I wish I could have kissed you
the moment I saw you
in real life for the first time;
something like
running into your arms
and letting the world
turn into static,
only focusing on you.
Only you.

But that would have been
too dramatic. Maybe
you'd get shy all of a sudden
or think I am too forward.
So I just held your hand—
warm like a heavy blanket
and evidently bigger
than mine. Enveloping my hand
in the most comfortable of ways,
like some missing puzzle piece
that was bound to be together
no matter what.

That would have appeased me
don't you think?

No. Not really.
I have nothing to say.
I still want to kiss you.

darling, how are you today?
i'm months into my first heartbreak
and i wonder if you're the same.
mayhaps our souls haven't crossed yet
and your eyes haven't experienced
the first touch of color
if we look at each other,
or how the red string of fate
grows shorter and shorter
as we wade into a thousand years
brought about by
our constant reincarnations.
i would wait a hundred lifetimes,
swim through a sea of heartbreaks
(like now),
go through a life where
you don't exist,
or you drive a knife to my chest,
if it means there exists such a thing—
where there is even just a single timeline
where i get to touch your lips with my fingers
and hold you in my arms as you sleep soundly,
as our hearts beat closer and closer.

pink like a soft bloom

do not come near me with those
perfect pairs

for i cannot stop thinking
how would it feel

to finally put an end to enduring, thinking,
how would yours feel
against mine

i apologize for these
reckless thoughts

i wonder how you would taste—

maybe a little like wine

or maybe the balm you put
religiously

i'm sorry, i apologize

—1:19AM

on some days water would fall down
in heavy buckets; ravaging the hungry earth
stricken— a wave of drought.
the tiny specks of life swimming along
the expanse of the universe would
scatter to have a taste of the heavens
and quench the need of being human.
some would build infrastructures
as great as  lunar craters
to catch every miniscule drop
that comes from the sky,
only to keep it in their possession,
never to see another ray of light.
those who have an abundance
seem to have a hard time giving—
hands formed into fists uncaring.
what can be gripped, cannot be taken away.
in this water, there will be power.

what do the others do then?

in a morbid sense of camaraderie,
those who have their hands open, cupped,
palms facing the heavens,
can funnel grace into the palms
of another.

maybe this is where I will believe,
despite the flashes of greed and envy,
the kingdom of a god
will always belong to the poor.

and I'd put the seas between us.
— you can't hurt me here.

(seven)
i stopped wearing shorts—
unable to stop feeling eyes raking my legs
up and down, up and down.
i didn't even know there was a word for that.

(ten)
i started wearing clothes
a size big for me.
they did not ask why
i get angry whenever they force me
to wear something that clings.

i hated puberty,
how things would grow and change,
and they would stare.

(eleven)
i tried wearing shorts again.
immediately i get the feeling of someone
trailing behind me.
i went home as quickly as possible.

(thirteen)
i wore baggy clothes during commute—
a blouse and jeans. it was a thirty minute ride.
it felt longer. especially since this man
sat next to me,

hounding me nonsense— anong pangalan mo?
i do not answer.

that night, i had my resolve—
i will never commute alone again.
people laughed at me. hinahatid ka kasi lagi.

no.

(fifteen)
i started giving prolonged glares,
staring into the eyes of the beast
whenever i hear a whisper as i pass by.
hello, saan ka pupunta?

so i stare them down. funny how
they back away
as i stop in my tracks asking with my eyes
"what now, imbecile?"

does it feel bad when people don't tolerate
the ******* coming out of your mouth?

(nineteen)
ano ba kasi ang suot niya? they ask.
everything feels white-hot, searing.
i refuse to hear anymore of that.

exit.

(twenty)
every time i go home on my own
i carry something
in my hands, a blade if you must.
the night sky begins to envelop the horizon.
the streetlights cast their sickly orange hue
on the pavement as i take one last look at the hospital.

i hope i make it home in time.

maaaring nasa kabilang dulo ka
ng isang napakahaba na kalsada,
at tuluyan kang nilalayo sa akin
pero maaasahan mo,

na kahit na may isang dagat pa
ng sanlibong mga mukha
na mayroong kanya-kanyang istorya
ang siyang naghihiwalay sa'tin.

babalik at babalik pa rin sa'yo.

babalik at babalik pa rin sa'yo.

—12:24AM, 313

i have always feared of saying i love you too much
as a way to decorate our silences—
when the laughter dies down,
when we scramble for things
to keep the momentum of our conversations.

but the truth is, the flow so easily from my mouth
like water on a quiet brook—
i love you.
i love you.

then i realize i have nothing to fear.
for every time i whisper, i will be met with your voice
ten times greater and convincing— i love you.

I am halfway through
processing your papers
ready to be stamped with
my seal— Forgiveness.

This heavy heart softens
like rain on paper,
ripe fruit within
crushing hands.

