Missing words
softly surge
through her silence
again
like long
soothing fingers
of whispering
rain
that soak
their way in
through her bare
thirsty skin
until
not a dry moment
remains
.

Clouds overcast;
Light of sun
Seep out.
Atop this hill, us
Below a height
Of canopy-sky.

Thought dreamt.
It drank long
And deep
in sleep.

Sun folds
into a blanket
Of glaring eyes.
As if the stars seemed
To question me:

"Where have you been
In this long dream?"

Always, we have been here
Watching trees grow,
Letting summers pass,
As if waiting
For something.

The folded grass
Reminds us
Of familiarity.

Salt, grass, mud,
Water, earth, air.

The wind
whispers these things
With a steady hand,
Brushing the grasslands
With water. Gently
Leaving its fingerprints
In us.

The shallow pond;
The way it mirrors the sky
Kept us pondering.
Perhaps the sky meant for us
To be more than just lions.
I look into it sometimes to think
how I was unable to see
the stars that night
we drank from it.

Maybe, i'm just not thirsty.

Outside our hill,
the winds
from the White Mountains still blow,
Singing their last verses.
I am starting to forget
the thought of us
being more
than just mere lions.

For T. S.

(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal - 01/11/14)

There are always new places
For our feet, always
Another,
Wearing out the shoes,
The veins, and soles.
I learned to love the world
From your waist down.
There is no end for travel.

We travel and travel more.
The buses fill, the jeepneys,
And the planes. The trains fill,
Terribly fill. Boracay fills.
And what a tedious postcard
This is,

When the whole point
Of the matter is this: that
We are bound, headed, destined
To someplace else,
Boundless, vast
And everlasting--
A non-lifetime--

Which pretty much answers
Why love does not return.
I think that love could,
But must not return.
And I will carry you on,
You,
On my back,
Just to prove it.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

tell me what keeps you awake at 2 am
whether it’s the girl who took the knife of her absence and stabbed it into your sternum
or the loneliness that swallows your skin

play the one song which releases the floodgates in your eyes
and let me listen to it over and over again
until i find which line makes your heart drop to your stomach

describe the story of your body to me
tell me of the invisible scars too
and with each detail you describe
i will make a map
so i know which road bumps to avoid
or which holy sites to fall to my knees and kiss the ground of

remember that
i wear a mask brimming with self confidence and an armor of words that are both easy to tear for they were thin like tissue to begin with
i am sensitive
taking to hurt the way a sponge absorbs water

do not hide me behind closed doors or keep me entrapped in bed sheets
when you walk past me, do not pull your hood over your head and avert your gaze
i need you to look at my eyes as if they illuminated the entire world
and kiss my lips as if they are what allow you to breathe

open the door.
bring me flowers.
because the only boy who did either was my 5th grade boyfriend

be willing to meet my family and friends
for they were the ones who created the marble statue whom you marvel at today

take note of how my heart is a reflection of myself
how she is too kind and will kiss the same man who tore her in two
so please do not say words which will make her wings flutter
if you are not ready to be the nest she flies to

let me know that me, as myself, i am enough
that i do not need to be a chameleon
dipping myself in new colors each day to please you

remember the little things about me
like how my first phrase i uttered was shut up to a man in an elevator or the delight i take in handwritten letters and mix CDs, or the significance of my first tattoo
because everything about you is being etched into the walls of mind
so that i can never forget

trace your fingers with a loving tenderness over my scars from the times i transformed my body into a crucifix
pinning my hands and feet onto a cross out of habit
thinking love was a word synoymous with self sacrifice

you must learn my language
know what zips my lips into silence
know the difference between when i want to give up versus when i will actually do so
and be there to hold me when the seams start to unravel

if you want me to love you
know that many have tried and failed
that people like me are not meant to be soft
if you want me to love you
know that to me
love is not a word you spit out of your mouth and juggle in your hands
you need to promise that our love won’t be like an hourglass
for my body has been disfgured enough from the times my chest turned inside out from the pang of abadonment
if you want me to love you
reaffirm my body is a kindgom, my heart is the treasure, and that i am your queen
paint pictures for me in what you do and say
telling me i am worthy to be loved, worthy to be kept, and worthy to stay

but if you really want me to fall in love with you
tell me what you see right before you close your eyes at night to fall asleep
and if you tell me it’s me
i will fall unfathomably further for you than i already have

My afternoons have been spent listening to her
And her mind-numbing jazz, the trumpets
and the trombones, the bass guitar and the piano.
I'm almost tone deaf but, god, I could feel her soul
through her songs. She has caught me
like how liquor stared back at me
with her golden stare
As the ice begins to sweat.

After school she would teach me
How to handle her instruments:
The soprano, the alto and the tenor.
The former, we would practice often at her whim;
Her favorite sax which even with a few notes,
she'd ask me to play with her.

In her own words, "You have to imagine"
"Making love to your instrument."
"Imagine me", she said.
And for the first time I heard her play
Pink panther off key.

Please don't hurt me.
I've only just recovered,
from the very last time.
I may keep trying to forgive you,
but the memory won't go.
I still remember how you made me fear.
I don't want to feel that pain again.
It's that part of you I can't bare.
You seem to take my heart right out,
which brings all the pain.
But then you come right back,
and put it back again.
But then you don't just take it.
I've just got my heart back from you.
So what else can you do now?
You stab at my heart again.
Once is not enough.
You keep coming back for more.
You've stabbed me a thousand times,
but you're still at my door,
asking for one more.
But what if it's like last time?
Because I can't take another stab.
This one is the last.
The next time you come back,
I'm lying dead on the floor,
bleeding from my heart.
I couldn't live with you stabbing it anymore.