Kaibigan,
Hindi ka ba nagsasawa?
Sa pagkapit sa isang relasyong
ikaw nalang ang may sandata?
At ang tanging kalaban
ay ang taong ipinaglalaban;
Ipinipilit manalo sa digmaan
na kung saan lahat ay talunan—
At ang pagkapanalo ay makakamit
sa pamamagitan lamang ng pagsuko.
Kaibigan,
Itigil mo na ang iyong kalbaryo.
Itaas mo na ang puting bandila,
Bitiwan mo na ang iyong sandata,
Dahil ang rason ng iyong paglaban
ay sinukuan ka na.

Hayaan mo akong gawin kang obra—
Ipipinta kita gamit ang mga kulay ng pagmamahal na sinayang niya.

Hayaan mo akong gawin kang obra—
Kung saan ang pangalan mo'y mamumuhay sa bawat tulang isusulat ko tungkol sa pagibig, sinta.

Hayaan mo akong gawin kang obra—
Iguguhit kita gamit ang mga kamay kong kailanma'y hindi nakalimot sa mga haplos mo, pangga.

Hayaan mo akong gawin kang obra—
Ipagdidikit natin ang mga pirasong sinira ng nakaraan.
Pangako, mahal, 'di ka na mawawasak muli kailanman.

Hayaan mo akong gawin kang obra -
Dahil mahal, hindi mo man nakikita, isa kang tunay na obra maestra.
Hayaan **** ito sa'yo ay aking ipadama,

Hayaan mo akong gawin kang obra.

Just a daisy on a field of roses,
A plain boring white sock over a colorful one;
Never was a second to none.

She was never steady—
always ready for the grand depart;
she lived for take-offs and landings—
she's the girl with a suitcase heart.

Boy, the word "i love you" has become so common in your mouth that it already grew molds of lies and uncertainties.

You play with feelings with your matchsticks in hand.
tell me, why do you keep on playing with fire—constantly burning another heart's desire?

Ashes after ashes of your burnt relationships,
you jump into another loveship with your matchsticks still in keep.
Aren't you wondering, is love really what you seek?

Cause if you are,
then no, it isn't.
My grandmother once told me,
you don't just build then burn bridges with no intent.

I grew up in a Muslim country
Where the culture is different;
Dress codes, cuisines, sceneries, and peaceful people,
Different from your local news' bombing news content.

I met different people at my old school, all of which are my friends;
Of different ethnicities, culture, and religion.
Despite our major differences, we treated each other as one;
We built a bond that is not made for oblivion.

I am lucky to grow up experiencing having a Muslim and a Christian for a friend,
I get invited to holidays like Christmas and Ramadan.
I get to see and feel the best of both worlds,
And respect for each religion is the key to living as one.

I wrote this to serve as an eye-opener
That the terrorists that you see on the news are not my Muslim brothers;
For when terror is claimed in Islam's name,
They disrespect the Islamic belief and teachings when they make that claim.

We need to live in a world where people thinks critically—
A world with no woman with a hijab is stared at disrespectfully;
A world where nobody uses Islam as a sign of terror;
A world with no discriminations, just peace and tranquility.

I hope we also learn cultural sensitivity,
For religion differences aren't something to joke about and be tagged with petty comedy.
Respect is what we need to have a peaceful community,
And if we really want to live in a world free from disquieting thoughts and emotions,
Let this all start with you and me.

A person who makes "I love you" and "I'm not going to leave you" mean the same thing.

You came with rainbows for hellos,
and left with hurricanes for goodbyes.

Somewhere along my journey
to the highs and the lows,
I lost the ability to fear
the scary and the unsure—
this is me, soldiering on.

She wanted to shout how badly she misses you—
From the mountains, to the oceans,
to the clear blue horizon;

But with shaking hands and a heavy heart, she chose to write it instead;
Just to get the mere thought of you out of her head—

*I miss you.

You're the kind of poem whose words are written in red lipstick on my bedroom mirrors:

it screams danger.

Do you remember the story of how I broke my ankle when I was 15? Of how badly hurt and scared I was? Of how vulnerable and weak I was?

When you left me,
I felt 15 again.

Our love is an example of a useless art -
An unfinished prose;
A withering rose;
All waiting for their ends.

she is a thousand rising suns shedding life to everyone around her;
he is a hundred raging seas breaking every ship he conquers;

Behind all these coffeeshop writings and library scribbles, the story of how our souls intertwined was the one I loved writing the most.