He is all encompassing.
His fire propelling sustainablity
In a place that's void of oxygen.

A foreign body against domestic needs.

How can I appreciate his presence in my life,
but fear him all the same?

Maybe it is just me, but
it feels as if I let myself cook in his heat.

As if I make myself absorb his rays with no protection.

Que lástima.

The things I have to do to not go up in smoke quema, to not be charred, quema, to not turn into a crisp, ¿Que más?


His understanding is beyond my reach.
Miles and miles over my head,
over to the beyond where I cannot breathe.

Yet he still manages to reach me
(always had and forever will)

I want to face this aspect of my reality,
but no matter how hard I try to make eye contact,
I must look away...

My father casts his burning gaze upon me again,
expecting answers to questions he has not
even asked me yet.

It is physically taxing to even swallow, much less to move around in the environment he created.

Every step I take around him sizzles as flesh makes contact with pavement.

What must I do to win back your favor, Inti?

What part of myself must I sacrifice to appease you?

To avoid being set aflame,
I do what comes second nature to me now.

My eyes close in search of shade, to preserve the reservoir that my father has yet to dry up.  



And all I see is orange.

my boy's got me tongue tied in two different languages
he's calling me baby on mondays and sinta 'til sundays
he's got me looking for him in between eskinitas
and cathedrals from quezon avenue to intramuros
all i see are his eyes
and 7,107 islands in the palms of his hands
and i never knew love could be so hard
when your words ran faster than your heart
makata is what they call you
a master of poetry and performance
you called me your greatest work
and you are a master of fiction
manileño is what you are
my boy's got manila's grime and glory
pulsing through his makata veins
he's got makati's lights burning through his irises
he's got the danger of manila beating in his chest
he's got the cries of san juan lodged in his throat
he's got the rhythm of the city in every step
my boy's still a boy
hijo is what you think you aren't
he's got three stars on his back
and he thinks he's the sun
he thinks he can change the world
himagsikan is what he wants
a revolution beginning with him
but tell me makata, manileño, hijo,
my boy
how are you going to save me?
how are you going to love this country?
my boy's tongue tied in two different faiths
my boy forgot to save himself

Feeling reminiscent for something I have not experienced before.

I am longing for something that I could not possibly recollect -

Out of my reach / too terribly close for comfort.

It's like a hurt without all of the pain.

My heart's feelin heavy for a burden that's not mine to carry. Kinda scary how sympathy seeps straight through me that way.

I don't understand it: How I grieve for others though their suffering is foreign to me.

Why does their anguish feel more at home than my own? Does the intensity vary? Oh, rarely, but not unfamiliar.

It's a curse to be wistful of an unknown - an invisible twist of a knife and the stab's dulled.

I am juxtaposed I suppose - when you feel so much, everyone's aches start to run similar.

You breathed into me
A new air
In which you gave my lungs
A reason to expand.

I know that
some things aren't meant to be
questioned
And yet... What happened?

Who knew that
There is more to living
Than existing;
Than to breathe the same air
In which we took part polluting.

You, who gave air, who had life
To give to those you did not know.
You're the Robin Hood of
Second chances. Maybe forgiveness.

All I have is my humility.
Let me worship you.
"Oh, thank you, my Goddess.."
I have not prayed since
I was a child, but

I will learn all over again
If I have to.

Give me time to adjust,
to find the prayers on my tongue,
to uproot my questions and behead
my curious nature.

For now, I must prostrate myself,
and give my all to you,
the answers will come in time,
they always do.

If broken men were like broken glass
then he'd be the jagged edges of a
smashed beer bottle - belligerent,
defensive, and prone to fighting
     because of the cheap drink flooding his veins in hopes of forgetting every and anything come the next morning.

If broken men were like broken glass
then he'd be the crack in his last bowl
as it gets bigger unable to contain
himself or his problems -
     unable to keep everything in one place, as it spills and pours into other areas of his life.
    
If broken men were like broken glass
then he'd be the various mirrors
around his house that he punched in,
7 years of bad luck for each -
     the reflection taunting and crooked everytime he so much as glances at one out of habit.

If broken men were like broken glass,
then he'd be a light bulb that burst
from its own luminescence - that
was too much to hold in its surroundings
     that's deemed useless since it can't perform its primary function.

If broken men were like broken glass,
then he'd be the splintered fragments of photo frames - the shards embedding
into the pads of his fingertips
     as he tries in vain to piece it back together again, to make it whole again, to make it picture perfect again.

If broken men were like broken glass,
then how does one handle a heart?
Is this why so many are callous to
the destruction they cause?
      Indifferent to the wreckage that follows them wherever they go?

Or are they afraid of themselves,
afraid of being naturally sensitive and
vulnerable, afraid of reincarnating into
the pieces of glass that they break?

Maybe it is both or neither, even, but
the destructive behavior of men are not
isolated incidents ...
It is phenomena that spans across the globe.

If the concept of Man exists outside of this world,
would they exhibit the same fragility too?

I.
God, she looked beautiful.
Her hair hung in lose strands
around her face that ended
past her  chest.
She put on modest, yet accentuating,
makeup that could make anyone
draw their eyes to her defined features.
She radiated so much mirth and
glee, that I was able to
recognize it as soon as she sent
the pictures to me.
Maybe it was because she
looked so joyful, or
because she took the photos with
a bird on her shoulder,
but I wanted to tell her then.
I wanted to pour my heart out,
to the flowing stream that is her
soul and say that I was
in love with her.
"It's not the right time"
I told myself. And maybe it
was not, but I still should have
said it, even then...when things
still felt new.

