silent flower opens its eyes,

silent flower against the moonlit sky.

silent flower steadily grows,

silent flower gleams and shines.

silent flower starts to fade,

silent flower is…

silent

she’s not allowed to care anymore
but she can’t help the dent
that became a valley
before she was able to recognize and trace
every sharp edge and every flat surface
every sudden drop and slow crack
with her fingertips, covering
it will take time
but the real question is
will
she
try?

Sixteen reasons

To wonder why

Sixteen seasons

That lived and died.

Sixteen seas

And sixteen skies

Sixteen matches

With sixteen tries.

The pearl-and-gold

That hugs the candle,

Is a promise of purity

That will not be broken

Until the time comes

For the pearl-and-gold

To be replaced

With gold-and-diamond.

Sixteen dreams

That want to take flight,

But not yet.

It’s not time.

I’m only sixteen.

The next time someone says that
someone else is skin and bones
I'll say that they don't know
what the heck they're talking about
because they haven't seen you
and the way your skin grips tightly to your
tired old bones
the way it sags in some parts
because there's barely any bone to cling on to
or how your skeleton of a body
just lies there uncomfortably on the bed that isn't your own
I can hear you crying out for home
you are the epitome of skin and bones
skin and bones
skin and bones
you are the epitome of skin and bones

But you are the strongest skin and bones I know.

I've never seen you in pain before.
Not even when you cut your finger
or fell down the stone stairs
You complained about everything and everyone else but
not once did you complain about your bones creaking
or back aching
or feet hurting
or knees shaking.
You never told me when you were sick.
I'd only find out from the medicine bottle beside your plate
or from Mom who'd say.
You never told me you were sick.
I only found out from Dad and the way
your body slowly faded every
single
day.
I found out from your headaches
your new scars
your bloodred skin in some parts
your speaking
your breathing
You struggled with your  breathing
yet you refused to be confined
because you wanted to make sure
someone would take care of me.
I can take care of myself!
I should be the one taking care of you so
why would you...
how could you...

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.

But I saw you in pain today.
I didn't think that
it would hurt me that much
to see your face white and crying
your brows knitted together
your bony hands clutching your stomach.
You didn't want me to see you so
I left the room because even in your agony
you didn't want me to watch.
I bet you were pressing the cancer down, telling it,
"I'm not going
The eldest hasn't graduated
The youngest isn't in high school yet
and I still need to teach the second to make chocolate cake."
Or maybe you were telling it,
"Stop it.
My apo* shouldn't see me like this.
If I'll go, I'll go quietly.
I know when I'm defeated.
Just stop the pain
because more than me, it's hurting them.
Stop."

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.

Lolo was a fighter.
He fought it tooth and nail.
They gave him a month
He showed them a year and a half
because he refused to go down
without a battle
without seeing the face of
the grandson he'd been waiting for.
He saw him and held him.
He was hairless and his lungs were blackened,
but he saw him and held him.
But you are a fighter, too.
In your own way.
You don't want to fight like he did
no, you don't want us to see you like that.
You fight with your eyes
with your silent love
with the way you finally let my rough lips
brush against your soft forehead today
with the way you gripped Mom's hand tightly
for the first time
with the way you let my brother clumsily kiss your eye
with the way you let us stay the whole day
even though we were kind of sort of rowdy
with the way you want to go home
with the way your lips silently
formed an amen when we prayed for you.
You never did that before.
I know you'll keep fighting like that
and I know you know when it's time to fight
and when it's time to surrender.
I don't know what's going to happen
but please promise me you'll surrender in peace
without pain
without troubles
without fear
and please, before you go
I want to tell you that

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.

Skinny love,
Smile.
You’re beautiful,
Don’t you know?

Skinny love,
Hush.
Don’t cry.
I want you,
Don’t you know?

Skinny love,
Stop.
Stop thinking
Stop listening to
Stop telling yourself
Lies.
I chose you,
Don’t you know?

Skinny love,
You
Are
Loved
Don’t you know?

Could it be that, for every year since
the day you stopped knocking

I have noiselessly slid in
a stopper, a stone, a slipper

Mistaking your reaching for the key
as a challenge, not a warning?

I've patted myself on the back
for making it out (but with a foot by the corner)

Just in case you one day decide to swing wide
and that I'm worth a thank you, come again.

Even though the rhythm
of your footsteps has left
in my mind echoes resounding,
I did not so much as flinch
when I heard you breathing
in between beats.

