16-word-story: you let my words crash onto your shore but you refuse to call me the ocean

what is so special about this night?
is it the ending year? or
the memories you take
as the year passed
have you changed?
have you achieved your goals?
or are you just like me
disappointed at myself
but so far and at least
we made it through another
and saying hello to the other

the question really is,
are we going to do better?
are we going to make it better?
are you going to make it better?

the walls you've built -
they are all falling
i can feel the crumbs and blocks
between
each kiss you called
accidents

sometimes it scares me
that I have been too strong
that no one ever sees that it rains
on me even the sun
is striking at the sky.

the fear grows as
the years pass and no one dares
to know the real side of me
to transcend all my flaws
and to accept me
like a lost child.

and I continue to weep
for all the time that I am alone,
in this fight called life.
And soon, I know I am near the end
where I lost,
and I am gone.

I lie awake not
thinking of you,
but remembering
us.

I condemn all these spiritualities
that claim to accept me
but I am not theirs
all these justified critics when
they will not shut their mouths
I condemn your faith
when I followed you
all I was and all I am became
close to whatever has been left on
your places
I condemn all your empty
disgusting and full of filthy tragic
words
they do not own me,
you do not own me.

I condemn all these stories
that you tell that it’s worth
all these sacrifices you talk about
are those who win
I condemn you all for telling me what
is not to do
for all my dings are the wrong things
for me to even think about
I condemn everything you have been painting my brain
you needed me not
and I do not
all I do is make your mistakes
for you to feel all high and
built

but I condemn you for condemning me
for stealing from me
from what I was
for wrecking what I thought was me
I cannot bring them back
but I swear to all your gods
that I will be more than what you told me I cannot be
all my words will be written in more than
what you have written
and you will see me
in every direction
for when you have condemned me
you did not own me
I owned you

my chair has four legs
as my heart had four parts
and you happen to engraved your name in each of it
so that your blood
is haunted on my blood
and flowing through my veins
my body fights, but your name
it's your name
and you've been here
like this is your home

but this chair
it is not me, and your name is nowhere near this chair
I tried to engrave your name here
so you'll own this
just how you did to me, to my heart to my life
but then, it tripped
stood on one leg
and the feeling was the worst
i expected the fall
but then
it gave me thousand little heart attacks
this chair is an infinite loop
of fighting and falling
but never crashing

like it was told to make me feel this way
sitting on a chair
on its one leg up
falling infinitely

Tell me when you are ready to run
and we will sprint the highways together
with our hands beside us and our past behind
we will try to change directions
but the wind always wins
it's not a choice, it's a wave we'll flow through
the current and even if it hurts
I will make sure I'd get the pain
and you'll just be drenched with the illusion
that this path is good, that this path doesn't hurt.
You will tell everyone that you didn't need me
and that I am pathetic and overly dramatic
but remember this
I waited for you
to be ready, and when you said your yes
it was both our decision
i thought we got this together
it ended up, and i was dumbstruck
this was a race
your hands designed, your mind twisted it all
told me we got this
together
and now I ended up as a loser
of a game
i helped you mold together

Good news: I got into a Literary Folio as a Staffer for Poetry section in my University. It is a great oppurtunity for my writing.

Bad news: I cannot update often since i would be submitting my works to the Folio.

Good news: There is a chance that I would be published :)

Bad news: I won't be able to post right away but if my works will not br approved i will post it here.

It all began with a ‘he’
he who said I was pretty
  when my face turns sideways and
  the right amount of sunlight casts shadows
  on the planes of my cheeks
he who kissed me in 6th grade
  in front of my best friend – whom he used to date,
  his lips were cool and moist
  moist – it didn’t feel anything.
he who requested love songs during our high school intramurals
  when all of my friends and all of his friends
  cheer us up like we were the sweetest thing they’ve seen.
he who danced with me the whole night of our junior prom,
  my shoes dangling behind him, my arms and his arms were sweating
  he whispers now, “You look beautiful.”
he who gave me wilting flowers on the 15th of February
  because I skipped school – too scared to face the truth
  that no one would do what he just did. He proved me wrong.
he who said “I love you” too late.
he who said “I love you” too early.
He who made me believe that fate, destiny, sparks, forever, and all that *******
  were real, written in His holy book. Should I still believe in you?
he who said would wait – the next month telling me he realized
  it wasn’t me he was waiting for.
he who told me to stay.
he who left. he who never went back.
and oh – he
he who was never here in the first place.

