Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
kb Jun 2017
iniwan mo ako.
saka mo nalamang
mahal mo pala ako.

mahal mo ako.

saka mo napagtantuhang
kailangang iwan mo ako.


huwag **** bigyan ng hustisya

ang mga espasyo ngayon sa bawat pangungusap.
bawat salita ay dapat paghiwalayin

kahit alam nating ito’y may kahulugan
at ugnayan.

ikaw

ako

mahal
 kita

ano ang saysay ng salita

kung sa bibig o kamay
ng iba ito manggagaling?

bakit mas masakit 
ang kirot ng pusong

‘di dahil sa pagsisiayos ng mga salita
kundi sa ating pagkakaisang

naudlot sa pagtalima ng mga alituntuning
sinulat naman ng iba?


mamahalin kita*
*kahit ang palaugnayan ay magkakamali rin.
kung susunod ang ating mga puso

gusto mo bang mabigo?

‘di mababawasan sa murang salita

ang anumang nararamdaman.

idaan mo na lang sa kilos,

kung ayaw **** sumunod sa palaugnayan.
palaugnayan ang tagalog sa salitang "syntax."
kb May 2017
each step is a memory
of yesterday's conversations.

each breath--
a release of
yesterday's frustrations.

each quiver--
a burial of
yesterday's shame.

but each look from your weary eyes
smile that escapes from your mouth
time your soft hands touch mine

i look forward to today,
when my mistakes turn to miracles
that would lead me closer to you.
kb Mar 2017
i crave for your presence
amidst the scents that **** me.

you exhale a cloud of death
and i inhale

you.

the nicotine hits
i close my eyes
the idea of you
travels through my bloodstream.
i am intoxicated
by images of me
giving you those marks on your neck.
you moan in the pleasure of pain.

smiling inside
my eyes open
i exhale reality

you walk past me
like smoke;
i am ephemerally and eternally
in love.

i’d light another stick
if it meant you’ll be with me

because you’re a vice i cannot resist
the smoke i cannot keep.
written for a collection of poems in literature.
kb Mar 2017
you’re my new neighbor.

a new light
creeps across your torso,
slowly revealing itself with buttons
released from the embrace of the holes of your polo.
clothes become the clouds
opening up to reveal the earth
that is your skin—
white, mixed with flesh yellow,
the shadows highlight the tone
of your God-sculpted abdomen.
muscles rises and falls
like hills forming a valley
and the glass reflects my hands
and their yearning to feel
the rich nature.

your house, the tree of knowledge;
you, the apple.
i can’t wait to sink my teeth on your body,
tasting the fresh flesh of sin.

i am naked.
a realm of possibilities awaits.
a new door opens.
written for a collection of poems in literature class.
kb Mar 2017
I

they say you give flowers on a whim.

on a regular day, i would message you
pictures of flowers i’d want
to come from your own hands.

but you stand on a platform.
i sit still on a chair
waiting for your orders.

you are different from a regular tuesday.
your usual pink button downs,
they’re now just a pink shirt.
you look just like us.

stepping out from the door after i called you,
the sun suddenly shone brighter.
it illuminated your distressed jeans,
glaring glasses,
flawed face,
awkward posture.

you do not greet me with a pick-up line;
but i can’t help but smile.

oh, how easy is it to get you to come?
how easy can i have you?

II*

secrets can be made in public.

we’d talk for a few more minutes,
sitting down on the steps.
we refuse to call it school.
we are immoral.

until you complain about the heat
creeping up your skin
the brighter sun feeling you. you hate it.

i’d take the blame if it was for the sun
only to make you stay.

your bag now hangs on your right shoulder.
you look back at me to see if i follow.

i grab your wrist,
breaking every rule there is.
you continue to walk,
not minding what’s pulling you back.

when we get to the emergency stairwell,
your right hand grasps the handrail,
and my hands are still on your left wrist.
i pull harder now.

stay.
you put more force to walking up.
my hands slip from your wrist to your hand.
i am taken aback, but
i hold it,
tighter.
it’s not supposed to be like this.

but if you give flowers like this,
it is what it is.
written for a confessional collection of poems for our literature classes.
kb Mar 2017
let me run my fingers
on those beads of sweat on your face
make them mine
and lighten those burdens you face

let me fix your hair
you’ve gone a hard day’s work
thinking of nietzsche and heidegger
and rest your head on my shoulder

let me wash your body
run the warm water on your skin
and if the timing’s right
i’ll leave a mark on your neck

i have come a long way to touch you
and longer to love.

destiny may be wrong to make you love another,
but i’ll be here.

*i’ll be here.
kb Feb 2017
you presented with your pink and white checkered shirt
tucked in your worn out, distressed pants
secured by a fake leather belt.
one of the shoelaces on your sneakers was untied.

with great confidence,
your hands pointed at a white tarp
and your mouth spoke of failed prowess in something you've never learned.

i chose to love you that day.

your eyes burned with passion,
wanting to make sure each and everyone was on the same page
but no minds are ever the same
no hearts want to play.

and even with their furrowed brows,
you heeded to me
seated at the far back of the room.
i'd give you assurance,
but the cold in the room set my mood to 25 degrees.
i wish i understood what you said.

so when your time is up,
i find myself in front of you
electrically begging to close the gap between us.

instead,
with a tap on the shoulder,
a stroke on the cheek,
i laugh at your face
adding warmth to your uncertainty.
Next page