I'm sorry for shuddering, but
blood has boiled
my nerves numb
muddied everything I see
dried out my tongue
and though I launder
your shirts every week,

I still don't know what you smell like.

I am oatmeal with
two tablespoons of sugar topped with
a strawberry freshly sliced, thin enough to
slip between my lips and slide
down my throat
without me having to chew
I am trying my best not to spit out seeds.

I am a pair of faded shorts
a charcoal cotton sweater
an ugly red scarf and a pair of
frayed black Toms, but
sometimes I am a vintage dress
or camouflage pants, and
some days I am a string of pearls
I am still trying to find the perfect shoes.

I am a Philippine history book
repeating the same mistakes
refusing to learn from those who
now kiss cool marble
but there are days when I take
three steps forward where
I see they took one step back.
I am trying to scrape off towers to read the letters
our grandfathers wrote in the dirt.

I am a missing pencil
that drew lines and traced figures
under the bed and wrote
stories of empty seats being filled
and now that the fountain pens have dried up
I've been found.
I am scared, but I am giving until my lead runs out.

I am a fervent prayer
longing for redemption to win
and for the fighting to end
please, I just want to see
hearts beating to the rhythm of
the stars being breathed into place
I am hope,
or I am trying to be, I am
trying to be a lot of other things still
testing, still throwing, still keeping.

But most of all, I am still
the choices I make and
maybe tomorrow I'll have
some rice and tapa
and a lightly salted sunny side up
instead of oatmeal and I promise,
I won't be spitting out any seeds.

I'd like this all to be a dream.
A bad dream.
Not a nightmare,
just
the kind of dream that you know
is half real.
The kind of dream that is uncomfortable,
but you know you'll be waking up soon.
I'd like this all to be a dream,
and find myself waking up to you
at the table
sipping coffee
eating toasted pandesal
with queso de bola,
but I'm already awake.
And you're still gone.

the warrior, falling, falling
in the midst of war
trying, failing
struck down on your hills
the mighty warriors, falling, falling
and the arms of war broken to bits
struggling, wanting to feel
the rush
the sweat
the joy
the heat of battle
training fingers and readying feet
we can't do it alone
we can't.
we need
You

At first break of darkness blanketing the sky,
my chest anchors itself to my bed,
a paralyzed prisoner in the war that wages in my head.
I am attacker, defender, and bystander.
Always the victim, never the victor.
Taking the first, the second, each and every hit.

I am filled with the emptiness of a sunken ship.
Nowhere to sail to but the depths that surround.
In this deep I call home, I’ve not learned to breathe.
With every heave, I am dragged further into all I wish to leave.

Here, it’s all tunnel and no light.
An endless race with no finish line.

Before me, unknown.
Beside me, nothing but questions and fears.
Behind me, darkness chases. Shame clutches.

There is no ear to hear me,
I am surrounded.
No arms to save me,
I am surrounded,
I just need to learn that I
am surrounded, and this
is how it always will be.

Darkness surrounding.
Before me, beside me, behind me.

Some days I dare to dream of a day
where my heart isn’t wrung out,
torn out, twisted up, mangled and left
to bleed its anxious beats dry,
and some days I try.
I swear I try.

But when the thoughts you battle with
are all just your own, truth is a shapeshifter.
Fear, my commander; insecurity, my shield,
I hold a weapon that pierces who wields it,
having no one else but myself to blame.

Do not speak to me of light,
do you not think I’ve tried?
But though I see, though I reach,
fog and mist are all my hands hold,
besides I’ve been told that hope
is just a lie to keep the weak alive,
protecting them from the reality that
all light does is deepen the dark.

Before me, unknown.
Beside me, nothing but questions and fears.
Behind me, darkness chases. Shame clutches.

There is no ear to hear me,
I am surrounded.
No arms to save me,
I am surrounded,
I just need to learn that I
am surrounded, and this
is how it always will be.

Darkness surrounding.
Before me, beside me, behind me.

Or maybe, I’m just too afraid to seek.
Too broken to face
whatever it is that could be
something much stronger
than everything I feel,
than everything I see.

But even when I've let go,
there is something that doesn't,
and I am no match for Him.
He dares
to look me in the eye when I
refuse to see Him, when I
can barely lift my head
Love has decided
that I'm not too broken for healing,
that I'm not too lost for seeking,
that Love is that something much greater
than all the darkness surrounding.

Hope breathes its truth
into my dry, brittle bones,
makes itself known,
now I know that what I know
isn't all there is to behold,
and now I'm told that my
reality does exist but it isn't
everything.