II.
It was New Year's Eve,
and I was cold, impatient, but excited
to see The Peach Drop,
to reel in 2015 second by second.
If she was there, next to me,
I would have made sure,
the minute the clock struck 12,
that her lips would be mine and
that they would be bright red
and puffy, adorably so...
It did not have to be New
Year's for me to want to
kiss her like that, but since it was,
the kiss would have had
a special meaning attached to
it... soon enough it was midnight, the
Peach dropped, and I broke up
with her the next day.
What can say, honestly?
My emotions took a hold of me?
That in one night I decided I was
wasting her time?
Whatever it was, it was stupid.
so ******* stupid...
So, I did the deed, over the phone,
and while I was crying into the
receiver, I wanted to tell her that
she should just ignore what I've
said or to tell me to get myself
together. I wanted to tell her,
even while I was breaking up
with her, that I was in love
with her. Predictably, I did not.

III.
After pushing her away for
months, trying to forget her, and
deleting anything that
reminded me of her, a friend encouraged me
to talk to her again...
Heaven must have been in a
panic, because they were
missing one of their finest
angels right here on Earth.
She spoke with compassion and
sincerity, and she was even
worried about me...I didn't
deserve such concern from her.
Before I knew it, I was crying,
and told her that too because
I was selfish, and I wanted more
of her kindness and sympathy.
Everything that resulted afterwards
was nothing short of cliché, but
to us, it was unique as she
rekindled what I tried so hard
to put out.
I told her that I would
earn her trust back, that I would
make myself worthy and fit to be
called her partner, and that I
would make her proud to be with
me. She said she already was, but
she accepted my declarations
nonetheless...
There was a moment
between all the talking
that I could have finally
told her that she had my heart,
but it was too early, I did not
want her to think that I did not care
about the words I say.
Things at this stage
were so fragile for us, so I bit my
tongue once more.

IV.
I was lying on my bed,
still stubbornly awake
because I ruined my
sleeping schedule, and because
it was the principle - I refused
the call of slumber until I could repair
my internal clock.
But,
She sent me a text at 10 am
and when I read it, I cried.
Really, was she even real?
Was I really dating someone
so kind and pure?
How could  she even write
such a heartfelt text
that shook me to my core?
"She cares about me..."
kept repeating itself in my head,
and I knew she did before she sent
the message, but I especially felt
her warmth right then.
I had to stop myself from replying
back so fast because I knew that
she sent the message with the
intention of me waking up to it.
Of course, I could barely manage to
control myself, but somehow,
I did. When I felt that sufficient
time had passed, I attacked my
phone trying to come up
with the perfect reply to her
perfect-intended-wake-up text.
After taking too long to string
together the proper digital
poetry to my liking, I decided
to just write how I felt and
not edit anything out.
I tried to convey how much I loved her
without actually saying the words.
Once she read my message, she called me
and we had... one hell of an interesting,
albeit kinda awkward conversation.
I'd like to think that she understood
what I wrote, that she read
between the lines, but I
am unsure to this day.

V.
Sometimes, I wished that
I did not have a mouth to speak
with. I tend to either
say things that I don't mean,
or reveal some truths
that should have remained hidden...
My mouth and brain are disconnected
most times, and who would have
known that my constant babbling
would actually be worth paying
an iota of attention to?
I was talking to her over the phone
and she was gently guiding me
through a game I was playing.
At first, I could not get the hang of it
but a few soft spoken and accented tips later,
I became an instant expert.
My excitement took ahold of my mouth
so I shouted,
"Oh my god, thanks so much,
I love you!"
Everything was silent for half
a second before my mind caught up
to my traitorous tongue.
I started back-pedaling hurriedly saying
things like "I'm so sorry",
"God, I'm so stupid", and "I didn't
mean - what I meant was..." and
much more pathetic excuses.
But she, she must have
been godsend because she did not make
fun of me, or made me repeat my
accidental proclamation of love.
All she did was giggle against the receiver
and calmed my nerves down until
I stopped stuttering out incomprehensible phrases.
...All this time,
I told myself to wait for the
perfect moment to tell her how
enamored I was, and then it only
took a stupid game for me to expose myself.
Despite that, however,
I don't know what she took
away from our conversation that day.
Did she read into anything?
If she did, did she read into me
saying that I love her, or how quickly
I tried to take back what I said?
And if she read into the latter...
then what? God, I was so head
over heels for her.

~~~

She broke up with me four
months ago. Her reasons made sense,
she always made sense, but I cried
anyways. I knew it would come down
to her breaking up with me, I was
always waiting for the other
shoe to drop. But ****, I really did
disappoint all parties included.
I couldn't be the partner she needed,
and I wasn't able to get over
my cowardice to tell her how
much I needed her, how I wanted
her to stay, or that I really wanted
a future with her by myside,
It was always about how I felt...
Me, me, me!
Not once, did I risk being rejected
by her, not once did I take the chance,
not once did I unashamedly told her
that I loved her with all of who
I was, and maybe that was the straw
that broke the camel's back.
I spent half a year waiting for
that hallmark moment to
come where I could just tell
her and everything would
be flawless... But I guess, while
I was biding my time, she
probably felt that I was
wasting hers.

Let love lavish your skin
And glide effortlessly off your tongue
As if it was a prayer.
   So desperate to mean it,
Are you as devout in worship
  As you are to breathe it into existence?

Let your forehead kisses be felt
  Even though you don't feel like you deserve them.
   I would kiss away every deprecating thought
Just give me time, please don't lose patience.

You say this love is too much at once
Too overwhelming
My tenderness is too unrecognizable
But you understand primal lust
The heat coiling at the pit of your stomach
The need to be taken rough
To have hips rolling over another
And lips leaving bruises onto skin.

You want me to make you gasp for air
But not have your breath taken away.

Our needs are different.
It doesn't make us less whole,
How I want you more,
   How you lust me so...