Yes, you can take whatever
you want from this drawer of a heart.
I am sorry you hurt me,
apologies for being mad.

here are your papers,
already stamped.
you can go without guilt.

signed, sealed, folded,

you are forgiven.

—1:33AM

i've never been one for surrendering to a higher being.
but if it only takes for the clasping of hands
and speaking into silence to finally, finally close the distance,

i lay down my sword
and kneel i shall.

i wonder how would
your hands feel against my own

would they be cold
or would they be the type to
radiate warmth

would they be soft like a candle—
wax, unmelted, smooth—
or strong and rough, dependable

would you squeeze mine
as an assurance of love
or

would you be the type
to caress their lover's face
as you stare deep into their soul

but for today,
i'd be fine with how things are now

but i still wonder

how would your hands feel
against my own.

—12:21AM, 313 2

and what of the moles
littered on your neck?

they are tiny stars;

fear not—
i am a cartographer
utilizing kisses.

i hope your days are filled
with the sunlight;
warmth radiating in your bones.

darling,
happiness looks good on you.
really.

by now my cup would have been filled
with the grace you sing to my name
and how you string sentences together;
letter by letter, thought by thought.

tell me, what does your mind sing
whenever we read the same page of poetry
or listen to the same songs over and over
that they seem to be a dull buzz

a static, a background noise
a façade for something,

                   (dare i say a tryst?)

or would fate call that too early?

but by now, i'd listen to you
speaking my name like a prayer.
maybe for once
i will believe in religion

as long as you're the one

                             preaching.

I've no plans to write tonight
but the sound of your voice lingers
at the back of my mind—

quiet, shy, baritone
like I have never imagined.

A humid day, the sky's tears fall
in little, thin drops
and there you were—

know that I try
to be as honest as possible, but

You didn't look perfect at all.
your eyes were tired, hair slightly tousled—
were you sleeping in class?

That thought makes me chuckle—
you looked like a child in confusion.

You didn't look perfect at all.
maybe it's because Helios wasn't
caressing your face.

For now, we make do with sunlight
peeking through clouds of gray.

Have I mentioned
you look good in blue?
Maybe I will soon.

Later when my heart is still
and I can admit you make my soul ache.

But for now, I wait and wait
and honestly, darling,
I wouldn't mind waiting—

for you.

—2:12AM, 3 13

no such thing as verbal when you just sit
next to me, shoulders burdened by the world
and that is my cue to be pliant as you sigh
and press yourself deeper into my being.

(your face buried in the crook of my neck
as i draw small circles on your arm,
funny how you look like a child
with a halo from the moonlight
kissing your crown)

and i apologize
i cannot make the stars and skies
be within your reach
or I, better than your early lovers.

but if you, so gently, lay your bones
where i could keep them until your soul
jumps right into you, ready to conquer once again,
then be your home I shall.

—2:06AM

perhaps this is the reason
every time you spare me a glance,
i see the entirety of the universe
in your eyes—
you are birthed from
the cosmos itself.

how does it feel
to gaze upon a mirror and
then declare that you are not disgusted
with what you see—
your flat chest that amplifies
your heartbeats— lub dub, lub dub.
your short stature ready to be encased
in arms that would be afraid to even think
of you walking away.
your crooked teeth that would be perfect
to bite the belly of the beast.
or your short hair that your past lovers
had disapproved of,
saying that you look better with your hair longer.
it is unbearable to not be
a conventional type of symmetry,
to have jagged edges
deemed to be no longer worth saving.
how does it feel to gaze upon a mirror
and finally decide that
you have a body worth embracing.
how does it feel to be so devoted,
so in love with your own temple
that you kiss it at every given opportunity?

—12:50AM

tiny stars—an abundance of melanin dusts the expanse of your caramel skin as if a deity had decided that you shall carry a part of the universe. maybe they did that in order to give humans an inkling of what it means to gaze upon something too vast, too beautiful.

how lucky am i to have the universe within an arm's breadth then—to have the whole cosmos pulsing, alive under my hand (lub dub, lub dub).

i wonder how many people have desired to discover miniscule details about you, only for me to count the stupid moles from the one behind your ear, to the two on your neck, to the ones forming a triangle on your arm.

the universe truly does wonders,

and i am not the one to complain.

one.
lie down on a bed,
stare at the galaxy above you
and revel in the blatant contrast:

the universe: vast unyielding.
your broken heart: infinitesimal.

two.
grab a pen forgotten
along with a blank sheet
and ever so cautiously

extricate your soul
from the sadness growing
inside your bones.

three.
this is how you heal:
realize that the universe is kind and loving,
beautiful and forgiving.

you are not the three am tears,
nor the half past twelve drunken hours.

you are not evil for the ways
you tried to extinguish your sadness.

—12:24AM