It's about to be 3am
And you swear you can hear
Your neighbor thrashing
Inside herself
Through the loud bass
Of her sad music.
You've just seen her earlier
Disappearing into her laptop screen
Before you knocked on her door
And she comes out
Greeting you
Before she can even realize
That she's back inside herself
And not lost somewhere
Between the lines of words
That have lives of their own,
Feeding off of her
Until she's no more.
You tell her about the bill
And she fumbles to open the screen
To hear you clearly
Because she forgets she's still here
And she has a neighbor
She shares a water meter with.
She takes the paper off your hands
Reads it and gets some money
And hands you the payment.
You're not sure if she said thank you
Cause she spoke but you didn't hear any words
So you retreat back to your unit
And forget all about her
Until you wake up in the middle of the night
And hear all the words
Her thoughts are screaming out
And you think of all the times you thought
You've seen your neighbor.

The writer woke up
One day no longer pouring
Her thoughts over tea
Without a warning
The writer slept
Throughout every 2AM
Not tossing or turning
And hearing the walls speak
One day no longer to be found
The writer disappeared
In the pages of her history
Along with scars healed
After the storm
With the calm
Amidst the quiet
One day no longer needing
The writer in her story

I am but the seed
of a fruit all finished up,
with all my wisdom eaten away
left with nothing but the husk
of what I used to be
so bury me in the dirt
with the hope that I will grow
once again into a tree
ripe with glory and promise.

Silken skies
Candlelit sunset
Clouds of fresh linen
My lips all over you
Like rose petals
Scattered around my room.

Moonlit smiles
Red wine kisses
Slow dancing
To the rhythm under the sheets
Your body wrapped
Like lace on my skin.

Hot summer breath
Sweat like coconut and lime
Your voice soft against my ear
Time flowed like sand
You and I forever lost
In waves of lulling bliss

Colors flashed
Bubbles burst
Feet landed on the ground
But in your gaze my heart still floats
Though all this is only in my mind
This love is solid as your hand.

Do I dive to the ocean floor
or seek the edge of the world?
And will this heart of gold
sink or float?
I tell myself
with my blood as my ink,
I have my soul to keep;
now I’m at the tip of the quill
but the slate’s wiped clean.
When there’s nothing left
but the other side,
is there nothing else to do
but go there?

Tomorrow held such promises
then the next day came
and broke all of them.

Looking at a computer screen
but seeing blue skies;
brain frying in radiation,
body floating in the open ocean.
Heels on concrete,
grass between toes.
Pounding on computer keys,
pricking on cactus spines.
Thinking of brand conversion
but dreaming of the Grand Canyon.
Impersonating relevance,
giving my rhymes a rest.
A fool for freedom
but a tool for currency.

How to be silenced
with your own words?
Write in someone else's voice.

Young little bud
with thorns they ache.
You bleed life
in order to grow.
I know it hurts
to keep yourself closed
when you just want to bloom
like the rest of them
and you can't cause pain
as much as you can feel it
when you remain wreathed in a shrub
and pose in a bright color
while everything happens inside of you.
You may think there's something wrong with you
because you don't get picked by people
but not all seeds sprout right after sowing
and you may not see the sunlight yet
but at least you can feel the morning dew
and the world has yet to see you
and you have all the world to see
so take your time
and keep your stem long
for even the seasons will wait
however long it takes
for a young little bud to unfold.

I am nowhere lately
Pacing in the city
Closing my eyes
Seeing a desert
Sitting in a cave
Then I'm gone

I am nothing lately
No sound
No feeling
Like embracing the wind
Like thinking you can touch a cloud
Knowing it's just smoke

I am endless lately
Just floating
Slowly dissolving
Now scattered
Are these parts still mine?
Who am I now?

A weak sigh
slowly closing the front door
careful not to get the attention
of hushed cement walls

A held out blow
gently casting wishes
carrying seeds of promises
from a dandelion

A casual whiff of cigarette smoke
lost in the traffic
between blaring car horns
and pedestrian talk

A dancing whistle
bouncing on saucers
hovering in the water
sliding on the sink

A voiceless whisper
echoing in a church
the angels and saints
suddenly are all ears

A long-distance yawn
deep-diving into the unconscious
reaching out to another world
in the heart of the mind

An unremarkable breath
may just be the tail of our souls
peeping through our mouths          
even though the eyes are the windows

Like his Mother Nature,
Forest is full of life and magic.
He is the keeper and protector
of all of God's creatures.

With roots for feet and tree trunks for limbs,
he towers over all;
and feels everything
that moves in his soil.

He has eagle wings to fly over the mountains
and owl eyes to watch over the night,
that when humans come to visit,
they get lost in wonder and awe.

On the other side, there is River;
who is pure and powerful.
She heals and restores life
in all of God's creatures.

