I am no good with words
staring at the ceiling
Finding the right words to
Describe the poem
that i've imagined
one hundred times
in my mind
Coffee in the yellow mug
that is later unfilled,
filled again
to fuel my nerves
Polaroid from the past
Scattered by the train
like a leaves
Too fast, i cannot grasp
Crossed out letters
Crumpled papers
Under my bed
Pendulum tirelessly
spinning
I am a newborn
A baby
Clueless in the world
A tabula rasa
A baby
Clueless in the world
But you,
you are filled with associations
Attached with threads
in any objects
that I laid my eyes on
The tip of your needle
follows me
wherever I go
Pinned me scornfully
on the shallowness
of my bed
Untill I bleed sentences of
how your eyes disappear
when you laugh
or touch your earlobe
when there's a storm
brewing in your mind
The pen is getting smaller
cold coffee
my back aches
paper after paper
The poem in my mind
that i've imagined
one hundred times
In the library,
museum in Manila,
in the grass field where
you pluck the string
of your guitar
while I sat there
and drew
every
form
of your being
One hundred times
in my mind
Remain hidden In
the shadow
Veiled from your gaze
Because I walk on the book
While you thrive on the ground
Would you read me?
I am no good with words