Kumatok ka sa mundo ko at pinapasok kita
Nagpanggap ako na hindi ko alam na sa unang sulong mo pa lang,
Balang araw ay uurong ka rin—maglalakad palabas.
Pero mali ako—mali ako sa parteng dahan-dahan kang aalis—tumakbo ka.
Parang pananahimik ng paborito kong kanta
Pero ang paborito kong kanta ay maaari kong ulitin
Kung sa unang pagkakataon ay hindi ko siya nabigyang-pansin.

Hindi mo naintindihan na hindi lahat ng pagmamahal
Ay maaari lamang patunayan sa mga salitang "mahal kita."
Mahal kita hindi man sa paraang ginusto **** marinig
Pero mahal kita sa mga lumipas na gabing hinehele tayo ng mundo
Habang nakikinig sa mga puso nating nagdadabog hindi dahil sa galit
Kundi dahil sa tindi ng hampas ng ating mga damdamin.
Mahal kita hindi sa paraang tenga mo lang ang magsasaya.
Mahal kita kahit nung panahong gininaw ka sa lamig ng damdamin ko.
Mahal kita nung isang araw na dumaan ka sa harap ko—dumaan ka lang.
At tinakasan ang titig ng aking mga mata.
Mahal kita nung sandaling 'yon na parang hindi mo na ako ginustong makita.

Kumatok ka sa mundo ko at pinapasok kita
Hinawi natin ang kalawakan para pag-ibig naman natin ang mangibabaw.
Nahiya pa nga noon ang mga bituin dahil sa kinang ng ating mga damdamin—
Kinang na nagpabulag sa atin sa katotohanang
Sa dinami-dami naman ng bagay na ikagagaling ng ating pagtatapos
Ay talagang sa panggugulat pa.
Para tayong bitin na kwento—natapos na pero gusto mo pa.

Kaya hanggang ngayon, dinadalaw pa rin ako ng patay nating relasyon.
Hindi lang sa gabi pero sa umaga, sa tanghali, sa hapon—
Sa bawat oras na 'yung paglimot natin sa isa't isa ay parang larong taya-tayaan—
Hindi mahuli taya kundi mahuli tanga.
Pero, oo, tanga na kung tangang ninanais ko pa ring higitin
'Yung damdamin mo pabalik sa 'kin.
Tanga na kung tangang na'ndito pa rin ako kung sa'n mo 'ko binitawan.
Tanga na kung tangang nagkulang ako.
Wala nga sigurong pagkakamali ang maitatama pa.
Ang tanging magagawa ko na lang ay 'wag na 'yun ulitin pa.

Kaya,
Kumatok ka naman ULIT sa mundo ko para papasukin ULIT kita.
'Wag ka naman muna humakbang palayo.
Gumawa ULIT tayo ng panibagong alaala.
Magkasama naman nating pakalmahin 'yung bagyong idinulot natin sa isa't isa.
Samahan mo naman ULIT akong humiga sa karagatan
Habang ipinaparinig mo ULIT sa 'kin 'yung kwento kung paano ka natutong lumangoy
Sa sakit, sa hirap, sa lahat ng ibinabato ng mundo sa 'yo.
Ikwento mo naman ULIT sa 'kin. Lahat. Makikinig na ako.
Kumatok ka naman ULIT sa mundo ko para papasukin ULIT kita.
Kumatok ka naman ULIT sa mundo ko para papasukin ULIT kita.

There is a house
built out of everything
I've kept bottled up—
a place where I am
out of touch
from everything external
heavy
confusing
and that is where
I would run to now,
that is where
I would breathe.

You weren't there during my nightfall
when my subconscious illusion
constructed nerve-racking thoughts,
causing my eyes to spill tears out
down the false face I stitched
that you never fretted to take off.

You weren't there to see me in distress
with razor blades rubbing my crust.

My core―it forbade every irate pain
that battered its almost wrecked doors.

You weren't there to hunt the screams
that bounced off those ill-starred walls,
creating cracks that I loathed to see
for they offered me images that blinded me.

You weren't even there to tell me
that life isn't always a battlefield
between me and myself.

How is it that you only care when it's too late?
Sorry, but I won't be there to take hold of your tears
as you are being struck with angst
and your gone-too-soon moans,
still stunned with the great tragic―
a box my size sinking right before your eyes,
hush, darling, save your cries.

