite destroying the life of a college girl.He did not get convicted because she was reportedly drunk and he was a boy and boys will be boys. (So, who will take the blame?the alcohol or the girl?were they the ones who forced themselves on someone against that someone's will?)
This case took me back to a decade ago when one of my best friends was sexually abused by an older man but nobody helped him, they told him to just toughen up, **** isn't real for him because he was a boy and boys will be boys.
And I wonder,when will these monsters finally be convicted for their crimes?
When will the guilty boys be held accountable for their actions?
When will the pain of other boys finally be considered valid,when will being of the *** that they are stop making them "not really victims"?
When will one's gender stop being an excuse or in some cases—serve as a derogatory name?
When will the screams,cries and pleas of women abused and victimized everywhere be loud enough for you?
Loud enough so that you might actually feel their agony creep in your bones,consume your whole being that all you'd want to do is crawl out of your skin,loud enough so that you might actually begin to understand how it feels like to be us,objectified and dehumanized,loud enough so that you might actually hear the pleas of boys and other men everywhere,asking to be freed from gender roles that limits their ability to exist beyond labels or to feel pain.
I wonder just when will you stop using my gender as an insult,just when will you stop telling the world how a real man or woman should be?
Please do tell because the little faith in humanity that still resides in us is slowly fading.
From where I see it,I feel as if there's no hope.
There will be no hope as long you all remain slaves to bigotry and the patriarchy.
I guess,there's no hope for your mothers,daughters,even other boys and young girls like me as of this time.
And maybe,when another rabid man decides that he wants as his meal for the day,like I am meat,like I am something to be consumed and spent,I would just have to accept my fate.
Maybe,as my lifeless and ravished body lies motionless in an alley somewhere, you would be shaking your head, condemning the girl who was stupid enough to walk alone at night,unaccompanied,the girl who was "asking for it" because she wore "revealing"clothes,the girl who probably got what was coming for her because she didn't know when to shut her mouth,the girl who thought she could exist the way she wanted when she knew full well that there are rules,stigmas and that boys will be boys.
-W.L.A.C

There goes the boy again,averting his eyes with persistent denial,unsure if I'm fighting the same silent war inside as him.
He claimed that there was nothing more catastrophic than him,
the boy with the supposed void behind his eyes,
He was everything and nothing, the chaos,all of the colors all at once and then he was the deafening silence and the darkness you'd get lost in,
he was the coming disaster and then he was the calm.
He never ran out of metaphors for himself,never missed a chance to define himself as something that would wreak havoc among us.
The boy who drowned himself in ink and tears, who searched and searched for an answer in between pages that gave him nothing but empty promises of a better life,a better world.
Most of the time,his fictions only made him more restless,they fed the unspeakable in him with bitter truths.
The boy who felt crushed under the weight of existing.
The boy who had never thought that maybe he was just a boy,struggling to be a man and that he is flawed,scarred and only human.
This is for him,this is for the boy who isn't,wasn't and will never be a disaster or a monster.
He is just a boy,just a boy.
And when he grows,he'll be a man,just a man.
If I never come around to tell him,please tell the boy that he was just a boy,he is just a boy and he will just be a man and nothing more or less than that.
(Except maybe,immortalized through my mediocre writing.)
-W.L.A.C.

We are not worlds away ,in fact,we exist in the same and perhaps we each just occupy too much space,perhaps we cannot be together without suffocating one another.
Because I will always be too much for you as you will be for me.I will always be too young and too innocent.
Maybe even too pretentious,too disgustingly happy or too much of an overthinker.While you will always be too far from my grasp.You will always be two steps ahead of me.You are a drifter,despite your tendecy to easily get attached to people and things like me,you always have your eyes set towards the horizon,to the future that maybe.
Even now,when we are in the same city I feel as if we are already continents apart because despite our close proximity to one another,there is a universe between us.
And I want you to know that if one day, that universe decides to stretch out itself too far that not even the magpies of an ancient Chinese fairytale cannot help us shrink the distance between us,I will still be here,I will always love you in the way that I have always had and can—almost. It wouldn't be enough—it never is—but it is a comforting thought to know that at least we had tried,just not enough and that is okay.We will be okay. And I truly hope that I became significant enough in your life for you to be able to remember that I could have loved you and that I will always cling to that idea.Maybe in another world,in another time,an another me—more mature,better in every possible way and worthy could love you.In the meantime, I will numb whatever it is that has been killing me inside for the past few months,set my eyes on the horizon and meet my supposed future—one that doesn't include you and I know it sounds excruciating for my part but I have concluded that maybe it is what is best for the both of us.You could do better,everyone else that would even dare look at me does.I am not the kind of person you'd fall in love with.I am not the the kind of risk you can take.I am bad news and crap I want to be better for you but this is all I can manage to be.So,for the nth time I am sorry and I hope you remember I will always almost love you.I could have loved you if the Universe had let me.
-W.L.A.C.