She flows to the seas and oceans
and fills three-fourths of the Earth
and half the human body
to nourish the world.

She brings calmness and peace,
like how the Forest provides an oasis;
and together, they hold the secret
to our blue and green planet.

You have your hair
to represent your pain;
to show off and hide at the same time,
which you can dye in every color
and grow as long as you like
or cut it short and paint it black
when it gets too much.

You have ears to keep secrets
and a mouth to share truth.

You have memories for feet
to keep you on the ground
and dreams for eyes
to see clearly and openly.

You have your mistakes as your backbone
to support and keep you in line
and twelve pairs of ribs
that form a cage for all the fears
you want to keep inside.

You have hands made of solid passion
with creativity on your fingers
and care in your palms.

You have lungs that respire freedom
and vocal cords that make music.

You've the Earth as your mind
which may not have all the answers
but breeds life anyway,
and a heart that pumps love into it
to make all the difference in the world.

You have bones made of calcified purpose
to let you stand strong
for everything you believe in.

You have the universe in your blood
and it goes way back
to the dawn of time,
seeping through your flesh,
connecting all the people
you have been and yet to be

You have humanity in your soul
and divinity in your body.
Everything is in you
but the best thing about you is
you.

And the last grain of sand
fell on the heap
at the bottom of the hourglass... time's up;
but suddenly
I have all the time in the world.

Do you still feel sorry
for your loss
everytime I cross your mind?

Do you still have grief
over my death
because I
am your unfinished business?

Do you still get the creeps
everytime you thought
you saw the ghost of me
when it was just your regrets
coming to life
to haunt you again?

Do you still visit
my tombstone
and mourn over the carvings
that my name made
on the stone walls of your heart?

Do you still want to dig me
out of my grave in your memory
and wish I had a proper funeral
instead of being buried
when I still lived
after you tried to **** me?

Because I do.

The clouds are heavier
than my mascara;
my lashes are the weighing scales,
they're pressing them down, down,
now I'm feeling down, down.
My eyes were the drunkest
until they met with this waterfall
that makes the cars dance
outside my bus window.
Be this north, south,
east, or west;
all I know is forward,
it gets better there.
And what do you know,
I told you so;
the clouds are getting thinner here,
now that we're finally here.
The cone trees align
like constellations,
the air is eucalyptus
in my lungs,
and the sky spread
like one giant cloud
that swallowed up the sun
so it's still bright
even if it's already about to be night.
I guess the four long rides
are worth the sight
of these foreign horses
and this patch of a pineapple field.
Above me, the sea;
below me, the city.
The foam and fog
made everything gray-blue
and the landscape is a moving painting
where the santan flowers are magnified
and the mountains are blurred.
We went up and down,
hill by hill;
left and right,
tree to tree
to be somewhere
and nowhere
at the same time.
This hanging bridge
would be more thrilling
if I were to fall
and start a landslide.
It's getting darker
and the flickering of the city
is no longer in silhouette
but in full incandescence
like that of twinkling stars
or Christmas lights 'round the park,
and suddenly breathing
is an amusement.
Now there's a cricket and bird duet
featuring the frogs
and we're walking in the dark,
finding our way
through this maze
of ilang-ilangs and moss,
with the new moon as our north star,
tracing our steps back
while I lose vision of
the lines on my paper.
A little firefly leads us out,
then we're back at the same
yellowbell stairs from the way in.
Coldness has never been
this memorable
and I'd always remember
how the Tagaytay wind
swept me off my feet
and took me back
to this tricycle ride,
back to this bus ride,
and then home
to one of our many homes.

Through the moon
upon me,
you gaze some nights
and you, I see
in every star in the sky;
infinite futures ahold
yet no red dwarf
ever carries our own.
Time won't change
tomorrow's face,
no matter the days,
no matter the ways;
from here or Mars,
it won't look like ours.

I won't tell them
about how we exchanged thoughts
like sinners confessing
to God Himself,
like bride and groom
delivering their vows
for the first time.

I won't tell them
about how you kissed,
like you were peeling me
of all the people
I wore on my skin
until I'm a newborn again
and how I kissed back
as if my teeth were syringes
and your blood
is what would keep me alive.

I won't tell them
about how we made love
like a time bomb
detonating
over and over,
killing nothing
but space and time.

I won't tell them
how each word is a song
and each song is a serenade
and each serenade is a promise
and each promise is another day.

But I will tell them
how I held the rest of my life
everytime our fingers crisscrossed
as if the lines on our palms
connected like stars aligning
to give the universe a sign
of a divine intervention.
And I will tell them someday
that your eyes were crystal *****
that showed me my future
so I always knew I'd be with you.

Who needs chocolates
when your sweetness
goes beyond my tongue,
beyond my senses,
into my memory,
where it makes the taste
of everything sweet
seem sugar-free?