it all began with a “she”
she who danced in front of the class
  with all her sass, snaps, and we laugh.
she whose hair used to be straight
  swaying down her waist, flows smoothly when she walks,
  falls perfectly down her collarbones. Let’s not start with collarbones.
she whose eyelids flutter like butterfly wings
  making the ones inside my stomach dance like hummingbird’s wings
  her eyelashes are thick, outlining her brown eyes – her perfect brown eyes.
she who throws he head back when she laughs
  not knowing I drift and crash back to the sea
  like a wave thrown back by her chuckles and laughter
she who reads and reads tons of books
  when she could write about her day
  and that’ll still be the greatest stories I could read
she who held me close when she stumbles towards the bus station
  when she’s drunk
she who wanted nothing between us – worried it will not work.
but she made the raindrops of yesterday meaningful
  so it could wash off all the hurt from everything, from everyone.
she who changed me. – no.
she who made me face the mirrors I’ve been running away from
  all those lies I’ve been hiding alone
  all those pain, all those bad memories
she washed them all away, like a hurricane
   she dragged my whole town with her
she who made me forget.
she who makes me ache at times but it’s the kind of ache
  you’d gladly take – a suffering worth all the suffering
she who outshined all of – in the best possible way I could imagine
she who made the stars insignificant.

It doesn’t end with a ‘he’
It doesn’t end with a ‘she’
it all ends up with a simple ‘who’
that person who will always come through
for you

I learned that love sometimes doesn’t last that long
sometimes it doesn’t even start at all.
But I know one thing, you cannot fight it.
I don’t know where – maybe in his hands
or in her eyes. It will make you move like you
have no choice at all – like a puppet stuck
******* and down nylon strings
by the puppeteer
dictating your life
like you have no choice, at all.

She can’t write.
like the tip of her pen is
imprisoned  just inches on that
white sheet drenched with nothingness.

She can’t write.
as if she began to freeze
when she is under
the line where it cuts the globe into half.

She can’t write.
like the words were nowhere near her,
and they ran faster and farther from her.

She can’t write.
as if her words was playing with her
a game of hide-and-seek, and she was it.

And still, she can’t force the words out
like note stuck in a rusty abandoned piano keys.
Restless, she remains hidden in words she can’t find.

You are the candle a meter away from me.
  The little light you create was enough to burn
  my eyes, and I had to look away
  not for too long. I got addicted to your flame.

I refuse to elevate my eyes an inch from
  the yellow light in front of me.
  Over and over, I reckon and I reckon
  that your heat isn't burning me right, it was burning me from my insides.

You bend, you deform yourself, you break
  ever so gracefully, like dancing through the stagnant wind.
  And in that moment, your body is telling me
  a flame can die if the blow is too strong.

But you are the candle a meter away from me,
  and the space, the distance was too far
  even with your flame too yellow
  my lungs couldn't breathe enough air to make your flame flutter.

As I light this third one,
your face came up to my mind.

I suddenly wished that your love is like smoking.
When I desired to let in the smoke,
the addictive nicotine of your love
inside my pitiful tired airbags,
I could easily tell myself
to exhale the white
lung filtered ghost
out of my system,
out of my life.

But your love doesn't work that way.
Love is inking your name on my skin
deep through my bones (if it can).
Living in me, thousands of needle bites
In each second piercing through who i am
for the rest of my breathing years.
And through the pain, your name is complete.
Yet when you leave,

your name, your love,
will remain
in blank ink
on my young
cigarette-fumed
skin.

five flights of stairs
i don't mind

four unmet eyes
i don't mind

three minutes of silence
i don't mind

two silly questions
i don't mind

in any case
one wishing
one dreaming

that somewhere near
somewhere here

she could belong
counting on you

you are every thought i have
drunk ones, and even the ones i utter in my sleep
yet, there you are
unaware of my existence

Deep down I know this never works-

sometimes we need to to get a real good shot out into the void

before we gain control of what appears to have killed you a thousand times

we know that all these can hurt you and damage you permanently but

it doesn't stop you, you don’t stop you

and we begin to live like these stubborn creatures called humans

with a heart controlled by the mind or the other way around

we continue to feel even we feel bad things

we prefer that than nothing.

even you know you might not carry it, or handle it this time

you still hold on

to the one thing that made you feel alive once in your miserable life

deep down we both know i would be the one hurting

deep down we both know we would never work out

deep down we both know it was only i who felt in love

who fell in love

I am falling in love
not into him, nor with anyone else.

But with how he can hide
your meanings
in a couple of left-aligned words.

But with his thoughts, his ideas
written on paper
in his awful hand-writing.

But with the songs he made me listen to,
they didn’t hurt my ears,
something else was hurt.

But with how he say my name,
like it’s his.
(Why does he do that? How?)