My pain is real, but so is peace.
My trials overwhelm, but so does grace.
My heart weighs heavy, but it's
nothing that can't be carried.
My mind is in constant battle, but in a
war already long won.

Darkness did its best to veil me,
to make sure I didn't see
all the light surrounding
before me, behind me, beside me.

At first break of dawn,
I find the storm calmed by
no other than the One who
breathed out stars, the One who
breathed out my heart.
Jesus, my King.
All this time, You've been
surrounding.

Higher than the walls I've built,
deeper than where I've fallen,
stronger than the waves that beat me,
This is the peace You bring.
Whole, pure, true.
And in this peace I'll stay,
every moment my mind is fixed on You,
every second that I trust You.

This peace sheds light on what's
before me, a path.
Beside me, still some questions, but no more fear.
Behind me, goodness chases. Mercy embraces.

There are ears that hear me,
I am surrounded.
Mighty arms to save me,
I am surrounded.
I just need to learn that I
am surrounded, and this
is how it always will be,
and I will choose to see it.

A perfect peace surrounding.
Before me, beside me, behind me.

I will always remember you, too.
You must be so beautiful in autumn,
You, with your golden brown smile
and clear blue laughter.
Someday, I will hear it again, and I will listen
with my heart as your fingers glide across continents.

take heart.

be strong.

be still.


hold on to

that spark

they call hope


hold on

and

never.

let.

go.


familiarize your eyes

with freedom.


make your heart known

to all that is pleasing and pure


be strong and courageous.

it's not over yet.


take heart.


it's

not.

over.

yet.

She dreamt about you last week.

I nibbled on my breakfast today -- bread and a thinly sliced orange. It seemed enough at the moment, but I snapped somewhere. I let her tell me off for being unreasonable while her hands did dishes the way you taught her to. She never wastes water.

She said you were both running.

This morning she had tiny baby dolls dangling from her ears. Being seen doesn't bother her anymore as much as it used to, but that doesn't matter to you because you always saw her. And I'd like to think you still do. She was beautiful today. And always.

She laughed softly. "Imagine her running," she said. But somehow, I could.

Last week, she got a bright red alarm clock with a built-in radio. Old songs as much as possible, please -- the soundtrack of our late nights. The first night she figured out how to work it, I lay on the bed the same way you used to, one leg crossed and one arm over my eyes, laughing. Did you laugh? I can copy your laugh too, you know.

She said you both knew why you were running.

It's a jungle in there, and I'm not always allowed to explore. But sometimes, she lets me cross a river. Lets me through some vines. And I tell her, "Baby, I'll stand out here with my little torch and wait out the rains. I'll help you map this place out. I'm a little lost in here, but I'm not leaving until these footprints I'm following lead me right next to you." She just smiles. Did you know that your footprints are there, too? They're all over the place.

She said you made it into each other's arms.

I hadn't cried over you in a long, long time but that Sunday morning I drew her in close and we dampened each other's shoulders. Laughed a little. Cried some more. Got dressed. Carried on.

I miss having you in my dreams too, but it was nice of you to say hello. Know that you are always welcome. Maybe next time you'll stay a bit longer. We'll have your coffee ready.

Thank you. Please, come again.

you strode in

a plaid hurricane

a bottled up typhoon

unannounced

uninvited

but completely

welcome.

and i was

surprisingly

unsurprised.

slowed and swayed

and shyed away

like a little lamb unsure

whether to nibble from a human hand

or not

so i(t)…

did not

it was a flood

when you pulled away

your feet were heavy

your eyes were misery itself

i didn’t even see you

leave that letter

but i saw you

leave

we were ghosts

yet i was unfeeling

we were dead souls walking

yet i was still breathing

we were skeletons in the closet

yet i could still smile

tell me why it is so

please

tell me

i am a keeper
a hider
never a seeker

your thoughts
your secrets
the things you hoard
the way you are
i know.
i know them all.

don’t you worry,
i will keep them
hide them
and no one
will find them.

i am
strong and sturdy
dark as night
a firewall made
to conceal and
protect.

i will keep them
safe,
this i promise.
but, really,
how safe
your secrets will be
is
up
to
you.

The smell of earth
and moist clay,
kissing my senses
with a rose-petal feeling.


Sweat on my brow,
dirt on my cheek,
and soiled hands,
I live for this.


Molding,
pinching,
smoothening.
The imperfections
make you perfect.


Into the kiln,
and out.
Awake, creation of mine,
step out into the world.


I have molded you,
and formed you
with my own hands.


