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Feb 2016 · 723
Secret Garden
If my heart’s a garden,
Dear, I do not want to plant seeds of love only to find out I’ve grown weeds instead of flowers.
My love, I refuse to shed my tears to water temporary beings---
I refuse to let my toil produce bitterness.

Stranger, if you have no intention to stay,
I humbly plead to you, please, please go away
Do not settle your roots on my plowed soil;
Such ground is being prepared for a season of joy

The tempest has passed, along with it the past has been washed
Away, far, far away to a land I’ll never have to know once again
My love, the clouds have cleared and the sky is a beautiful shade of happy blue
Dear, I beg of you.
Dust off the grays before entering this sacred place.

And, if, you see what you seek within me.
I ask you to please be calm,
when it seems as if I’m destroying beautiful things
that I’ve planted along the years.
My love, remember all this started from nothing.
And from nothing, from scratch I shall grow once again---
for even roses and lilies only live for a season

And, if, you choose to love me;
I ask you to hold my hand and nothing more
On my own, I will break my soil to make room for your
long kept dreams and when I’m all done,
I would embrace you, and sing you to sleep.
My love, I invite you to rest underneath this tree
This tree of life whose fruits I’ve reserved for you and you only
Look at how it stands tall and mighty; bearing on its trunks the scars of many
Love, I would not lie to you--- I’ve invited others to lay with me here too.
In naiviety and foolish thinking, I’ve trusted them with my secrets.
Only to find out they’ve turned it into axes.

My dear, look at how I nursed it back to health.
In hopes that one day I would share its sweet fruits along with you.

And, if, finally you choose to stay.
I pray that you would have the courage to choose me each and everyday
Not only when things are colorful and beautiful,
Not only when my garden is full of laughter
But even when thorns and bushes ***** your skin
and everything hurts like hell
Please, my love, do not abandon me once again.

For my whole heart is yours and yours for the taking.
Oct 2015 · 670
I wish I could say
“I love you” as easily as other girls do.
But I stutter and bite my tongue instead.
I wish I could say “I’m your princess”.
But I know I’m not.
You see other fathers have promised that they’ve got their daughter’s back; you said to kick-****.
I wish I could say you’re my protector, but you’re more than that--- you’re my commander.
Other girls had their father’s hands all throughout their “firsts”
First bicycle ride—you sat me down the chair and pushed it down the hill.
(Thank God I didn’t die.)
I wish I could easily talk with you and laugh with you like other girls can with their fathers
But I know I can’t, because somewhere along the way---we’ve misunderstood.
You had no father, and I can’t seem to find mine.
I’m sorry for that one drunken night
When I asked you if you loved my mother--- if you loved me.
When I whispered a daughter’s greatest insult: I wish to never marry a man like you.
You see, I didn’t understand how a father’s love can be:
So true and so pure.
Ever gracious and ever merciful.
I’m sorry for comparing and blaming you for what you’re not.
Always looking for something else.
But daddy, you’ve taught me a lot.
How fear and love can truly mix.
How tough love actually exists.
You’ve always claimed to be imperfect, but honestly, you’re the best for me.
not the most poetic poem but found it hidden in my "thoughts and random musings folders" HAHA thought I'd post it here bc why not?
Jul 2015 · 666
The Dead's Undeadness
They walk as if
As if they were alive
But not really, not quite—
Sure if they are
Or if they were
They stay afloat here and there
In the sea of endless seams
Bowels, underneath
Beware! Beware!
They play the siren’s wail
Of beauty and what-not
Of fragmented memories
That haunts and chants
Laughter; anger
Weep as weeping would be.
It doesn’t matter to me.  

Every bone looks the same in the cemetery
Jun 2015 · 3.6k
Salamin
Bawat isa sa aking mga minamahal ay nagsilbing simbolo
Mga mata nilang palaging nakatingin
Sa kaluluwa kong nakaukit sa isang bituwin
Naninirahan sa malayong kalawakan, na hindi-hindi kayang abutin.
Paisa-isa silang lumalapit sa napakainit na mundong aking ginagalawan
Sumasayaw, nang-aakit.
Kumakanta, sumasabit
Sa mga libo-libong batong umiikot sa aking kalawakan.
May isang minahal ko dahil sa dula
May isa namang minahal ko dahil sa libro.
Isa namang minahal ko…dahil ipinakita niya ang totoo.
Jun 2015 · 789
Ghouls
Dressed in black shadows
You may sense him but not see him;
As death, he’s more commonly known.
With eyes once so deep
A fool will certain fall
For his false prophesies and pretentious thoughts
He fancied himself once as a writer,
And as a painter—an artist himself he dared call
A self-made, self-proclaimed man… well, before.
The Wordsmith
He looked exactly like the type. A boy who would grow up to be a man married to a woman who would raise his beautiful children, three or five of them, would soon find himself facing a mid-life crisis. Bored and lost, he goes out to find himself---in the arms of another much younger, more beautiful woman. Finally finding what he has always been missing, he divorces his wife, blinded by the intense emotion he feels for the younger one.

