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JK Casilda Mar 2019
"To hell with all of you!"
  she rages
as she throws out flames
Scorching Heat
He broke her heart
they deserve it.

No she doesn't find pleasure in
seeing their skin burn
flesh shown
But there's no way
to return.

She's after the hearts of those impure
who's told a lie and make **** sure
       to burn them all
       collect the ashes
       bathe in dry sea of lies.

No more I love yous can stand the heat
of her burning heart that's blessed indeed
But if you live to tell the tale
    tell them
"There's a diamond in flames and you won't be able to get her."
Happy International Women's Day!
JK Casilda Dec 2018
One day she's forgotten.
JK Casilda Dec 2018
I brush my teeth and stare at the blood from my sensitive gums,
pretending it's from my wrist
Intentionally charge my phone with the wire across my neck pretending
it can choke me to death
Anything that would make me feel like I'm close to taking my life
Also stand on the edge of the twenty-fourth floor of some hotel room
So high but still feels like drowning
Or stay underwater until I can't breathe no more
So deep but still feels like falling

But no, I'm afraid to die
I'm afraid not to see the people that in my funeral will cry
They may be just three but I hold them so dearly
I'm afraid to let them know that their presence is not enough
To fill the void of darkness that's consuming me inside.
Because they are enough
but the darkness is too much.

So I'll just keep on practicing death
Until it will finally come and get me.
It's the anxiety that pulls us to the darkness. It's the people we love that gives us a little bit of the light they have for themselves.
JK Casilda Dec 2018
Your words became the rope that's tied on my neck
Your whispers became the wind that pushed me off the edge
Your stare became the blade that cut through my wrist
Your goodbye became the pills I last took
They didn't taste bitter
In fact they didn't taste any
and I let the night **** me
And if by chance you hear this
there's no need for you to worry
I might've died that night
but I learned to be reborn
the next morning
And the next morning after that.
JK Casilda Dec 2018
Under the same satellite that I was afraid to crash right at me
I recite what you said was your favorite of all my poems
Wide open
But you were holding my hand, dancing
in the moonlight that I've never appreciated before
'cause I was too afraid
by it's hidden, yet bright eyes following me,
naked with all of my secrets
But you were holding my hand
And I was
With you
Unafraid to die
This is a response to a poem entitled Satellite by Alfonso Manalastas, a spoken word artist in the Philippines. It was a poem about anxiety, and the way it embraced me felt like this.
JK Casilda Mar 2019
I know of the nights you were afraid of the moon.
You’ve told me how when you were a child you run from it because it was chasing you.
But you’ve grown to learn that being afraid of the moon is like being afraid of your own shadow.
I know of the nights that it still haunts you, though.
I know of the nights when you prefer to stay under a roof than to go outside and see the wide, night sky
Because you see, I know of the nights that you despised the moon for being too proud
Outshining the numerous stars that are giving all they got, even their life, just to catch our attention.
You said that one day she’ll come and get you.
That the tin roof above you would no longer be enough to hide you from her piercing eyes and one day she’ll finally come and get you.
That one day, she’ll outshine you too.

I remember that night when you told me you couldn’t answer my call because
You were too busy silencing the craters of the moon crashing in your room.
And I believed you.
I believed you for you always liked the darkness of your room. You always liked the clutter of your ***** laundry overflowing its basket, the crumpled papers of what you call “trash poetry”
mixing up with wrappers of chocolates and coffee powder and your ***** laundry and ---
You always liked to curl up in your tiny bed, not minding its untidiness
because you never had the strength to fix it this morning.
I always wanted to tell you that
I should be the one to say sorry for not being there for you.
I’m sorry that the only thing I could give you is a call.
I’m sorry I couldn’t even open your windows and tell you that the moon is already gone, and the sun is already shining bright and the world is waiting for you.
You, little son of the sun, should not stay in the dark.
I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out of the dark.
But I wish I could tell you that you were made to outshine the moon and everything else.
You were made to turn night to day.

I have too many wishes, too many words I wish I could tell you
Like how it is not your fault
It was never your fault and never going to be your fault
That we are but a speck of dust, a mere human that destiny is not something we can overpower
Well, we might move it a little if we struggle a bit harder
But some circumstances can just happen out of nowhere.
I wish I was more talkative so I could’ve silenced the whispers
I wish my voice was enough to silence the whispers
I could’ve screamed to the top of my lungs or even higher
Just to save you from falling too deep and drowning under your covers.

But we are nothing but a moon apart, never meant for each other right from the start
Yet with this time I got I hope you’d let me stay and fight
To become stronger, to become better, not only to save myself but to save you from this dark night
For you, my mighty knight, is worth saving too.
No, you are not merely worth saving but worth loving, worth keeping, worthy of everything that this night is hiding
And you deserve that.
So with this time I got I hope you’d keep me inside your heart so you will float
And I could dive under your covers to save you
Or I could climb to your roof to cover you
Keep the craters of the moon from hitting you.
And not let the moon overshadow you until you learn to put her brightness to shame.
It's been a while! Since I'm a sucker for the moon, I made another one with it but this time, it's the antagonist of someone's life. This was inspired by Satellite II; I wanted to make a longer version of it but I ended up making  a different one.
The title is new, when I performed this as spoken poetry it didn't have a title yet. It's a play word of the Japanese word for help (tasukete) and moon (tsuki) which is what the poem is mostly about.