I know
your every little flaw.
Your strengths
and weaknesses.


I made you with care.
I designed you for a purpose,
a reason,
a calling.


I am the Potter,
and you are the clay.
You are the work of my hands.
Live like it.


Do not question me,
for you are exactly as I want you.
Do not look down on yourself,
you are mine and I love you.


Do not doubt.
I am not finished.
I am the Potter.
You are the clay.
You are mine and,
I love you.

in the shadow of your wings,

there i sing.

in the mighty palm of your hand,

there i dance.

under the gaze of your loving eyes,

there i stand.

in the comfort of your strong arms,

there i am relieved.

standing beside you,

forever holding your hand,

there i am.

I came to you carrying baggage someone of my stature shouldn't be even touching; I thought here I'd get to used to my burdens and forget that the yoke on my shoulders was causing my ribs to close so tight around my heart that I'd find myself gasping for air sometimes, but I was wrong.

2. Here, I found my resting place. Here I learned to lay my head down on fields of green next to still streams and sing the song of revival with my feet wrapped in peace.

3. I thought I knew how to show love by injecting smiles into my system and lightly bandaging the broken, but it turns out that sincerity is a necessity, and what's in always comes out; and I had to learn to cut some roots, break the topsoil and allow the planting to begin. I hope you see seedlings from where you are.

4. Humble myself, humble myself, less of me, less of me. I thought that humility was pouring lies into a cup, toasting to their victory and my defeat, tasting the words on my tongue before allowing them to settle in my stomach where the poison would spread, paralyzing everything I can and could have become.

5. I've seen the way you love. You love with your eyes, with your smile, with the way you tap my shoulder, with the way you speak; your words are an overflow from a well of life, and I want to have that too, but I know the digging must take place. The digging is taking place.

6. I'm under construction undergoing renovation, but it's okay because I came here gagging on my poison, but I'm leaving with the antidote.

7. You never would have guessed by the way I took control that under that calm smile spelling "I got this", I was terrified of letting you down. I decided I wouldn't, so I tried to force flow water into my dry branches even though I knew it was time to cut them off.

8. I could smell change coming before the season began, so I braced myself and tried to direct the sun's rays elsewhere. By the time they hit, I realized that I can't choose where the sun will rise and set, or which sky the eagles will command or how bright the stars will glow. I am the tree, not the tree planter.

9. The sawing is painful, but the fruit I bear will last me a lifetime. So I watch my branches burn with hope, knowing that the seeds I drop will grow. You thought the heat would make me shrivel, but they only pushed my roots deeper into the ground.

10. Another door opened, another door closed. I hope we one day open the same one.

It was once
A never-ending-everlasting
forever-staying-never-breaking
never-sna­pping-never-changing
thick as maple syrup fresh from the tree
long enough to tie up the galaxies together
TWICE
this was the hope I had.

I threw it around you
the seventh time we met,
and I tied one end to your left ankle
and the other end to the space in my heart that I had
saved just for you
I didn't know I was saving it for you.

Because I had no idea
that I would end up caring this much.
That I would write poems about you until three in the morning
and turn those poems into songs
only to forget the melody.

That you would be the reason
for my curled up legs sitting in the corner
and the floor a sea.
My floor is still a sea.

And no one warned me
that you would be the root of this
black tree that is thriving inside my head
despite the dull axe that thumps all day long
yet produces
only bruises
no scratches
I have enough of those,
because apparently the consequence of love
is pain.

And I know a lot about pain.
My hands will be red and blistered for an eternity
from the rope burns you gave me, because
every time you strayed,
I would tug
and then you'd stay.
But your pulls got harder
and your left ankle stronger...
so did mine.
I learned to stop picking at fresh wounds
to let them callous instead
my hands are as thick as a bear
and I've got you to thank for that.

I thought
that you would never stray again
after that nasty big cut you got on your forehead
from wandering too far
you crept up the edge of the cliff
inch by inch
but you crept too far.
You returned with that cut and
swore you'd stay yet
now your wound is reopening
and your big toes are already off the cliff
and this rope I tied around you
this once massive rope
this once massive hope
is now
a stringy little thread.

My hands are shaking and
my wrists are bleeding
but I'm still holding on.
Because my real hope
is anchored to something
much stronger than the both of us.

Summer, Day 1.
Do you know how much I love you?
One day you will.
One day you will.
I haven't even seen you yet,
but I am so in love with you.

When the time comes for us to finally be together, I will drive us somewhere outside this concrete jungle to ask you that. Then I will tell you to look at the stars, and you will try to count them, even if you already know that not enough stars were created to compare it to.