Who needs flowers
when I've got a field
spreading from our love,
filled with buds that don't die
and don't need colorful petals
to attract more than two,
forever growing,
with scent everlasting?

Who needs gifts
when everyday I get to
unwrap true love
covered in layers
of this friendship,
life's most valuable present
you can receive many times
but only keep once?

Who needs Valentine's day
when life itself,
for us,
is a celebration,
and our hearts are always
birthday celebrants
because everytime
feels like the first time?

I don't want to be
a lesson you go back to
when you need to remember
the definition of loss.

I don't want to be
a living memory
that breathes and laughs
only in your head,
so close but you can only see
when you close your eyes
and hold only in your dreams.

I don't want to be
a tenant who rents a space
only to leave
permanent damages
in your heart.


I want to be
a teacher you turn to
for inspiration
for things that last.

I want to be
an imagination happening
right before your eyes,
not in your mind
nor in your sleep,
whose hands you can hold
and lips you can kiss.

I want to be
a housekeeper who stays
to take care of your heart
and make it my home
for life.

Here, it hurts here,
where I'm supposed to
face big rolling rocks
as if I've got me a helmet
and iron fists.
This part, it hurts here,
where I'm supposed to
hand-pick gentle puffs of air,
not be smothered in smokes
that choke me up to see clearly.
Way up here, it hurts here,
where instead I try to get away
inwardly, far, far away,
towards nowhere,
rather than out.

Blue
like my soul,
a fraction of what is due
for sin that took its toll.

I want to wear the ocean
and bring waves everywhere I go.
I want to sleep on the clouds
and wake up sunkissed.
I want to grow leaves
and flowers
and fruits,
and shed magnificently in the fall
and blossom sweetly in the spring
and be ripe and fresh in the summer.
I want to befriend whales
and polarbears
and eagles
and be wild and free.
I want to drink the milky way
and glow from the inside.
I want to powder my face with stars
and take people's breaths away.
I want to dye my hair with rainbow
and never have bad hair days again.
I want a voice that sounds like birdcall
and sea breeze
and rain shower,
and sing without ever needing words.
I want to embrace the Earth
and love it like Mother Nature.
I want to die like the moon
and make way for a bright new day.

What can I say?
I love you in the simplest way.
For the first time ever,
there's no need to be clever
and for words to be fancy
for you make it so easy.
Best and perfect
cannot reflect
the way we are,
never imagined we'd go this far.
Always looking forward,
you are the greatest reward.

I swear I've seen paradise
whenever I'd look into your eyes.
Who knew I could be blessed by
something so divine
such as your smile?
I have never known what it's like
to be waken up and put to sleep at the same time
until your lips kissed mine.
Only your voice can lull
the roaring in my skull.
And into your arms, I'd come home again and again
like how sand always settles at the bottom of the ocean.

Have I ever told you about this magnetic force
that makes my body always want to be next to yours?
I've never felt like this before,
can't see myself with anyone else anymore.
You were the sunshine I've been waiting for,
now I will never have to weather any downpour
without someone to play with in the puddles
and laugh with through all troubles.
This is all I've ever wanted from life,
finally I can say that line.
My soul has found peace,
for you are the missing piece.

What can I do?
I love you more than I know how to.
Let's hope nothing can sever
this making of a forever.
I promise you my heart,
it chose you from the very start.
Through the highs and the lows,
you have my hand to hold.
Whatever tomorrow brings
or change in feelings,
we'll stay together
cause we're two birds of a feather.

I can't keep
Regretting
Your dream of us
Never came true
While my dream
For myself
Is being realized
By someone else.

I can't keep
Going back
To our conversations,
Our only memories;
While I move forward
With him
To make the moments
You and I never had.

I can't keep
Confessing
The truth
To the questions
You never asked
While he provides
The same answers
I never got from you.

I can't keep
Telling myself
This is the last time
I will write
About you
While I keep promising
I will write
About him

And you can't keep
Reserving me
With a bookmark
So you can read me
Later for recreation
While he tries
To memorize me
Everyday as a ritual

Somewhere
Along these piles of paper
Scratched and scarred
By pens and pains
That never finish anything,
I was read,
Understood
And continued.

Somewhere
Between conversations
Of screams and whispers
Lost in a sea of words
Meant and made-up,
I was found,
Believed in
And listened to.

Somewhere
In this great big clutter
Of thoughts and memories
Whether strangers or familiars
With futures and histories,
Your mind
Will always recognize
My mind.

Open Season
Sea Green, See Blue
Good Riddance;
You introduced me
To some pretty good songs
I can never hate
But there are others there
Which I can love as well
And right now I've found
A beautiful song
To update my playlist.
I will always listen
To the ones you gave me
But they cannot be
My favorite songs anymore.