Naaalala mo ba nung una niyang ipinakita sa'yo 'yung lugar mo sa buhay niya?
'Yung sandaling 'yon na itiniwarik niya daw ang mundo
Para hayaan na kayo lang ang nakatayo. Magkasama.
Nakita ko 'yung saya na suot ng 'yong mukha.
Nakita ko kung paano kumislap 'yung mga mata **** walang alam na daan
Kundi 'yung direksyon kung nasa'n siya.
Nakita ko kung paano mo winasak 'yung pader d'yan sa puso mo.
Nakita ko kung paano ka muling nagtiwala.

At nakita ko 'yung pagsikip ng lugar
Na sinabi niyang ikaw lang 'yung may-ari.
Nakita ko 'yung muli **** pagtatayo ng harang d'yan sa puso mo.
Nakita ko kung paano mo kinwestyon 'yung halaga mo.
Kahit na bago mo siya makilala ay sinabi mo sa sarili mo
Na hindi ka tahanan para sa mga taong naghahanap lang ng saglit na masisilungan.

Isang gabi,
Naramdaman ng hangin 'yung lungkot mo.
Agad siyang bumalot sa'yo.
Naglaglagan ang mga dahon
Kasabay ng pag-agos ng luha mo.
Ngunit wala ka pa ring kibo.

Pakiusap,
Patingin ulit ako ng dating ikaw—
Dating ikaw na isang bagong lenggwahe;
Hindi lang sinasaulo; dapat iniintindi.
Subukan mo ulit itapon sa dagat 'yung bagyong iniwan niya.
'Wag mo hayaang hampasin ka na naman ng alon ng mga alaala niyong dalawa.
Pakinggan mo ulit 'yung katahimikang nakalimutan mo na 'yung nota.
Iabot mo ulit sa mundo 'yung mga ngiti sa labi mo.
Iparinig mo ulit dito 'yung pagtibok ng puso **** hindi para sa kanya
Kundi para sayo.
At 'wag mo sanang isipin na kailangan mo ng taong bubuo sa mga pangakong winasak niya.
Hindi naman kasi sa bawat pagbitaw ay may taong nakaabang para sumalo.
Lumagapak ka.
At itayo mo 'yung sarili mo.
Kumawala ka na sa posas ng pangalan niya.
Hindi mo kailangang banggitin 'yung pangalang pinapabanggit niya na din sa iba.

Higit sa lahat, tandaan mo:
Nakapaglakad ka nang wala siya
Magagawa mo ring tumakbo nang hindi siya kasama.

There are times when
I feel that I have already forgotten about you
but those don’t happen as often
as when you pass through me like a feeling
going about your business
touching my core, wounding it
and moving away without warning.
I see you
in lights dancing in my room.
For a moment, what bliss.
But lights fade, too, without notice.

This morning I left the kettle screaming.
It is hard to listen to any sound
other than confusion
which is louder. Now there is a fly
on my fantasy book. How I want to **** it
yet how I want to let it linger a bit longer
to distract me
from trying to understand you
like a language,
but failing.

Have I told you about my wasted nights?
You used to know about those nights.
Now I only talk to you in memories.
One night I sat by the window
trying to feel only the wind,
but there you were again
reminding me of the day you told me
you were stuck for four hours in traffic.
It was a Friday night in EDSA,
I laughed that it surprised you.

Tell me about the ghosts in your bedroom
and I’ll tell you about mine. Tell me once again
about that dream you had when you were nine.
I promise I will listen this time.
Tell me you’re close by
or tell me you’re far from here,
just tell me anyhow.
For I have been locking my doors
hundreds of times,
but I want you to know
I still have my windows open.

It was all incredibly detailed—
the way he dove into her drained eyes,
how he explored her dark and poignant soul;
metaphorically saying he was in paradise.

How delighted it made him feel
when he picked up all the withered flowers;
telling her how lovely they are.

How he buried all the dying trees and birds;
bringing the life back to her lonesome world.

How he tinted the black and whites;
making them vividly colored once more.

It was the way it slowly lighted up
her once lifeless world
it was brought to life again
full of bliss, very lively
not until she felt
an overpowering embrace of reality.

She lived a selcouth life,
far too warped to be believed about,
amid her favorite symphonies
and spellbinding verses that never end,
mad about gritting chains of twisted worlds
as she painted oeuvre of art locked up in her core.