He forgets--- they all forget that the youth are restless.
And he would soon find himself alone.

Watch out for the wordsmith. He comes in a distinct form. Hair unwashed for a day or two, beard long and over-grown; normally hunched with a hand underneath his chin, eyes luxuriously grazing through the pages of his book. In his bag a journal or a sketchpad, or maybe even both may always be found.

He is loyal to none but one: loneliness.

Beware of the wordsmith, his words will echo through the bowels of your mind after he has been long gone.

2. The Good-doer
He is perfect; the sort of fella that makes up every parent’s wet-dream. He would have graduated high school with honors, went home before his curfew, received a college-scholarship, and attends religious activities zealously.
You would see him for the first time in a congregation or talk of some sort, engaged in a deep conversation with a friend or two.
They might’ve been arguing about probabilities and theories; existential questions and what-not. You’d give him a second glance… or a third. You’d notice the book he holds and chat animatedly about it.
He’ll be amused, or in awe.
You won’t be quite sure which.
He’s the type who has never met a pretty girl who can hold intelligent conversation about books.

Raised well, he treats women politely and correctly, through and through a gentleman. But he secretly demeans them.

Stay away from this sort.

He’s bound to marry a trophy: a lady of the same background, who knows nothing but to raise children.
Five years down the road, you would see his picture-perfect family. They all happily walk out the doors of the church.

3. The Player
No. He is not a Casanova, not a smooth talker, not the Romeo. He is the man who never grew up. He is the one who is plagued with the Peter-pan syndrome, in constant need of stories and games. He will claim to need you—believe him. He does. Every baby needs its care-taker.
You would want to be needed the way he needs you. You would want to worry and fuss after him but you will tire, the way all mothers do.
Soon, instead of being thankful, he will grow weary of you. He will isolate himself in the bedroom. Playing endlessly the games you have gifted him; emerging from his cave from time to time—only when he’s ***** or hungry—never when you need him.

Years would pass him by.

He’ll realize how sad and lonely he has become.
One day, they’ll find him cold dead on the bedroom floor.

4. The Seeker
He knows what he wants and makes sure he gets what he wants. A top-notch business man, a CEO of some company; grew up in a rich family. This man knows what he wants and makes sure he gets what he wants.

Be sure you can’t be bought.

Lock your heart, for there lies your treasure. Treasure this dragon will surely devour.

5. The Savior*
He has always been there since Day 1.

You had never noticed... till *it was too late
.
It's not a poem, neither is it a short story.
Jun 2015 · 649
A Dove’s Tale
My soul cries upon the Lord, seeking Him
Crying and searching my heart goes on lost
A dove with broken wings, love without a host
Hiding of shame, following every whim
Flew further away--- the nest dying: dim.
The skies are dark, the clouds hovering in
Despair! With rain and thunder pouring grim
Taking a turn, this will no longer be
The dove’s head held up high with wings restored
He takes her in His hands, loving her greatly
A tree is growing--- tower from her Lord
I see things clearer, my path unburied.
I am full of joy with my God adored
May 2015 · 481
Questions
Does it ever cross his mind
that he never even left mine?
A scribbled thing on my planner last year.
May 2015 · 25.3k
Kailan Ba Ako Matuto?
Bakit hangang ngayon?!? ...
Bakit hanggang ngayon.
Ang pangalan mo pa rin ang pinuputak ng bunganga ko
Napapagod na ang mga taengang nakikinig
Nangangawit na ang dilang ikaw pa rin ang hinihiling
Pag kalipas ng isang taon---
Bakit hanggang ngayon?

Ang puso ko’y tumatalon, kumikirot, natatakot, nalulungot
Marinig lang ang pangalan mo.
Makita lang ang anino mo---
At  oo. Nakikita pa rin kita.
Sa bawat matang aking pinagmamasdan---
Sa bawat kamay na aking hinahawakan
Sa bawat lalaking aking sinubukan ibigin nung tayo’y natapos
Hinahanap-hanap ang iyong mahihigpit na yakap
Ang iyong bisig na pumulupot sa aking bewang, leeg--- buong katawan
Ang matatamis na salita na iyong inaawit at inaawit… at inaawit ng paunti-unti…
Paunti-unting lumalapit. Sumusuyo sa pusong nakatago, nakakulong.