Have you ever fell into that trap of a feeling
Of being a broken dam trying not to burst and overflow,
While sticking out a believable face at the same time,
For it's dangerous to have people know of your ill-being,
That your tormented head starts to ache
That same ache it does
When you accidentally sniff water
When you're submerged in a pool or in the ocean,
Or when you drink and tilt the glass too much
That the water splashes on your face?
Well tonight I'm caught pretty deep.
Funny how it doesn't feel like drowning
Or having water inside your head;
But more like crying without the tears
And sneezing without the gooey stuff.
Where is it coming from?
How come it won't leave
When you didn't even feel it enter?
I wriggle like a fish out of sea,
Will it do any good to shake the ache off?
But it's 12 midnight
And the walls know I'm lost until another sunrise.
I unplug every switch
Inside my smarting head,
So I won't get electrocuted
When the water touches my thoughts
Of potential whirlpool or tidal wave.
If I could just close my eyes,
So the water won't find any openings,
As well as to prevent me from leaking.
But you can't keep water out;
It can creep in through the littlest holes
And the narrowest spaces.
And you almost slipped my mind,
But how could you possibly?
Not one of my pens has ever run out of you,
And no paper has ever dried from you;
And I bathe in you every morning,
As I cleanse my shell,
Since the day you poured onto my shrivelled earth.
Trickles of you infuse me,
Day and night;
You can flow in and out whenever you please
And it feels as if you've been inside all this time,
Or maybe you never really even left.
So you rippled your way
To turning on one switch;
The switch for my dreams.
Funny how I didn't get electrocuted
Or send whirlpools and tidal waves.
And still, I don't.
Now you are suddenly here,
For a visit,
Downstairs, at the living room,
Where everybody is.
Tangibly present, presently real.
In your favorite color,
The color you are when I watch over you from the shore,
Or when you try to make me smile by holding out the sun behind the clouds;
Bright and refreshing.
And it's the middle of an orange afternoon
On a day that is never going to come,
And I am there too,
And suddenly there is no place to be
But by your side,
And we are hand in hand
As we face the demons of this hell-house.
We stand as I introduce you to them,
And they deliver their lines
Without making any sound,
Or maybe I just turned their voices off.
After all, this bubble is mine.
So we walk out of the door,
Away from their further discussions,
And it is now evening,
And it is still orange,
Matching the glow of the street lights
On the other side of the road.
And we sit on the sidewalk,
Feeling the warm night,
Taking off our skin
Made of what we're not,
To feel a little less hot;
For you will surely sweat
When you have to put on
Something you don't fit in,
Just to look good on the outside.
Now we are dressed with who we are
When we don't have to be like them,
And I tell you it's because they're people
That I don't belong with them.
And you ask, “But what about me?”
And I say, “But you are not them,”
You are you;
And that doesn't make you
Fall under any category.
Am I an intruder,
Trespassing on your island,
Or is this Atlantis
The only home for our souls?
I haven't met theirs,
But I have met yours,
And I know yours;
Or at least I think I do.
But you know mine,
And I know you understand
Even if you don't agree sometimes
Because I can't be right;
Just not in this world.
But in our island I could,
So I go on telling you things I haven't stopped speaking of;
Things you haven't stopped listening to,
Since the day I first landed on your seabed.
Then you smile and sing the right melodies
That will reverberate forever in my head
And turn into secret hymns,
Or duets if we hit the same note,
When the world won't turn its volume down;
Just like every other piece you recite.
You tell me to just look at the bright side;
That part you never fail to show me,
That part I can't find when you're gone,
And I say I am looking directly into its eyes,
As I turn to catch your sight.
And suddenly we freeze,
And I don't wish
For our continents to drift;
Can't we just let this ice age take
All the time it needs?
I guess this illusion is enough
To resuscitate me for a few more hours;
But it can't build me a lighthouse,
Or carry me in a life boat;
For in this kind of high tide,
I could really use some you.

With every blink,
Things will look bleak
But choose not to sink
You are the opposite of weak.

From hour to hour
Your sweetness spills
And life can be so sour
But your nectar refills.

Don't look so blue
But if you must, be the sky.
Maybe look up for a clue,
You can always try.

If you wore a suit of expression
Forged out of iron words
On the anvil of explanation,
One that comes out strong
And fits like your own skin
To armor up for introduction,
It would only cover more
Of what you already show
So instead you wear your heart
On your sleeves
Your perhaps unfashionable,
However durable sleeves
Made from the fabric of feeling
Woven by threads of thoughts
As if what you have on
Is yourself inside-out.

If you came out as a loud noise
Solid and sharp
Bringing only auditory effect
And no message to transmit
To the sympathetic nerves,
Not of beats but a mere blast,
And what's a sound
When it's not music?
So instead you come out as a song
Fingertips on guitar strings,
Soul in the playing
And story in the lyrics
A voice calling out,
Serenading,
Hoping to be an anthem
Or at least a playlist item.