"It is but a tragedy to take wing in your flight of fancy.
Let me guide you to the world that you loathed to see,"
a melodious affliction I told her
as I sighted the glisten in her face shattering into ruins.
"Darling, look at all the beautiful people,
look at the horrible things they utter.
Why are you terrified of the piercing gunshots?
How is the aftertaste of blood
surging through the avenue of misguided folks?
I hope you are enjoying the show.
Come, let me bare to you a whole lot more."

And she wept, screamed at my face,
threw me strings of her innocent voice,
she choked and it cleaved me up inside.

What have I become?
A murderer of this child's peace?
Or a rescuer from her naïve make-believes?

Nasa'n ka na? Babalik ka pa ba?
Sa mga araw na itinigil natin 'yung oras para ipaalala sa isa't isa
Na dito—sa sandaling 'to tayo masaya
Dito nagmistulang alapaap 'yung mga nararamdaman natin
Sobrang taas nating lumipad
Hindi natin napaghandaan 'yung ating paglagapak
Sa mga araw na malulugmok tayo
Sa sakit
Sa poot
At ako
Sa pag-asang maibabalik pa 'yung mga araw na lilipad tayong muli
Ngunit
Hindi
Tandang-tanda ko 'yung araw na ipinilit kong pabilisin 'yung oras
Hanggang sa marating ko 'yung araw na matatanggap kong hindi ka na babalik
Ngunit
Hindi
Hindi ko pa ata kaya
Hindi ko pa ata kayang dumilat isang araw nang hindi ka kasama
Kaya kahit 'yung sakit papatulan ko na
Naririnig ko pa rin naman 'yung pagtibok ng puso mo
Ngunit papahina na nang papahina
Dahil palayo ka na nang palayo
Gusto ko naman marinig ngayon 'yung tunog ng pagbabalik mo
Para lang maipaliwanag mo sa 'kin kung kailan unang nalagas 'yung mga pakpak natin
O kung aling hangin 'yung nagtulak sa'yo pababa
Dahil hindi ko maintindihan
Hindi ko maintindihan na kahit ilang beses ko nang itiniwarik 'yung mundo nating dalawa
Hindi ko pa rin mahanap 'yung dahilan kung bakit tayo biglang kumawala sa isa't isa
Hindi ko rin naman masabing iniwan mo ako sa ere
Dahil wala na naman ako sa itaas
Na'ndito na ako sa ilalim ng mga alaala nating hinayaan na lang natin sa isang tabi
Nang hindi sinusubukan na dagdagang muli
Na'ndito ako nagpapadagan sa mundo
Habang patuloy lang nang patuloy sa pag-ikot 'to
Na'ndito ako sumasabay sa agos ng sarili kong luha
Na'ndito ako hinihila 'yung sarili ko pababa
Pahingi naman ako ng isa pang pakiramdam
Hindi 'yung puro na lang lungkot
Puro na lang pait
Pahingi ako ng galit
Sige, kahit inis o kahit yamot
Na kung bakit ako lang 'yung naiwang nagmumukmok
Higit sa lahat
Pahingi pa rin ako ng pag-asa
Nasa'n ka na? Babalik ka pa ba?

She feels like a ruined fortress:
shaking, now shattering, now gone astray,
now digging up, creating a dark hole;
deep enough to lock herself away
with her raging riddles' ablaze desire
to reach him with their throbbing hands.

"How can such a lovely thing
be surged with so much pain?"
He murmur softly in her ears,
and all she can hear are words
like poison keeping her blaze at bay.

And then she cries, she cries not tears
but blood streaming down her fence,
blotting with marks of his name—
once a nirvana to her, now a wasteland
crammed with thunderous cries
of her cluttered self letting last words escape,
"I was once a serene citadel,
now just a lovely thing for someone
mastering the art of constructing lies."

And I wondered,
"Why is everything so beautiful from afar so dangerous up close?
the sun,
the stars,
the supermassive black holes,
the hypernovae,
the gamma-ray bursts."

To my surprise,
I muttered,
"Your mind wondered so much, ***,
you didn't notice it was becoming one."