And to all his art,
especially the written ones.
His words can open doors to worlds
I didn’t know existed.

But I am not in love. I may be
falling for him.

they tell me to unlove you,
but how, and when, and why?
for i know
love is love,
and love is not pain.

do i give up,
after all the stars I jumped over
and all the flowers
I cut the thorns off?

or do i stay
even the world says no
and my body says so?
When all my heart
and all my soul

still locked and chained
unto your soul?

*{j.j}

everything would be easier if we were both in love

Loving should be effortless
in a way that you need not to impress
to change or to bless

I feel like this when I'm with them,
I say what I say, in an instant
what comes into my mins, I say
or what has been buried deep
waiting for the right catharsis
of all
and it's effortless
I don't mind about my words
I don't filter my thoughts
They read me as the book I was printed
no less, always more
With them, no plans are needed
only the presence of each
peculiar perspective
that each of us contain

I don't feel that with you,
and even I do
I feel like it was
congregated,
never natural

now why is that?

This game we are
playing tires me out.
You decided to call it 'hide and seek';
we are the players - you and I, and all of them.
But I question this little game of ours,
everybody's hiding.
Nobody
is seeking.

Through the dark,
I let my eyes adjust.
I did my best
to stay out of sight.
Behind the curtains, below
the cabinets, and until now
hidden in these words.

We remain unseen.
We remain hidden.
No one wanted to be
found.

You twist my hands, and my mouth
kept still. Again and again.
Turning blue and purple, they are dying.
And I thought: Is this the way
holding hands feel?
Suffocating, and miserable,
I don't think this is right.

We stayed statuesque, out of sight
of crazed eyes, and my mouth kept still.
Vibrations stuck between the walls
of my throat. Under my mind, above my chest.
And your hands are still on my hands.
And now they're turning
into the early night.

This is how we die, you say.
Even nothing has been forged
into my memory. Your hands had killed mine.
Over and over, i cling to the possibilities.
And you let go when my hands are gray
walked back into your skin.
You are nothing but a murderer.

And this is how
I cannot go back to you. You are smart
I applaud you. That's the thing
anger is an impasse. As you are.
And now, i wonder
why I didn't think this before
**You were killing the very thing that i could hold you to keep you mine.

i was inspired to look
inside what forests are like
and took three pieces of bread
and followed your footsteps

how pretty were your prints
down the screeching floors of dead
and dried leaves crushed
in each step you take
and the way you leave
crumbs so you would not be lost

you kept singing that song
and soon, it's stuck
inside my mind
beside the cassette tape
labelled 'you'

but throughout our walk
you were startled
that someone like me
has been following you

you screamed and threw sticks and everything that catches your grip
you've noticed,
then I did-
every piece of bread you have thrown
were gone
as I followed you
the path was missing.

It was my feet, legs, my whole self
so intoxicated by my little adventure
of falling in love
erased the path where we are from
and the only way
to forget
is to forget

and even you are mad
and even you are hateful

**leave me under your nose
and keep me pinched
between your long fingers.
i don't care how
low, how pathetic
this body crumbles
into the path of your shadow -
just don't
let me
go.

i think I've seen heaven
dressed in partial colours
hiding behind your eyes
i felt it in your touch
sending shivers to my bones
giving me thoughts
i never knew i could fathom
and even I felt every kind of pain
it is you i see
what heaven would be and would feel like
new, fresh, and heavenly.

i think i've seen hell
my blood in my veins
through my heart
that beats only for you
but you don't care, you don't mind
that each pain i feel
burns in vain
but you don't care, you don't mind

*because as I've seen, as I've felt
heaven is nothing
and
hell is my everything

Hell, I would write a poem about you
and not talk about your eyes
the way they don't even see me now
or your mouth, the way
they don't seem to recognize my name
or your hair, which reminded me of summer
the way they flaunt and dance with the wind
back when you haven't cut it
or your hugs, one arm up my neck
the other holds my arm
or your scent that is beyond aesthetic
of an artwork placed behind your ears
or laugh, the way it makes me
think of the future,
or your name
which is always be
precious

I guess I failed, about not talking about them
all of them, all of you
I guess I am not yet tired
I guess want to be reminded
I guess I still can write about you
even if it's Sunday, and I've missed a thousand masses
I am not sacrilegious, you are

"when I fell in love with your long brown hair,
you decided to cut them off..."