Bakit hanggang ngayon?
Kung saan man ako tumingin.
Nandyan ka pa din sa malapit---

Nakiki-usap ako, o aking multo, layuan mo na ako.
Tama na.
Ayoko na.
Pagod na ako sa parati **** pagdating sa hating gabi, ang iyong pagbisita sa aking mahimbing na panaginip
Nilulunod ako ng iyong mga huling salita
Nag-mamakaawa at humihiling ng kakarampot na pagmamahal
At alam ko’y ako  na rin ang syang pumatay
Sa iyo---
nung pinag-kait ko ang iyong ninanais na pag-ibig.

Dahil ako’y naunahan ng pangamba, ng pag-duda.
Eto ba ang iyong parusa? O SIGE NA! IKAW NANG PANALO!
Sasabihin ko na ang gusto **** marinig—mga salitang dapat dati ko pa sinabi:
          Minahal kita.

Mahal na mahal pa rin kita---
Patawad sa aking pag-tangi,
Patawad sa sakit at pait.
Patawad.
I haven't performed in a year and there was an open mic thing so I impromptu made a #hugot poem :)))
May 2015 · 2.8k
Para kay...
Mahal,
Irog,
Sinta.
Aking santa na sinasamba;
Minamahal kitang tunay at taos puso akong nanalig---
Ninanais na patuloy na manatili sa yakap ng matitipuno **** bisig
kung saan ako'y nakatali at nakakapit

Aking isusulat ang mga gusto kong sabihin
dahil hindi sapat na ibuka ko ang aking bibig,
mga kamay ko'y may sariling tinig.

Mahal kita, mahal.
Mahal na mahal.
I promised my mom I would start practicing my Filipino skills HAHA I tried.
Apr 2015 · 394
A message from my Father
Don’t run away from me, child.
I have seen you struggle and surpass the storms.
Have watched you as you claw your way up from the ground---
Trying to breathe through your mud-filled lungs;
Struggle no more: I will breathe life into you.
Don’t be afraid.
To reach for your dreams
Lift your eyes and see the stars I have placed before you
My dear, you shine brighter than any of them.
Your enemies stand their ground
But I am your tower: the protector
From me comes your power
So be strong.
Stronger than ever before and don’t be afraid to conquer
This life I have gifted to you.
Remember, that you are not alone
You see---  I have written my love letter to you in blood.
I will never leave you nor forsake you.

Be afraid no more.
Apr 2015 · 678
To the Boy Who Writes:
For his broken lover; your flightless angel
Because a long time ago her wings got swept away by violent winds
And her song stolen by the loss of it.
Please know that I am with you.
I admire you:
Your dying devotion to her that leaves you hurting
As kindness is traded with knives
And kisses with claws
As little talks turn to shouting marathons
And you run to have smoke.
Please know that I admire you.
You made me believe again in something
I hope she does so too.

For his almost lover; the friend whom you have
But wish to lose--- only to gain something better.
You make me smile.
Not from ear to ear…
But a small quiet, contented smile
I have seen you grow
From a young romantic boy
To the man you are now
I am proud  of you ---
Rooting for you the way a sister does
And I wish you all the best for your conquest
Claim her heart, young man.
You’ve already won the prize.
For two friends who continue loving even if it's hard and uncertain :)
Apr 2015 · 705
I Want Out
Every time I look at you and smile
It kills me inside to know that you’re not mine
But you could be
You were
And to be honest I just want out
Of this façade
We trudge along broken mirrors
Trying to go back level zero
It’s hopeless
It’s pointless
With our feet bleeding
And toxic seeping
In our conversations
Behind my laughs and smiles
Is a lover who wants out.  

Friendship just won’t do.
I’ll remember that I came from dust
And there’s no one else that I can trust
but You
My Provider;
My Father;
My Creator.

When my wants crumble
And I tremble
Out of frustration
And probably anger
I’ll remember
To still bring You praise,
Worshiping Your name.

For this life isn’t mine
But Yours

For this isn’t my story,
My life is for Your glory.
Jan 2015 · 595
I Don't Write Anymore
He stole all my words
The poems I wrote
on the back of my notebooks,
scratch papers,
yellow pads

Words meant to be hidden,
he found all of them.

A sly thief:
Stole my words and broke my heart---

The words I earned.
The words he lost.

But you.
You gave me my words back.
And left me tongue tied in the process.
A thank you note to someone who used to mean so much.
Dec 2014 · 502
Why does it still hurt?
Because when the radio plays love songs
On rainy days
You will still be the one she remembers
Because when poetry is read
In midnight
You will still be the hero.