Take your thoughts to the sink,
Pile them all up with the plates,
Grimy and greasy
Just like your mind
Which you can scrub all you want
With a sponge or a foam
Since there's no difference
Above sea level,
But the residues will remain
Staining your perfect little machine,
Robotic, malfunctioning,
Because manpower is always better
Than a cold bin
Where it is just you
Echoing your asking everything
Except for what you want
Because cowardice and pride
Are the oil of your psychomotor,
Running,
Missing,
Out on those
Who really don't need you in their lives,
Let alone
To do their dishes,
If ever, in case,
So what the hell are you still doing,
Waiting for the suds to drain,
Don't **** your brain
Like this,
Get a pen
And replace the dishwashing liquid
With real poison.

Brood of the journey,
Offspring of adventure;
Cradled in a crib
Of boat rides and bus drives,
Rocked in time with teenage nursery rhymes,
A million miles per hundred hour,
Marking dashed lines
Across the Philippine map
From Region IV-A
To Region V,
For four summer daysprings
And five summer nightfalls.
My umbilical cord recoiled in loops,
Through the roller coaster road,
Under the waterfall expressways,
Bumper-to-bumper with the hills,
Baby on board;
Pulled in my diesel pushcart,
Back to the womb of my motherland
And into the water that once broke
To give me my own air.
But I haven't breathed better until
Now that I swim again in her salty seasac.
How I have long starved my feet
Of her creamy sand
Which the skin between my toes
Suckle like breastmilk.
How short it has taken
For her colors to change
From seagreen in the dawn,
To aquamarine by ripe daylight,
To turquoise in the afternoon,
And to teal blue by dusk,
Upon having me in her arms.
I was as happy as a clam
When a welcome party was thrown
By the fish residence
And I was reunited
With my crustacean playmates
And their echinoderm pals.
During my stay,
I had the whistles of the sea breeze
As my morning wake-up call,
And by night
The sky is my ceiling,
Decorated with star glitters
And one would fall everytime
To turn off my night light
While the waves would splash
A cool blanket on me.
I would go on treasure hunts
To find the lost seashells;
Raiding coast-to-coast of the boundary,
Declaring tug-of-war,
Jumping in with both feet
And holding my breath,
Fighting the careless Captain Current
And his crew of buccaneers
Attacking in foams and spumes,
And I was unwavering,
Unflagging,
Yanking the *****
To victory.
With Merleau-Ponty,
To be free is to be situated;
But with these marlins,
It is dancing on the ocean floor.
Take it from the jellyfishes
Who just go with the flow
And follow the tide
Whether if it meant
Being washed ashore
Or sinking in the deep,
As long as their tentacles
Are free.
One day I visited
The underwater kingdoms;
Parts of Atlantis
Dispersed into an archipelago.
The Coral Cave,
Land of the soft and stony;
There lives the family
Of jelly-prickled corals
Who are all slimes and tickles,
Among their relatives,
The rose reefs,
Who are red as petals
But rough as thorns.
The Boulder Territory,
A colossal chamber castle
Filled with all the bathroom stones
To scrub your feet with,
But which upon being rushed in
By the cavalry of billows,
One would bruise themself
On the cliff floors
For fear of the enemy,
The barracuda;
Patroling the dark areas
Of the vicinity,
Lying in wait
For its next victim.
In the neighboring island
Just beyond the shoreline,
Is the Seaweed Seabed;
The base plantation
Of the seagrapes,
Natively Philippine Caviar,
Which are saltwater explosives
In the mouth
That come in bunches
Of crunchy, jelly green beads.
Last but not the least,
The Pebble Desert;
A torrid terrain
Of dunes and dunes of pebbles
Pink, peach, and pearl,
Cool in the eyes
As pastel *****
But hot in the feet
As burning coals.
Sometimes we create
The most beautiful things
To be mirrors of ourselves
Modeled from our brokenness
To cast back
A better image of us
In one piece
And be looked at
As something worth loving
If not something perfect,
And God must have been
Truly in smithereens
As to put together
A whole world of a looking glass
Reflecting His divine entirety
For us, His fallible caretakers
To see Him as someone
Worthy of our love,
Aside from perfect.
And I know that
He knows me too well
To know that
What I really mean to say
Is 'I love you'
When I would rather
Simplicity speak for beauty
And let majesty be mystic,
Than bother forcing
Some not-quite words
To fit His creation.
Sadly,
Even the starfish,
The child of the ocean
And the sky,
A blending of two worlds,
Yet still goes out on a limb
To be a part of a third one,
Can't stay too long
Where it doesn't belong,
And we all have to
Go back at some point
To the place
We just couldn't call home
Because we're always looking
For somewhere else.
But I have come to find
That home is not really where,
But who you're with.
So I shall never have to worry
For the Earth is three-fourths water
And the body is fifty percent of it;
The ocean and I
Will always share
The same whole.