I fear that you don't and won't understand that
No doesn't mean the sun must not push the moon away
for you love the embrace of the dusk so much
you would never want to imprison your breath once more.
No doesn't mean the storm has to step back
for you still are not ready for its visit.
Now there's anguish and pain and anguish yet again
that you so violently want to get rid of
for you do not know that
No doesn't mean I should be scared; not in the dark,
but in what could be lurking inside it.
No doesn't mean tear my skin off
for I want to know how passionate you want to explore
this land built for me and never for anybody else.
No doesn't mean my begs for mercy
are tunes that you have to play over and over
until there is no music that you can listen to.
No didn't have to be a case that needs solving.
Now it does.
Now you won't make amends with your conscience.
As if you have any.
Now, tell me,
How is the aftertaste of the dark, of the crime,
and of the withering body of a girl that's nowhere to be found?

You are a fool to believe
that I am permanent. Like waves,
it is the lips of the shore I know
how to kiss and I do flee
when I want the depth
from within.
You will stay, you say.
But I know your face,
it's from long ago.
Know
that this protective shell
will not flinch.
You will know
about Jupiter,
its secrets.
Days later, it will collapse.
To ease you of your pain,
I will write you a book but
I will rip the last three pages
you will carry it back to me
but you will find me
gone.

I remember that last drunken sundown
when the only way to benumb the pain
is to let ourselves sank in too much whiskey;
unchained those timid unspoken riddles.

I was naïve.
Screamed metaphors into your ears,
thinking you'd craft raging poetry
I always had refused to do myself.

You were full of twists and turns.
Grubbed up burgeoning song at the back of your head:
"Just another deluded heart to stomp on,
just another faked feeling to choke upon."
And just when the melody
began to breathe its last breath,
I saw your wrecked body almost caved in.

I always knew that—
You were so caught up into thinking
you did so much damage
into an already damaged heart
that you refused to lay your hands
on it once more.

You always knew that—
You made me so fearful of losing someone again
that I refused to let anyone else in.

We always knew that—
We might not work out in the real world
but we will, at an alternate nirvana.

Every time your eyes told me
this was going to get better,
I strangled every nerve,
pushed them out of my skin.

And every time you told me to move on,
I broke my own bones,
but it was you
who I wanted to be hurt by it,
it was you I wanted to break.

Please tell me at least once I did.

If they want to leave, let them leave.
You are not a cauldron
waiting to be surged with fervors
and then gets bequeathed when castoff.

You are the firestorm—
adorned,
impervious,
divergent,
blazing bright.

Together we shall burn them,
bathe them with our ferocious flames,
and we shall be treacherous.

There was nothing he could feel, he thought,
nothing but the surging of words blotting his sleeves,
creating marks of what he should've said
yet he never did.

There was nothing he could see, he thought,
nothing but the reflection in the mirror he loathes.

There was nothing there, he thought,
nothing but the menacing screams
of his abandoned self
bouncing off the walls of his home,
pleading to be brought to life.

For a second he thought he was getting benumbed,
like those he senses were just a delusion,
a disguise that he wasn't in agony
for the tormenting hands of reality.

"I vow
to never speak of fear
with the eyes
of my enemies watching," you said.
My dear friend,
you called everyone your enemies.
You drove your emotions so far away
you forgot it was you
who held them first.
My dear friend,
was that the closest
you could get to
not hurting?
You spoke of courage
straight to the face of death
with eyes not blinking.
My dear friend,
what is courage
without the fear of death
and the passion to live?

You were worth making art out of melodic words, weren't you?
But somehow I couldn't stop writing about the aftermath of someone's storm.
And for that, I am truly sorry.

I remember you were that band guy who so beautifully struck drums
that even my inexpressive veins danced at every beat,
that even my defensive walls collapsed,
that even my unreadable emotion became everybody's open book—
a sweet, tragic thing: these episodes never happened.

You were almost that answer every mad mind so long desired.
I almost stopped mastering the art of stomping on people's hearts before they do.
I almost dug a burial ground for the corpses of my
pouring-love-out-to-someone-who-only-knows-how-to-spit-it-back­­-out.

What I am sure about is this:
I never want to feel it again.
I can only look at another tombstone with your name engraved on it
and smell the scent of flowers I stole from some rotten body,
while the wind plays symphonies with the endless,
"Almosssst,
almossst,
almosst,
almost."

For a thousand times
that you've been through the motions
of your masquerade,
I understand,
nobody warned you about mouths
crammed with infuriated fires,
each take aim to be shot through you.

You have mastered the art
of veiling the damage:
a little rekindling
not to mend it over,
only to stop the utter fallout.