I tried to pour my heart out into it, talking about trying to save someone, when that someone is yourself.
JK Casilda Dec 2018
Being away from home makes me able to do anything I want without my parents having a panic.
I mean they don’t know that every morning I have my cup of coffee despite being told I’m acidic.
Or that at least every week I go try different coffee shops and order an espresso with less milk.
Really? Am I a coffee addict?

I mean…

Who can say no to the aroma soothing your nostrils   and leave you
                                                                ­                 craving
There in your table sits your very own cup, waiting
to be kissed from its very seductive rim, parting
            your thrilled lips, burning
            your yearning tongue, providing
your soul the bittersweet taste of the coffee you love
And as you sip that blessed liquid
                           Like lightning it electrifies you over your taste buds
                                                                ­                              to your throat
             to your chest then back up switching on every nerve in your brain.
You bathe in that wonderful kick of caffeine.
And you just can’t help but close your eyes and enjoy this hot bath from a long cold rainy day.
Listening to the every chemical reaction
feeling that sublime sensation
now creeping into every part of your body
telling you
                     that you are no longer your own property.
Then you suddenly get reminded of the last time you had your coffee.                               The abnormal beating of your heart
the fireworks in your head
           the ringing in your ears
                       the whispers of voices from your back
thezjdflksjcxkdjfghdisquiet of the night and
            how it left you gasping for breath
   drowning in the sea of your tears of regret.
It’s frightening.
But being scared makes you hear your present heartbeat, slowly, rushing
like it’s 8 in the morning
You’re alive.
It’s beating. You survived.
You savor this forbidden sensation for as long as it lasts.
                                                          ­               But nothing lasts forever.
When it starts to wear off, of course,
               it all comes back to the tongue.
Here comes “The Finish”.
Funny how acidity
is the strong point of coffee
but a weak point of you.
Cold sweat runs through your back
and a sharp burning feeling starts in your stomach.
Your tongue                      touching the ceiling of your mouth
                  is now starting to burn an unpleasant, undesirable sharpness,
over-fermented bitterness.
The bittersweet becomes            just the bitter.
You open your mouth like puffing out cigarette smoke
breathe out               deeply and slowly
your tongue searching every corner of your mouth
trace the lining of your gums
for that elusive sweetness
that once filled you with     happiness.
In despair you’re left with nothing      but the bitter aftertaste.
Like a whistle of the kettle that tells you the water is boiling
The reminder that you had coffee.
For a moment you want to cry—why can’t you just cry—but if they tell you not to cry over spilled coffee then
         more reasons they’ll tell you not to cry from drinking coffee
Because who cries over coffee and why would you cry from drinking coffee?
You ask yourself
        left with two answers:
You’d cry because it’s bad,
           or you’d cry because you once had something so good.
See even the most natural task on Earth like drinking coffee gives difficult life choices, too.
But before you lose your mind thinking about
The aftertaste,
        your breath,
        your heart,
        the whistle,
        the bittersweet,
the bitter,
               the sweet,
  the aftertaste,    the bitter,
You feel the cup between your hands
            warm and welcoming.
A faint light from this darkness
has started to devour the blackness.
And you open your eyes.
You no longer hear the whistle of the kettle nor the rushed beat of your heart.
Even the bitter taste in your tongue felt like it’s been there right from the start
And you just no longer care of the aftertaste that takes ages to depart.
You look at your cup with your loving doe eyes.
You’re ready to take in another sip of your coffee
not minding the aftertaste                      of that same unrequited love.
This was originally performed as a spoken poetry, my first in that field.
JK Casilda Mar 2019
You are now but a precious watch I used to wear.

I'm still startled by that second I realize that
you are no longer around my wrist.
After almost a lifetime
of having you wrapped around,
listening to the echo of my heart,
I have worn you like you were a part of my body.
An identity,
a reminder,
my only fashion.
You were one thing I was most proud of wearing.
---feeling vulnerable
naked to the world,
like I am in a shower
Without you.

We might've been destined
as your beat and the pulse I have
are in perfect synchronicity.

In a thousand days of going out without you,
I have now gotten used to the fact
that I could go out to the world unshackled.

Every time I watch the time
I watch you
watch me
watching the tick like a time bomb
nothing last forever
and you remind me of that
in the most natural way to you
like breathing.

and now your seconds
wander to places beyond
the circle.
your hands no longer
come together
to hold mine.
time might never stop,
but for me it did.

Our time is up.

After a few years
there's a random sunny day that my wrist
feels light.
A kind of lightness that I wasn't used to.
You were the kind of weight that
I carry before that wasn't heavy.
You were the world while I was Atlas
but never did I complained.

Given the chance
I would've
I do
still want to carry you around.

— The End —