Here is something
From someone
You'll never miss
Nor expect
Will ever miss you,
But still I wish
I could have had the chance
To be your friend,
But it's way too late already
For what can never be,
But still I wish
I could have met you long ago,
So that we would be older
And you won't be too young
To be this early,
But still I wish
I could have found out sooner,
But it was too sudden
And nobody saw it coming,
But still I wish
I could visit you now
But I'm far away,
Not only by miles
But from the list of people
You want to be there,
But still I wish
I could at least cry,
But who am I anyway
To mourn for you
When I am just a name
Who rings a bell
Without a sound,
But still I wish
I could just sing you a song
In my most sorrowful voice
Since it's all I could do
At times like this,
But what good
Would that do anyway,
When you won't hear it
Cause you're already gone
And I'm just another one
Of the many
Whom you must've thought
Never saw you there.
But I did,
All the time.
Since we were in junior high,
Until now.
And I have always known
You could be so much more,
And you would reach places
With that charming face
And that strength and grace
I will never forget,
But I just didn't think
That the first great leap
Would be to heaven.
But I know
That even until there
You will still shine out
From the rest,
And down on us,
And we could only look up
Every night
To see you smile.
But still I wish,
I could thank you
For letting me realize
How thankful I should be
For being still here
Even though we're frail
And life is harsh
And some of us don't make it,
But I'm sorry
You had to stop
While I continue,
But still I wish
I could do anything at all
So this would not have meant
Another lament.

Pull on one of the loose ends
Hanging with mystery
To unknot the two loops
Flaunting surprise
And untie the bow
That holds fast a box
Covered in paper-thin wrapper,
Fancy enough to be inviting,
Yet functional to be ripped up
So what's inside the carton
That has "fragile" all over it,
Sealed with adhesive tapes
That need careful unsticking
Or else the damaged goods,
Can at last be opened.
Now here you are,
A rare material,
Unprocessed as ever;
Unlabeled and unpriced.
Sold like a product in demand,
Given away like a free merchandise.
A special package,
A precious item
To be valued the most
For all its worth.
To every deserving owner,
You are a gift.

So the cold didn’t last beyond February, like how
You thought you could finish that poem in January.
Now you say you would for sure complete your list by April,
But you can’t even get yourself to make it through March.
And before you know it, June will ask you out for another date in school
And you’re still on vacation, playing games with May.
Then by August you’d be broken again,
And you’ll blame it all on July.
So you’ll laugh with your friends as you await October,
And hold on to excuses throughout September
Until you have December all to yourself once more,
To right the things you thought November could change.
But then it’s February waking you up in the morning again,
Knowing that you kept January up all night for
A new year’s resolution that is up to what only April can give
And March could never lend,
And you couldn’t buy on June
Because you invested it all on May,
Only to be double crossed by August,
And turned down by July when you ask for help.
So you place all your hopes on October
And refuse September’s offer
Because you trust December to be there for you
In case November leaves you on hold again.
Now it’s February calling for the last time, and you finally pick up.
You stopped dialing January for good
And you realize you don’t have to ring April too.
This time you know better, so you look forward to see March
And decide you’re no longer hiding from June
Because you plan to come to terms with May,
So by August you won’t look back anymore
And things will fit perfectly in July.
And when October comes, you won’t even notice it
Because you’d be so busy running through every day of September
That you will no longer remember how last December let you down
And how much November used to matter;
Because today you already know what February did not have to
Remind you and which you never actually needed January for.

There are seven days a week,
Seven continents,
And seven deadly sins.
Snow White had seven dwarfs,
The rainbow has seven colors,
And I have seven in all my debts.
Maybe it all got decided on December 7.

Seawater on summer
Is what my tears are
When they race down my cheeks;
Hot and salty.
And I knew they did not sidetrack
To evaporate on my lips
But I tasted that bitterness
Caught in my throat
Which my eyes have no power
To splash like the waves
That normally surf my face;
Only accumulate
And let them slam inside me
Repeatedly.
And I wish I did not have to
Watch that movie,
Watch that part of the movie,
Watch that movie's credits rolling,
Repeatedly,
Just to admit
That I cheated on this taste test
And my tears are not salty.
At all.

You do not water me daily,
You allow me to parch
And count the seasons I perennate
With only a drop of what I thought
Was especially for me.
You do not tend to me,
You let me need you needfully;
You burrow deep into my soil
And untangle my roots,
You knew exactly the right fertilizer
To get me to grow.
You do not take me in at night,
You leave me in a greenhouse
I shared with the rest of other plants
You couldn't pick from,
Shivering, waiting for another day
I happen to flush rosier petals
And get your attention again.
You do not choose me,
You do not own me,
You do not love me;
You are not the gardener,
No you are not.
You are just a confused collector,
Visiting every parterre,
Plucking all the best flowers,
Chancing for the greatest find
Without the intention of keeping it.
You are not the gardener,
No you are not.
You are just a collector,
A lonely little lad
Running out of other pastimes;
And I am just a hobby
You do not take to heart.
But I am not a flower,
No I just am not.
I am the vase
Holding the flower
You knew could use your sunshine,
So you let it hang right where
It is almost there.
But I am not a flower,
No I just am not.
I am the vase
Holding that flower;
Maybe a porcelain you can break
Into many brittle pieces,
But never a plant
You can watch dry and die and be dust,
No I just cannot be.
I am a vase,
Not a flower;
And you are not the gardener.
I do not belong in your collection.