For a thousand times,
every dark of the night
that you've trembled when you shrink back
into your flawed self,
you've heard your demons
hum the melody of the undamaged:
"Never good enough.
You must be this,
you must be that."

For a thousand times
that your demons taught you
to seize the blaze
that once hurt,
that once made you snivel with fear,
with angst, with hatred,
little by little,
I sighted you craft yourself
into the brink
of a monster
you said
you
would
never
be.

I'm having this recurring nightmare
nightmare as others see it
amid the wandering minds
that refuse to be slaves
from the deceiving vision
of the real world.

Delightful, it is
to be with sincere beings
who find such beauty
behind faults that I crave
so madly to fade out,
looking closely into my eyes,
exploring my deepest core
of countless untold stories.

"This isn't your paradise,
this isn't a place to hide,
not even a place to cure the pain
that burnt deep inside,"
whispered a voice unfamiliar
caressing my helpless body,
thrusting it to a never-ending hole,
inviting me to an eternal sleep.

To awake is now everything I grieve.

Maybe that's what I was—a wildfire.
You, so sweetly, abandoned the clouds and burst all over me,
but I, as what I should, encircled you with my flames.

You told me to stop burning things dearest to you,
but I bleed, oh, so gently! oh, so passionately!
and left them all to ashes.

Maybe that's what you were—a rainfall.
Always in-between of what I desire
and your battle cry for my last blow.

We didn't say we were a hurricane.
This is my trail, that is yours.
We go together, but we leave our separate ways.

I flickered, I rose, I got out of control.
What else were you there for
if not to watch me swallow the place so fervently
before you can downpour your proudest good bye?

I can never love you the way you want to be loved
but I can scream your name at this mountain we're on top of
and it will bounce back to me
as my mouth is the only home it will come home to.

I can never change your past
but I can try to drive your storms into the ocean
and that will be the first time you will hear the silence
you've forgotten the melody of.

You will never have to worry
when will I stop showing where your place is
as I will never start showing it.
You will find it yourself;
in thoughts of me no one ever got the chance of hearing.

I can never love you the way you want to be loved
but I will
in ways your past didn't tell you about.

i. Someday you will be a language someone will care to learn. But will he understand? You will make him realize that words can be so beautiful they can fracture jaws. He will lay with you under the stars, and that’s the first moment he will know that he once was a star himself. You will look him in the eyes and you too will begin to realize that they really are unfathomable galaxies. But then you will begin to wonder, where is he? This is the crust of everything I am fond of, not the core of who he really is. You will feel betrayed.

ii. He didn’t know you trained yourself to not fear anything because you are the fear, as what a Batman movie has taught you when you were young.

iii. One day you will begin to taste like regret to him. On closed doors he will blame himself for being attracted to a firestorm. Why didn’t I step back? He will ask himself. When everybody’s watching, he will make it seem like he’s the one being invited to get burned.

iv. He will run away from your arms, but he will always look back confident that you are behind him. But you are not a hurricane, and you were not made to run after someone. You are somewhat the thunder that he mistook for a firestorm.

v. I do not think anyone deserves you.

What a lovely night it is
to strike my head right in half
until all the words come pouring out
crammed with my thoughts of you.

Anguish and penitence
with a deluge of blood and tears
tainted the pure pages
as I delve into the deepest parts of my brain
and grub up the harrowing
yet beauteous sparks of our yesterdays.

Oh, the agony;
the ache that clench my core,
twisting and tearing and wrecking my bone,
that once again benumbed
by the memory of your crooked soul,
haunting my mind whispering,
"Love was a curse,
and your heart was a place
where it couldn't bloom."

You were so beautiful
You looked so much like
the stars mustering in the distance.

Stars—
for you stayed,
but I knew you will be gone soon.

I was so eager to walk on cold streets alone
I didn't realize it was safer with you there.

And I was right—
you were slowly fading;
still like the stars in expected stormy nights
and I was longing for you.

But I'm back in solitude.

With both arms, powerless and unguarded,
I shall wait,
hold close again the world detached to mine
and call it 'home.'

Now the risky part is to dispirit my pulse.
Oh, too late—
in an undertone it says,
"This isn't a kingdom.
This is martyrdom."