You are her hero---forever.
Still.
12/10/13
Dec 2014 · 463
Abstract
If love's art--- then I am the painter
and you, dear, my masterpiece.
Blood as His paint, the cross as His brush and our lives His canvass.
Nov 2014 · 542
Daddy Issues
My facade unraveled that drunken night
When you picked me up and saw the sight
Your daughter dressed in white---
You carried me to the car
And swore off every drink in the bar
While I sat there covered in *****.


“Do you love me, daddy?” I asked you
Everything that night was hazy---
Except for the silence you gave me.
Nov 2014 · 1.5k
"Pretty"
I am so tired of being tied to “pretty”
As if all I am is nothing but a mere face.
A delicate mannequin protected behind glass
A porcelain doll to be ogled at from afar…
Until you find a prettier one.
A thing stared at until you walk away—
My face vanishing from your sight.
Forever forgotten the face that caught your attention moments ago.

Always treated as if my only purpose is to shut up and smile
Pose there as they auction and sell me off.
Pretty.
Pretty.
Pretty.
Pretty is not all I will be.
Oct 2014 · 542
Just Being Blue
People are so sad
       And I want to understand
              What causes this great depression
                   Because I'm getting an impression

That I'm missing out in life-----
                      By not being sad
Sep 2014 · 553
Goodbye 16
Goodbye to decisions made
Out of confusion
Out of extreme emotion

Goodbye to the one whom you could have loved
The boy you shoved
Further and further away
Out of Fear
Don't dare shed a tear

Goodbye 16
Goodbye my dear.
Can't wait to face 17's challenges! MOVING ON HERE I GO!!
Sep 2014 · 860
Don't.
Don't you dare fall in love with me
I'll hurt you.
For selfish reasons
I'm a wolf clothed in sheepskin

Don't let me get underneath yours

I come not from a broken past
But something's happened within
A heart that avoids everything

I'll lure you in

You'll be my taste test
Chewed on and spat out
Discarded cud on the mud

Don't you dare fall in love with me
Cause I'm not broken
And can never be fixed
I'm a rose with thorned stems
Hold me and you'll bleed
Let me go...

Let me go
It's better for us.
If that's so
Sep 2014 · 47.1k
Kaibigan? Ka-IBIG-an.
“Kaibigan” ang tawag ko sayo.
“Kaibigan” ang turing ko sayo.
Ngunit ang puso ko ay litong-lito.

Iniibig ka paminsan.
Iniibag ka.
Friendzone ang peg?
Sep 2014 · 471
Catch Me
When I felt my lips slowly form your name, I stopped
Speaking.
Afraid that my whisper would draw you in...
Breathing.
I carefully drew all my love to my chest
Fearing.
That you might see the scars I hide
Thinking.
If it may be so... my fragile heart will be dropped
Breaking.
Much like a butterfly pierced with glass pin
Failing:
To flutter her two-wings off the waxed casket  
Falling.
Deeper and deeper in your mind:
Loving.
Sep 2014 · 748
Box of Souvenirs
There are a lot of things I want to forget
But you're not part of them.
Things that I will always regret
You're one of them.

Escapades that leave me doubting
If they ever even ended
My heart continues to feel the sting
From the story that shouldn't have happened
Aug 2014 · 589
Babbles and Drabbles
Writers love other writers
Sympathy and Empathy.
The way an orchestra plays its symphonies

They harmonize with each other
With words woven and sewn together
A place where books are their safe haven

Condensed in pages are feelings that are tirelessly sought
A fellow writer would've captured the thought
Aug 2014 · 362
Laments of a Writer
Your name filled up the three diaries I have kept— the only diaries I vow to create.
Each of them written from cover to cover.
I penned your name in ink: permanently etching the smooth planes of my notebooks.
Like a **** that turned into a scar.

Your name:
Written over and over and over and over and over again.
Until my hands tremble with weakness— tired of your name.
But my heart still whispered. Then screamed.
My heart still cried out, Begging, and Begging for release.

So my hand wrote till it memorized you. Every curve and crook of your name.
My fingers laced through every tangled lines and placed them carefully side-by-side.
Oh so carefully… so that your name would be spelled out perfectly.
Until the pen I hold, against my own will, scrawl you on every piece of paper I touch.

And with your name came the pain. My poems.
With your name came the tidal wave of emptiness.

I wrote and wrote your name, over and over.
A repetitive chant, an old cycle.
I wrote, caressing your name as I did.
With my whole being.
Heart. Mind. Soul.
Body.
My hand and mouth simultaneously verbalizing your name.

As if by doing so would make you love me.

— The End —