is the sadness
not sad enough
to make me feel
anymore?

I am writing. I am trying to write, rather. Because despite the number of books I carry on my back every day, I seem to feel the heaviness of the world more vividly, all the layers of sadness, all the in-betweens. I write because pain continues to follow the trail I try so hard to erase. My grief will never be enough to be noticed and there is no consolation after this. I try to write because there is no other way. I try to write because at the end of each day defeat seems to welcome me home and sleep has become an escape instead of a place to rest and waking up feels like an obligation rather than a gift. I am writing not because I am ungrateful but because no one listens except for the pulse I put in my pen. I try to write because I can never say it out loud. I don't know what this is but it has rendered me silent.

I write because emptiness shouldn't weigh this heavy.

i must have been colorblind when
i first saw love
when i thought it had brown eyes
and tan skin
when i thought it looked good
in polaroids around my bedroom wall

i must have been colorblind when
i saw love
when i saw his hand holding mine
palms warm, fingers intertwined

i must have been colorblind
when i saw love
taking photographs of me
in a bookstore
skimming through the pages
of a book he'll never read

i was blind
when i lost love
somewhere in the crowd
when i let love go
when love never looked back.

We stayed at the rooftop that night. Watching the cars come and go, the people crossing the road.
Silence filled in the gaps we never could and it was alright, we were alright.
We were quite a long way from home
and you were homesick because I could not provide you a home anymore. I thought we were still alright.
It's not that I didn't notice you were slipping away. I did, I did.
But I just thought we were almost perfect,
then I realized I was the one who loved more.

it was a late afternoon
when I opened
myself
naked and bare
to the heavens above
nobody listened
not a single deity
rescued me

the same day
that evening
when all the world
was silent and still
I prayed again
hoping that this time
someone would hear
the only voice
that was near

in between the night
and the daylight
there I would wake
in between its heartbeat
across the sky

mourning
for my own life
mourning for a death
that has not happened yet.

let a broken girl
pick me up
from among
these beautiful bunch

and carry me around
and call me beautiful

while my petals fall
on every path
her feet treads on

while I am wilting
in her hands.

death leaves
an awful aftertaste
that only surfaces
long after you've taken a sip

it will numb your senses
it will strip beauty off of things
it will blur the most beautiful photographs
it makes waterfalls out of your eyes

and in between
the night
and the daylight
it will wake you up
it will make you wonder
why it hurts so much

why you were given a taste
why you're still alive.

That morning, when I left for school, I kept on looking back as I walked away. There was this feeling inside of me, something tell me that I left something, that I had to back. But I didn't. I walked to the terminal and got on the jeepney.

I wasn't even halfway yet to school when I got a call. A trembling voice on the other end of the line told me she was gone. I knew who she meant but I had to ask again. I got the same answer.

I cried all the way to school. Everyone told me I should go back. I did. And I cried all the way home. As I got nearer, my heart felt heavier and there was a lump in my throat that I couldn't seem to swallow.

I came back at the wrong time.
I came back when it was too late.
I should have walked back home that morning. I should  have entered the house and kissed her goodbye instead of walking away.

I wish I didn't need to write about this.
Six months later and I still am.

Six months later and it still won't sink in, the pain just surfaces.
Six months of coming home to an empty bed in your room.
Six months of no goodbye kisses and no embraces. I wonder how I even made it this far.

Six months of feeling alone in this home.

it* has been coming back
every night
and I had to make sure
I was still alive

don't leave me alone
this blade
against my skin
feels very cold

don't leave me alone
the puddle of blood
scares me
when I look at the floor

don't leave me alone
or it will consume me
and what's left of my soul

don't leave me alone
I can hear the sirens
and my eyes
are starting to close.

my bones
weren't broken

and the heart
doesn't have bones, right?

but why..

why does
it hurt
*every night?

nakatingin siya
sa kalangitan
at biglang
nagtanong,
"kaya mo pa ba?
hanggang kailan
ka maghihintay?"
pinikit ko ang
aking mga mata
wala akong ibang
narinig kung hindi
and hampas
ng mga alon
at ang paghinga
naming dalawa

wala mang kasigurduhan
binuksan ko ang aking mga mata
at tumingin sa kanya
ako'y ngumiti
at sinabing,
"hanggang maubos
ang bawat araw
at bawat gabi."

Diba nandoon ka
noong sila'y humingi ng tulong
noong sila'y hinuli at sinaktan
ng walang kalaban-laban
noon sila'y tinrato na hayop
ng sarili nilang kababayan.

Diba narinig mo
ang iyak ng mga batang
dinuyan sa tunog ng bala
noong ang mga nanay nila
na dapat kakanta
ay hindi na makita.

Diba nakita ****
nanaig ang kapangyarihan
kaysa sa kanilang karapatan?

Nandoon ka
sa bawat iyak
sa bawat sigaw
pero hindi mo sila sinagip
mula sa kapangyarihang
puno ng galit.

Ngayon nama'y
kami ang naririto
mga bagong saksi
ng pagkatalo
mga sundalong
walang armas pero
pilit ipinaglalaban
ang katotohanan.

Kailanma'y hindi
magiging sapat
ang mga libro
para ikwento ang pait
para aming maramdaman
ang sakit.

Pero ngayong araw
mga mata'y luluha muli
ang mga sugat ay muling hahapdi.

Ngayong araw
kinalimutan ang kasaysayan
kaya't pasensya na mga anak
kung aming napabayaan
kung ibang pananaw na
ang inyong daratnan

O Pilipinas,
ikaw pa ba ang Perlas ng Silangan?

I think
I have not slept
since the day
I first saw you
thinking you'd disappear
the moment
I
shut
my eyes.