But I didn't fell off
I stayed here
Hell, writing another for you
always

can’t stop thinking about your hands
and how badly I want them
intertwined with mine
but there’s more to that, them
that I’d like to feel
I want to touch them
feel the creases, its lines
follow every path that they’ll take me
and course through your skin
your bones, especially the tiny ones
that keeps them together
you keep me together
caress your fingernails
painted to match the colour of your skin
the top of your hand,
which beats into veins visible at touch
the narrow holes on your knuckles
and the spaces in between them
they are perfect
it feels perfect
you are perfect
and in every inch your fine fingers extend
they’re the only ones
who could touch me
and the only hands
that will forever be soft, careful, and loving
and no matter what cuts its skin
your hands, love
hold the life in me, and keeps my soul
caged in your soul
your hands will forever
hols me still
holding you

they say 'always be honest'
only to judge what's the truth.

with their eyes, eager to hear
the truth is nothing they fear
they'll make you comfortable
watch you, communicate with you

but when you open your mouth,
breathe out the ******* reality of your life

their eyes are on you
condemning your whole being

i consume the continuous days without nighttime
and greater shadows afflict mine. towards the edge
a body without mass they had no power
to gravitate towards the ground. In my throat
there's a soundless scream and an abyss of burials
no one attended. and in case the mindless tongues,
the senseless sensates, and the human brainiacs, cared
the sky would be my dance floor, and the atmosphere would still
drive me breathing it in. a mismatch of socks,
a counterclockwise swing, a cold cup of coffee,
a bullet sans its gun, and a gun with the imaginary trigger -
i am no good. i am no good.

i am like a seed

people plant me into their little pots
constructed little plots
under control under their hands

they will always try to make me bloom
into a flower, into a little plant
under control under their hands

they would think that I am just a little bonsai
put a wire there, and i'll bloom
exactly the way they want me to

but I am tired of that
under control under their hands

i don't want to be tended, waiting
for me to bloom into what they expect me to
I am my own, and I don't need them to that, anymore

my body will grow, and they will see
i am not their plant,
i am not theirs

i don't want to be tended
if only the hands were tender
even with love

but then, they drench me
with words
that i love, and fall for

i am tired, but still
am just a seed

i am no tree, i am powerless

so place me into your ***
control me under a plot

and i'd will always
always go towards the sun

my sun

it's that feeling of a thousand ants
roaming around your neck,
your feet, or anywhere.

it's that taste of a new thing,
of a new delicacy your head cannot see.

just the thought of wrapping your thoughts
around how people are able to look at it
shames me.

and i begin to release
whatever hatred you gave me

to all these uncomfortable layers
beneath me.

if it's not me then don't take me.

i have grown into a person,
unreliable, unhealthy, and selfless
throwing knives through each breath
but underneath the ***** skin i am in,
if it's not me, then don't take me.

my fingerprints are all over the news
one said i killed you, one said you killed me
there was no other way, but to wait
into the darkness
we both created.

i have confessed
with every count of blood cells inside my veins
there was no turning back
until you did
and you brought me -

i woke up, naked, in the middle of the night
in the middle of a deserted road,
it was empty, no cars, no grass, no walls, no us
just me, just you. i waited for you to say it
but you made me wait -

you said the words i needed to hear
you uttered every syllable the way i imagined
and right now,
how i wish i didn't, because
if you're not going to take me, then don't take me.

if its not me, don't play with me.
don't tell me you will, and then stop

like how would you feel
if this
will e-










nd right here?

if you're not going to take me wholly, then don't.

if its not me, then don't take me.

i don't even know what to feel
or if there is anything left to endure
my eyes fog up, an i can barely see
where my fingers are going,
it's a place i've known for a while
a silent suffering of endless tearing
and breaking and falling
my words ran from describing
the depth of the hollowness inside my chest

i feel so stupid to even feel this way,
but whenever i think that this is an illusion
that i imagined the throbbing inside my rib cage
because when i do,truth slaps my face and tells me
it is real, this is happening,

you
        are
              hurting.

You *like an insect-
you barely touched my skin
yet I felt your wings
flutter in time with each
of my
heartbeat.

I don't feel safe
inside anybody's arms
even mine, even my own
because I know that they'll let me
go when I'm hanging by their grip
and I know
I cannot trust myself
that I won't do the
*same

it is in your eyes
that I see glitter
that I see and feel laughter
coming inside from my soul
bursting out into the dry
desert of mine

it is in your lips
that I see fortitude
that I see and feel and touch
warmth
just lightly enough
that I do not burn

it is in your hands
that I see security
that I see and feel your pulse
when you touch me
in all the circumstances
I cave into

it is in your heart
that I see life
that I see and feel the evidence
that I’ll live and die for
for all the poetic reasons
in this insanely cruel world

it is in your soul
that I see love
that I see and feel alive
and for the first time
I do not want to vanish
to be with you, and no one else