lone moon up in the sky
perfect and whole
nurturing and silently watching
with many faces to show
you have always glowed in your own right,
but it's quite amusing—
your light has never been
dazzling enough to outshine other stars
and you have never forgotten
to let the sun have its time.
you give so much of yourself
to let things run its course
(and perhaps there are never enough rivers
to let you see your own, bright reflection)
but don't you know that
in the dark of night
you shine to everyone else?

seventeen should be the age of learning and falling in love
but here we have a boy
whose life was taken
whose call for help was loud with all the might
that the wild heart of a 17 year old could ever have
tama na po!
may test pa po ako bukas!
and these calls ended
in gunshots
in fabrication
in ignorance
as if there had never been anybody like him who dreamt of a tomorrow.

and it is hard to silence anybody who's seventeen and just about to thrive
but here they pinned his wings
shot him dead and cold
never stopping to think that they were not the authors of his story
that they had not one right to end what could have been a beautiful story right there and then,
only a decade and seven.

seventeen should be the age of learning and falling in love
but not anymore;
it is the year he called out for his life
only to have it taken by the hands of the merciless
of those who do not know better—
all his wild dreams ending in silence.

together we watched sunsets
more than senseless television shows
in our minds we mapped escape routes
on the empty roads that wound on and on
the uniform houses with plain walls
made the city feel so far away
when that was where we wanted to be
all we ever knew were the same little stores
and lifeless gasoline stations
but with the lack of life around us
we were still storms brewing in our bedrooms
painting the grey town with the colors
of knowing we belonged in other places
and indulgence in undying dreams

i don't know the feeling of seeing the first snow fall
all i've ever known is rain and thunder

your heart is a room
with wide windows where the sunlight pours in
so perfectly it kisses your face,
the wind blows through the curtains
gently whispering of its constant love
through all the seasons,
it is warm and it is bright,
it is where one can run to in the night
when the stars make their way to shine
right on top of it
as you whisper your secrets;
its walls will listen, it understands, it will never judge.
your heart is a room
where one can snuggle in so perfectly
and wonder: "where has this place been all my life?"
it is a room that has welcomed
so many people—relentlessly and willingly,
it is in the way you love so limitlessly.

your heart is a room, a safe place
with walls built on love and grace,
and i am glad to have found it.

it doesn't matter
whether you're on the edge of seventeen filled to the brim with life,
or old and grey with eighty six years' worth of stories—
we have all been built by the same golden hands of time
and carved by the strength of memories.
a natural longing
for dreams and foresight
propel us to move forward
despite the storms of the heart or of life itself,
in all its ugly, glorious grandeur.

so take time to celebrate you:
your revolutions around the sun,
your tears,
all the pieces of your glass heart shattered on the floor,
your laughter, your words,
and all your golden days.
**you are,
and always will be.

i'm certain my heart is beating,
i can feel it leap in my chest
but i don't know what exactly for.
ask me what gets it racing,
what makes my stomach turn and my chest heave,
and i will not be able to tell you
a single answer.
but i can tell you a strange fact:
i have learned to fall in love
a million times a day.
my heart has grown bigger by tenfold
to take in pieces of the world
and all of its people,
for it cannot bear to spend a single second idle.
my heart is here—held out and admittedly quite vulnerable—
for anyone and anything to take because
i thrive on living to love,
and this is what keeps my heart beating.