Darling, I dance and I sing and I shake in delight at the thought of being with you. I'm a morning person now, because I know that every waking moment is one day closer to forever.

Summer, Day 2.
I have sworn to save every part of this heart for you. I've loved before, but not like this. Not like this. My stone-heart now made flesh beats as if I'd just been born, as if I'd been made to love and to be loved by you.

Summer, Day 3.
I can't believe you chose me. I can't believe I'm going to get to marry you. We've got quite a long way to go, but I'm already preparing, making sure my dress will be as white as snow, every hair in place, this heart pure and this body untouched until the day I put my hand in yours. I can't wait to see your face when I walk down the aisle. I promise to be the perfect bride, your perfect bride.

Fall, Day 1.
I might not write as much as I did during the summer. Life has been getting busier and busier, but I want you to know that I still love you as much as I did from the first day.

Fall, Day 46.
I've been spending quite a bit of time with someone. He's clever and says the most interesting things. I feel like we will never run out of words to say to one another. We talk everyday, and the funny thing is sometimes I feel my day isn't complete yet if we haven't spoken. Don't worry, my heart is still yours. Just thought I'd let you know.

Fall, Day 52.
I think I love him, but just a little bit. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cut an inch off of my heart to give to him. It's just an inch less. Surely you won't mind.

Fall, Day 80.
He's been with someone else this entire time. It's a good thing I gave him only an inch of my heart, but the rest is bruised. Don't worry, darling, I'll have it fixed in time.

Fall, Day 100.
It's still beating, but barely. Maybe I should love a little again. Maybe some warmth will do this heart good.

Winter, Day 15.
I think... I gave a little too much.

Winter, Day 50.
My latest disaster said my heart was something worth waiting for. Apparently his second hands tick faster than the usual. He left, taking more than I expected he would.

Winter, Day 65.
Is a heart supposed to look like this?

Winter, Day 90.
I can no longer hear it beating steadily. Some parts have frozen. I have tried to stitch pieces back together and they hold... if you would call it that. There are scars and cuts that haven't healed, swollen bits from the wounds that were infected because I tried to save the poison only to have it lash out and bite me in the back.

Winter, Day 104.
What have I done?

Winter, Day 135.
Look at it. No wait, don't. There isn't anything left to give you, anything worthy enough to even stand in your shadow. I promised you everything now I give you nothing. You waited for me yet I pursued others, consumed by my lust and my pride, where can I hide that I myself will not see this mess of a heart I've created? Where can I run to that I will not have to see the look on your face when you see what I have left to give you? Do you still want this, this broken vessel, this torn up heart, all the pieces that don't fit, all the stitched up parts? Do you still want me?

Spring, Day 1.
You do.

Spring, Day 3.
You do because you knew what you were getting yourself into long before you met me, you knew I would break your heart yet you still asked for mine, you do because you are love itself. A death defeating, grave shaking, forgiving, full of grace and mercy, life and righteousness kind of love. This is the love that chose me. Now I choose you.

Spring, Day 5.
What have I done to deserve this? As far as the east is from the west, so you have cleared my offense. When others asked for me, they knelt on one knee but you asked nailed to a tree. Now here you are. Despite what I've done you want me to return to you, want me to still have you. And you know what?

Spring, Day 7.
I do. And I give my heart to you in absolute surrender and total abandon. Here, though broken and torn, take it and make it new.
It was yours all along. I was yours all along.

it was only

fifteen minutes but

you came

you came

you came

and stayed

for only

fifteen blue minutes

and released everything

you’d been holding in

so we did, too

and watched a waterfall

Ice cream bars

Tucked deep in her coat-pocket

They won’t melt.

She trudges on in the icy whiteness.


Crinch, crunch, crinch, crunch

Sound of snow

Being stomped on and crushed

Under boots so heavy.


“Mommy, are we there yet?”

The question lingers in the chilly air.

On they walk.


Gray sky, no clouds,

Howling winds and noses cold,

On they trudge.

I'll admit I didn't notice it
the first time I saw you
there was mystery wrapped around your fingers
and silence that sliced the air
I did not expect the flash of a helmet
I saw for that half split second
but as the hands moved on I saw a glimpse of
the warrior in you.

Tattooed on your feet
are the stars of the sea,
but you keep them hidden
in black socks and high topped rubber shoes
maybe you're scared of stepping on broken glass
you've cut yourself before, I know
but if you keep your feet sealed in
walking on familiar paths
you'll never know what it feels like
to have warm sand in between your toes
or on fresh grass, dampen your soles
don't be afraid of pain, for I know that there is
the warrior in you.