I was late,
I couldn't wait to see you;
But the former, more believable
A reason why
I was running the rest of the way
To the house.
I almost cried
First when grandma hugged me,
Second when I thought about it,
Third when we crossed the highway
And you did not hold my hand
Not because there was now a traffic light posted there,
Nor because I now wear my hair red and my eyes lined;
But because all three reasons,
You would rather not believe
Before you even hear,
Than look at me again
And know who to believe.

How many more shots of Jack Daniel's
Will you pour over that glass
Half-full of Coke
And half-empty of enough
Until you get enough?
The sadness in your silence
Makes it hard to tell if you're paying attention
To the voices you hear
Or the thoughts you listen to,
And the more glasses you empty,
Objects you slam intentionally,
And songs you let speak for you,
The more you show the lonely twenty-something
Or more
Is better than the icy spirit I first met
Escaping his bottle
Back in that car ride I will now always remember,
For if it weren't for it,
You wouldn't be good as drunk now,
Sober enough to finally say out loud
What you've been screaming about quietly
In that seat you never sat on
In spite of the last few hours you stayed with us
And the only two or three times you excused yourself out,
And I hope somehow we really did do something
To make you feel better
Or better yet stop you
From feeling at all
For at least a little while,
But I'm pretty sure you only saw us
As a good excuse to finally
Take that bottle of Jack Daniel's
Out of your sight of misery
From that shelf where it was placed
To do you the most good.
So I'll leave you my cheeseburger,
In case you need a reminder
Of the moment you once had company
In that emptiness you call a condo unit,
That will last long enough
Until the next time we say goodbye,
And by then I just might try
To leave something other than
Cold food and disappointment
Upon my answer of “I don't like them”
To your question of whether or not
I know of Backstreet Boys,
And instead provide a better cheerer-upper,
Like a good song or advice or poem,
Than a bottle of Jack Daniel's.

Once again, I am not only alive;
But newborn-alive.
Antoine de-Saint Exupery tried to tell us
That besides having the solution to every riddle,
Snakes can also teach us
That we have always been the better creatures
For we shed our insides,
The only touchable things our souls produce;
Instead of our outsides,
And they come out of our only way in
To another soul,
And everytime they do,
We run after our breaths
Like the first time we learned
We actually need it.
We will really always meet ourselves here,
In this middle darkness where we first saw light
And made that womb-to-tomb pact of companionship
With what we came with to this world,
The same thing we'd leave with
Or leave because of,
And leave behind to cause a whole lot more
Shedding of insides
When we finally go the only way,
Which, all along,
Is back...

An animated drawing,
No matter how lifelike,
Can never know life;
Like how a model in a photograph
Can only be so lovely
But never loveable.

Shopping outfashioned hunting and gathering,
Processed beats fresh,
Groceries replaced fruit trees,
Malls superceded forests,
Churches outnumbered temples,
Countries dissolved to territories,
Places devolved to areas,
Paths broke down into highways,
Commodity converted to currency,
Laborers submit to machinery,
Masters engage in humbug,
Apprentices reduced to students,
Knowledge downgraded to education,
And education is deducted to a show of grades,
While schools are the stages,
And the corporate world is the bigger runway,
With work slumped to employment,
Wisdom demoted to profession,
Where in jobs are the only future,
Careers are the only success,
Clicking and pressing buttons are skills,
Computers are correspondent to brains,
Information refers to news reports,
Intelligence means up-to-dateness,
Browsing is preferable to reading,
Studying is in demand more than learning,
Viewing things flashed on screens yields awareness,
Transportation is to traveling,
As buying is to the three basic needs,
And needs embody worldly possessions,
Worldly possessions define happiness,
Happiness is due to selfishness,
Selfishness is traced to the lack of love,
The lack of love draws from the lack of faith,
Because faith stands for religion,
And religion stands for membership,
Where politicians are the gods,
Celebrities are the preachers,
And the preachers are the enemies,
While networking is equal to friendship,
And connection equates to communication,
Experiences require photos,
Memories necessitate uploading,
Souvenirs can be downloaded,
Smartphones are substitute to pets,
Gadgets are toys,
Holding controllers is playing,
Watching TV is exploring the great outdoors,
Internet is recreation,
And technology is a way of life;
While humans are scientists,
Nature is a guinea pig,
And the earth is a laboratory,
Where prices are misidentified for worth,
Processes are miscalculated as progress,
Impoverishment is confused with improvement,
And getting more is mistaken as getting better;
And then we wonder why
Homes have become houses,
Family members have become boarders,
Nations are separate species
Composed of tired and hungry citizens,
Children are monsters
Who are biochemically rascals,
Teenagers are zombies
Whose adventures lead to delinquency,
Adults are robots
Who just clang when touched,
And life is not so simple
As how it is said to be.