A lady shall not cry, Sansa believe,
For tears are badges of the weak.
A lady shall tell tales about her joyful place.
A lady shall sing songs about gallant knights who saved the land.
A lady shall let her betrothed kiss her, touch her when he likes to.
A lady shall not curse,
A lady shall not,
A lady shall.
A lady shall throw Sansa into the dark, eerie dungeon, I'm afraid.
Fall down, Your Grace, into the remains of your daydreams.
The world is not an excerpt from your songs and stories;
It can't always give you new flowers when the old ones go dying.
People **** people. Who are we to rule and tell them not to?
You think your House's honor will save you, but it won't.
See, where did Father's honor take him?
To the grave, to the grave, I sing.

I can't be a lady forever.
I can't always smile and tell the world everything's fine.
I can be a knight, I can be a king, I can be a child,
I can be all of them at once.
I can and will say no when I want to,
I am uncontrollable,
I am wild,
I am brilliant,
and I am not
and will not be
anything everyone commands me to be.

How do you get over the fact
that some stories are dead?
That what is left for you to do
is to play them over and over in your head?
How do you lie to yourself
when you cannot forget the truth?

How do I keep these thoughts
away from the wind?
How do I pretend
that I, too, can spread my wings
and fly no matter how heavy I feel?

This rare, watchful companion,
what is it pointing out?
A light from a distance.
It whistles and dances and then lifts me up
so I can clearly see
that what's gone is gone
and there is nowhere to go
but through that light.

There was this girl, not knowing where she was going.
At all times she wandered, she tried to forget.
What the real world tasted like—she did not know.

Tell her about the songs the sky creates; she'd like that.
Tell her you'll rescue her when she starts to drown
in them; she'd bleed down your name and not care
about the mess she would make.
As if saving someone, who rather have you deluge them
with more rain, was an offense.

One daybreak, the eighth page of my history book went missing.
The next night it flew into my window glass,
and then landed safely on the isle of my hands. It read:
*            The past is behind.
            The future is ahead and may never arrive.
            Why would you believe in them?*

She used to say there's something calming whenever
darkness wraps up the woods. And the silence that comes after it.
And something blazing bright—a cabin.
Never trust cabins, she once said, burn them before they burn you.
I should have listened.

The way the lights touch my eyes
isn't as magical to you now as it was before—
it's now the very thing you're trying to avoid looking at.

Your voice doesn't shake for joy
When your friends utter my name.
You say some things go rotten when you don't talk about it.

I told you about the song I kept playing on repeat
For you it was like some bad memories
that you never want to look back at again.

You listen to new songs, too, though.
But the way your eyes light up when you hear them
Isn't the way I was used to
I couldn't find parts of me there.
It's not me who has not combed her hair in ages
that still looks beautiful in your eyes.
It's not me who you want to dance in the moonlight with.
It's not my eyes you want to see
When the presence of the stars feel like a dream.
It's not me who you want to spend time
making sense of the universe with.

I could not give you what you deserve
I'm happy you're learning to look for it in someone else.

"The first things we noticed were words
like a hurricane—spinning, dancing gorgeously
as if they were invited guests.
The next, we couldn't endure.
This is us—cracking, trembling, collapsing.
This is us—letting him in.
May he not be another reason for you
to build the likes of us again."

It began with a star that exploded many, many years ago.
A once magnificent star, I am made of.
I once floated freely in the vastness of the sky,
of the universe, with billions and billions of stars
that once were my neighbors, my friends.

That, my dear Frodo, is where I come in.
For quite by chance and the will of the Universe,
fate decided I would become part of this world we call Earth.

Often I ask myself,
Who am I now?
Why did I have to go?
Why am I here?
Why here amongst creatures acting like they are more star
or less star than the others?

Every moment you wake up
you begin to feel the need to silence
the waves crashing inside your chest,
slowly,
slowly,
the weight invites you into a
bottomless mayhem you may never
get out of,
if you let it.

But dear, do not mistake those waves
for armies of the ocean that you have loved.
Let yourself become something more
than someone dwelling on the verge
of burning pits—
let yourself breathe the tides
that weren't built
to suffocate.

I always check if the door is locked.
Just how lonely have I become
to think that the sight of a passerby
is a threat to tear up my skin
and reveal what it is to be human?
To feel and to be hurt and to invite feeling again
To give another person the key so consciously
To allow them to throw it away
To let them see the heart that pumps all that I am.
I always want to make sense of it all;
something tells me I only have to feel them.

I want the kind of peace
that doesn't take me back to the island
but instead allow me to look at the ocean
that is gazing at the sky with adoration and respect.