Like fireworks that lit the sky one December night,they were two people that touched for only a brief moment and they burned and burned until there was nothing but cinders in their eyes.
Both were fires that burned to light the way for one another.
Maybe they just burned too bright and time  moved too fast,
Maybe she was his anchor, she kept him tethered, kept him there,steady and unable to move forward.
The world may never know, except for this:
"They" were as fleeting as time and their ephemeral words made it evident that both of them couldn't stay forever because even the brightest of lights die out—sometimes,far more early than others.
They weren't just fireworks—I know that now— each of them were forest fires and they burn for the other to provide warmth and light,oblivious to the destruction that they make.
They were forest fires.
And now all they are is rain and tears, drowning in an ocean of memories.
And as I write this,I can't help but think that in some ways this wasn't just the story of them,it was our story too: the story of us that never was and never will be.
-W.L.A.C

My faithful lover of all these years
He never did once leave me,not even in my sleep
Some days, his presence would be less felt
But he was always there
Occupying the empty space on my mother's bed as she wept for the man that would never return
He was always there
In the pages of her journal,a collection of her madness further confirming his existence
He was always there,
A voice in the shadows,echoing words of poison that infect each and everyone of us with hate
He was always there,
Resting inside me or the body of another;a temple he'd trespassed and made a temporary home out of
He was always there ,
Lifting yet another glass of wine for my father to drink
He was always there
He never leaves
He rests in my bones,he is alive in your eyes
He lives by feeding off the silence in between apologies and desperate prayers
Your sobs and cries,music to his ears
Your tears,a sea for him to bathe upon
He is the ramming in your ribcage,he is the pain in your chest when it hurts too much and you can't breathe
He is the thief that robs of you of sleep
He has always been real
He has always been here
Patiently waiting for another prey
But even if he finds another
He'll always be my faithful friend and lover

I could write about how the stars would align or be put to shame whenever you smile with your eyes but that would be lying and cliché,
the truth is,I see you just as the same as everyone else,bones and delicate flesh in the shape of what I could perceive
you are as lost and as scarred as everyone else,forever hurting, growing and healing
to romanticize your pain and glorify your flaws would be a sin
but yet again, I am a novel of sins and unspeakable things;I am my mother's disappointment and my father's mistake
I am my brother's curse,I am my sister's cruel fate
I am everything that is to be cursed and loathed and I could care less about being convicted
And I would shamelessly plead guilty as she turns you into yet another sob story, another prose piece
Or not

****** and bruised,we hold our heads up high.
We keep blocking the noise inside our heads by cursing at the sky,singing the anthem of the ******.
Hell bound,we only pray for things we need to make us feel alive.
Only when tucked in "I love you's" or "I'm a mess" do we say "God".
We keep committing crimes,using our sob stories as our excuses.
As if your bruises and wounds are enough to provide vindication,
As if our pain could justify our sins.
Neglected social casualties,we glorify our alienation,use our insecurities as weapons and wound others instead.
I'm sorry because we can't be saved.I'm sorry because we are told that,"it's all in your head".I'm sorry because growing up means succumbing to the cancer that is life.
I'm sorry,I really am.

I watched as our future crashed before my eyes,pieces of you that I so carefully carved,falling on the floor,breaking themselves even more.It was just an idea,something that I invested what was left of my being,in and it took such simple words to shatter the illusion.I woke from my reverie,the truth flashing itself before me as I felt a searing pain in my belly.The butterflies are being poisoned again,they lay twitching in the cinder graves of those who came before them."It's not that different, after all",I whispered to myself as I walked away.I untangled myself from the dream, swam my way up the surface and finally breathed again.I will not allow myself to drown in these waters anymore,in the sea of thoughts of you,in the oceans that the world never fails to put between us.I stood in the open,listening to the howling of the winds,waiting for yet another hurricane to sweep me away and tear at my limbs.This is the calm before the storm.For now,I will firmly stand my ground as I face the coming disaster and tell myself with a little bitterness and pain that maybe,when I'm finally continents away I will find a reason that might grant me peace so I won't live my whole life regretting the idea of you.

I do not like you
I do not like the feeling of you
I do not like the smell of paper and inked fingers at 4 am
I do not like the feel of a paper heart
I do not like writing poems for a boy with a sunny smile
I do not like the feeling of want,of wanting to wander mindlessly in the vast universe that is his soul
I do not like the feeling of free falling,no safety vest on
I do not like feeling the need to surrender,the need to peel off my layers until I am nothing but paper fine flesh and scars and everything that I had tried to conceal
I do not like feeling the need to expose myself to you
I do not like feeling the need to come undone in your arms
I do not like the feeling of wanting to trust you,to trust you enough to let you steal me away from my love affair with solitude and sadness
I do not like the feeling of wanting to be a cliché disaster,of wanting to be your beautiful mess
I do not like the feeling of being afloat,my head in the clouds
I do not like thinking of you
I do not like feeling for you
I do not like you

I'm not good with words but I still try to string most of them together so I can woo you with my overrated and generic metaphors,
So I can tell you how beautiful you are
Yes, you are beautiful whether you believe it or not
Now,this is pathetic excuse for a poem has no proper rhyme for I made haste when I wrote this piece
You were feeling down and I wanted to tell you this:
I know the future seems so terribly far away when you think of all the beauty and goodness it might bring
And so close when you feel like the days and the years that are to come would eventually only push you further to the precipice, push you down deeper the pits of rock bottom
But pretty baby, don't you worry
Believe me when I say that everything will eventually fall in place,you will someday feel peace
Don't fret,don't let the black hole inside consume you
They were right when they said you should live for the now,for the memories you make are what make each day count
So,sweet summer child don't worry about the future and all the beauty and chaos it might bring
For you have me and the "in between"
There are poems you haven't written
Books you're yet to read
Places you haven't lost and found yourself in
Bridges left to burn and wounds yet to heal
I know that all we are right now are our parent's mistakes and disappointments but like that one poem said we shall greet the break of day and bloom despite defeating elements
Especially you,you are a wild flower
Rare and beautiful, not to be tamed
Not like the Little Prince's rose for you don't need to belong to anyone
You are strong and able
And if I could, I would live a thousand artists' lives just so that in every lifetime I could paint your eyes,your beautiful eyes and how they light up and warm hearts when you smile,
So that I could compose songs and ballads of how graceful you are despite your awkwardness and silliness in all things,
So that I could write about you and how you deserve the world and how your body is composed of wonders, wonders one can only admire from afar because an artwork like you is not meant to be touched by ***** and foul onlookers