My window screens are funnels
For you to infiltrate
And surround me
Like midnight dew.
Float right before my face,
Embrace me like what real coldness
Does to the sides of my pillow,
And breathe on my eyes close.
Oh ghost of the night,
Help me sleep tight.

Sleep well, my darling.
Everything is all better now.
Good as new.
Good as before;
Before I came along
And took you with me
To this hard life
I thought we can get through.
But never mind that now,
I can manage from here.
After all, this is my mess.
I can clean it up
As *****-and-span
as I do your aquarium.
Come along now,
It's time to go inside
Your final jar-home
Where your groom-to-be awaits
To spend with you an everlasting paradise,
Apart from the tragedy in that tank.
Tell Turty I said hi, okay?
For the meantime,
I will keep this reality
With me
Where it can no longer
Let something die
Over and over again.
Goodbye,
Your real owner awaits you.
But please don't forget to
Visit your mother in her dreams
Sometime.

Sir James Matthew Barrie;
My childhood savior,
At last we meet.
I embarked on a journey
To seek out what you said
Would be an awfully big adventure
And gracious me, you were more than right!
This is a paradise.
Again, you saved my life.
Thanks for showing me the way out.

I will not
Go anywhere.
There is no
Destination.
Funny how
I have complete attendance
In everybody's
Funeral
When I won't even be
Present in my own.
I will turn
My light off now.

The books are wrong;
Samson is not his name,
But his last name.
Strength is his identity,
Though Jaime is what they call him.
He did not die lonely,
Nor will he ever do.
Regina Spektor got it right somehow,
As how people never do the first time;
A woman broke his heart
Whose name I cannot confirm to be Delilah,
She could have been anyone in his past.
But he married a woman named Michelle
And borne love by four beautiful children
With one which I know very well
And sometimes feel as if she were me
Or I were her.
But in his eyes I could not tell if I were her
Or she were me.
In fact, I could not see myself at all,
As if I am only, in those eyes,
A ceiling to keep from falling;
A mere test of strength,
Held up by pillars of sacrifice
And blocks of responsibility.
But I must be something else,
For there was something more
Than my nothingness in those eyes
Which keeps me from falling,
Besides those powerful hands
That steady the blocks
And secure arms
That lock the pillars;
It was his love regardless of who I am
That holds my blocks up
And embraces my pillars close;
His love which need me not contained in his eyes
For I am already contained in his heart.
I guess the writings on the wall
Failed to let us all know
That the great Samson's weakness
As well as source of strength,
Is not his hair
But his heart beneath that hard chest.
And so the legend goes,
Not with Samson's great strength,
But with his love as a husband
Which can cure a whole hospital
And as a father
Which can withstand all torture.
And his story will be told;
His love will be passed on
By his children to their children,
And they will live forever
In the name of his glory,
In the name of his triumph
Over the prophecy's false tragedy.
And not a soul will not know
Of how Jaime – the real Samson,
Was the strongest man of all.

I was contemplating
On a hot sunday late-morning
On things where I went wrong.
Should have's, shouldn't have's;
They seemed to be what went wrong
Until I got back to the present,
On the dining table
Where I was seated in front of,
When a lizard was now staring at me,
Perhaps disappointed with how
I did not feel him inching towards me
Or maybe wondering
Why I never notice
The things happening before me.
Now is this bird
Who just perched on the balustrade
And gave me a quick tip of the head
Then flew away,
Telling me to instead contemplate
On parts of me where I went wrong?

You rode an airplane horse
Like Joan of Arc and her hope
With Princess Julia and Prince Justin,
Flew away from our bleak archipelago,
Across this continent of the smooth-skinned
To meet the King, your love,
For a quest to raise again our royal family,
And brought rain to Dubai.
You have rained on Dubai;
Brought the ocean to their deserts,
Watered their artificial plants,
Glistened their rough highways,
Bathed the Arabs,
Moisturized their dry skin,
And taught them to dance in the puddles.
You have rained on Dubai,
And took with you my Philippine sun.
Now I sit here in my desk;
A withered bud in the Land of the Orient Pearl,
Staring at this snow globe you left
With glitter orbiting the Burj Al Arab,
Watching over you from this crystal ball,
Waiting for you to leave the Gulf States,
And bring the rain back here.