This one goes to the real poets.
To those who decide to carry the world on their own.
To those who carry hell in their head and a graveyard of lost love stories in their heart
To the brave ones who fight darkness with darkness.
Tho those who the only answer they seek from a god is if there's eternal life for their loved ones, because they know there's no space for them in that paradise.
To those who know that suffering is the most humane feeling there is.
To those who loved and hated the wrong person.
This goes to Lorca isolated, hiding in a closet in New York.
To Unamuno craving to believe in something impossible.
To Quiroga drinking the poison of his sorrow at a hospital.
To Becquer and Espino for dying so young.
To Neruda for cheating on himself so many times.
To Machados' lost spirit.
To Marquez and his melancholic ******.
To Poe's tormented soul and his raven.
To Shakespeare and his Juliet.
To Dante and his story of woe.
This goes for the only beings who can live with a hell inside of them, and still manage to write heavenly things for those in need to read.
This one's for us.

I never thought that we’ll end up to this
Memories I’d kept and now thrown to abyss
Nights we’ve shared together for me it was so special
How could you replace me and still remain happy at all

I tried to sweep it off from my heavy shoulders
And thought of walking alone through the forest and wonders
‘Cause the identical body that was once beside me
Is now enjoying the sea with somebody not me

I still believe that scars will remain in us
But things would be different from the way it was
If ever you notice me and what’s new
Don’t mind me, I am tired of accepting back a friend I once knew

Ang dami ko nang nagawang tula,
Pero masasabi ko na isa ito sa paborito kong nagawa,

Bumalik tayo sa oras,
Sa oras na nakalipas,
Habang ako'y naglalakbay,
Nakita ko ang mga panahon na ako'y sumablay,

Natawa nalang ako sa aking nakita,
Nadinig ko ang mga mapapait at matatamis na salita,
Nakita ko ang mga taong humulma sakin,
Nais ko sana silang tanungin.

Ngunit hindi sapat ang aking oras,
Sa oras na lahat ng larawan ay nagsimula ng kumupas,
Nakita kita na paparating,
Hindi ko napigilan na tumitig at mapatingin.

Oo itong mga matang ito napatitig sayo,
Sabay bulong sa hangin na sana maging tayo.

dating a poet is fun,
and you'll learn things about yourself,
that you never knew.
but when you leave her,
you'll be the one who's broken.

you see,
she'll break you down
into bits and pieces-

she'll carve rhymes
into your rib cage
and
she'll make your kisses
into pentameters.

your voice becomes her rhythm,
and each color in your eye
forms a stanza.

you become pieced together
and poorly stitched,
because she's taken out
the very best parts of you
and the very worst.

she's taken you,
and cut out her favorite parts,
and she'll promise to put you back together,
but the funny thing is,
she never learned to sew.

he’s interested in disasters,
the kind of catastrophes that the media has a field day with,
the kind of accidental atrocities that are awe-inspiring in their horrid glory,
the kind of things that have self destructed spectacularly – so much so that the remaining debris becomes a masterpiece on the ocean floor, a memorial for beautified trauma.

and I guess that’s why he’s interested in me.