Still, not far away, I see fear sitting in a rock, waiting for me.
Its eyes say there are still things left to burn—
last night it was as if some kind of monster
ordered me to set my house on fire
so it would not expose how many times I mourned
not for a person
but for the time wasted acquainting them
with the sea I carry within.
I was afraid burning the whole thing
would left me empty again,
so I stopped admiring the flames.

Now a wave sprouts where I am
and does not tremble when it presses its body to mine,
like a lover unafraid—I want the kind of peace that does the same way.
The kind that swims
and truly
sets
me
free.

We blame the fire for what it does
when it was not its fault
it was created that way.

Was it worth it
to awaken the fire from its dwelling
and blame it
for the horror
it brought upon you?

You
sparked the fire,
don't be offended
when it burns you to the ground.

Too many wars inside.
Not enough mouths stood up
to tell stories about them.
Ears kept shut.
Eyes refused to dig
what’s been abandoned in time.
Too many graveyards of
what could have been saved
if only you had hands that dared
to get everyone
out of their battlegrounds
without the worry of your name
not being written on history books.

I knew you were about to leave.
I knew about the rose you plucked in the garden
that caused your fingers to bleed
You told me you'd be gone for a while
so you could take away the thorns
and no holes would be seen in your hand
once you tried to reach the forest
that was resting on mine.
But I've heard that before.
I've heard farewells
disguised as something beautiful,
something rare.
I knew about the songs that fell silent
when it heard the other one stopped listening.
I knew about the doors that opened
and then got slammed
by the hands it let in.
As you have said, I've had forest on my hand,
but what I heard was the fire you tried to soak me in.
I never told you about the rain that also burned inside me.
You will not be my destruction.

Here comes the sprint of emotions
that has been taken captive for so long.
Here comes the fear of exposing too much,
of letting you see how the crack of your song
reveals what words almost die in my darkest corners,
of giving you the bricks of the walls that have been
destroyed since the last time that we spoke.
Here comes the thought of wanting to step back.
Here comes the strong urge to build stronger walls.
Here comes the heavy footsteps of a graveyard
inviting the fears of a girl who finally smile back
at someone who knows how to love her right.

On my 21st birthday I looked up at the moon
there was something about the way it burned
that drew me closer and closer to its flame.
The world pushed me to keep moving and keep roaring,
but the moon said that it's all fine
if all I want now is silence and solitude,
the sweet sound of my alarm clock shutting its mouth up,
books perfumed with my morning coffee,
birds enveloped with freedom,
the peace,
the joy of being away from everything else,
and knowing that at that moment,
I was looking at an open door, too
too afraid to look away
it whispered a promise to crawl me out
of the heaviness I’ve been carrying
but I knew what promises were made for
and it was not for keeping.
I gazed back at the moon
until it went down and down and down
until my bedroom window got higher than it
and I saw the sky blushed.
It was a fine day.

You told me about the ghosts
that lived inside your bedroom,
I said I wasn't there
to send them away.
You thought I couldn't fix you
and you were right—
you didn't need fixing from anyone else.
There was a bit of you
that survived the shipwreck
and that was where you would have started.
I was there the whole time
waiting
outside
staying silent.
Until I heard your window cracked open.
And now your ghost,
it lingered.
It made its own haunted house
except the house followed me wherever I go.

I am overwhelmed
in a way that I am both happy and afraid
and I only want to be cautious.
I want to say that this,
this is the part where I will throw
my coldness to the ground,
be naked and vulnerable,
be the warmth that was always hidden
beneath the skin so watchful.
I want to run away,
but how do you run away
when there is no more reason for you to run?
What do you tell your legs?
What do you tell the places you haven’t touched
but promised to?
I want to stop.
I want not to dream
but to look outside and see reality waiting.
I want to look it in the eyes
and promise it that I am ready
to take back the trust and learn how to use it.
I feel vast, I feel limited.
I want my body to burn
if that means feeling the warmth,
but winter still feels like home.

I tried to warn you about my cold hands
but stubborn, you were
you stained my bed with your voice
its eyes weighed on me as if to warn you
about the comings and goings
of the monster that they held.
I was this wolf howling in the night
you mistook that as a cry for help
when I only meant to send you running.
I gave you warning signs.
Your love still overdressed.
I don't know, I said, what to do with it.
But come near.
We shared the same cold
and it made us both warm.
But my hands remembered who you could be.