Your name means messenger.
I looked it up.
You don't say as much as the others
to me at least,
but when you do
you leave fingerprints in the air and
maybe you think that your words don't matter much
but believe me, they've planted seeds
and those seeds are growing
and your messages don't just come in
consonants and syllables, but in the way you
open doors and tap shoulders,
the way you hold your head,
hold it high, because there is
the warrior in you.

You have lived through many battles
I see it in your eyes.
I hope your heart doesn't grow heavy when
you lose one, because the war's
already been won.
Learn to trust, soldier,
you'll always need backup.
And when it seems like
dawn will never come,
I hope you'll remember
the Warrior in you.

words.


stringed up letters

carefully sewn

together.


powerful things.

they dance

on the tip of my tongue


words.


****

and

revive.


overflowing from

what's hidden

inside.


words.


build up

and tear

d

    o

        w

            n


sweet and stinging,

deadly and inviting.


words.


be careful, dear,

when forming these

on your lips.


watch out, dear,

for their unexpected

yet expected

effects.


choose them wisely, dear.


words.


choose them well, i say.

These words that I am speaking are not my own.
No, they come from the Heavenly Father seated on His Heavenly throne.
Hallowed be Your name, Father!
Hallowed be Your name.
Father, grace.
Father, spirit.
Father, power.
Father, peace.

This is what the Father says,
"Be still, child.
Be still.
You can feel the undertow tugging and pulling
not knowing
which way the
water will go and
there is a wave coming
a towering wave
a rushing wave
a crashing wave
a tidal wave but
do not be afraid.
The water's safe.
Come walk on it.
For this wave is not what it seems.
No,
this is a wave of blessing and people and provision coming your way
this is a wave of overcoming and
victory and answered prayers
this is a wave that will sweep you off your feet,
toss you around in its waters
leaving you breathless and gasping at My faithfulness and love everlasting
So you'd better be ready and brace yourselves,
this wave is coming.

Be ready.
Leave your doors wide open
and your doorstep clean for
I am sending you prodigal sons
the lost, the broken ones.
I am leading them back to Me.
For I am Love and this, this is love:
That I have loved and traded My kingdom for your sins
and My wealth for your filth.
Because I am Love and My love never runs out.
Be ready for the return of your
brothers and your sisters,
be ready with open doors and open arms,
be ready for a wave of those who need patching up.
Be ready for them.

Do you hear the rain?
Smell it.
Taste it.
Feel it.
Like the rain that pours without end, I will open the floodgates of heaven
and pour out so much blessing
your storehouses will overflow and
your hands won't be ready to catch the next one so
never worry about what you will eat
or drink
or wear
For I am Jehovah Jireh and
I am more
than enough.
Be ready for downpour.

Rise, youth.
Your time is now.
Don't tell Me you are too young
too inexperienced
too busy
or too scared.
I will take your weaknesses and make my strength perfect in them,
I will give you the wisdom and faith you need,
I will make you into the leaders I've called you to be.
Don't worry about what you will say to them,
for I will put the words in your mouth,
and the seeds in their hearts.
My plans never fail, child, so enough with the doubts,
enough with the fears,
your time is now.
Be ready for the youth.

A wave of breakthrough
is coming straight at you and
don't you for one second
cringe in fear.
Don't you be afraid of the wave coming,
Don't you whimper when I lead you
to walk upon deeper waters,
just
listen to my still, small voice, child, and
follow it.
Don't you for one second
let your faith falter
just trust in your Father and
you'd better get ready and
brace yourselves because
this wave is going to
blow
you
away."

The little girl who tried.
The little girl who cried.
The little girl with a million failures.
The little girl who shed a million tears.
The little girl who lived in the shadows.
The little girl who loved the darkness.
The little girl who was lost.
The little girl who was scared.
The little girl who screamed.
The little girl who was confused.
The little girl who hated.
The little girl who didn’t understand.
The little girl who didn’t want to try anymore.
The little girl who wanted to give up.
The little girl who gave it one, last shot.
The little girl who lost.

That was the past.

The little girl is now
The young woman with the gigantic faith.
The young woman who laughs.
The young woman with a million victories.
The young woman with a million smiles.
The young woman who lives in the shadow…
Of the cross.
The young woman who loves the light.
The young woman who has been found.
The young woman who overcame her fear.
The young woman who laughs.
The young woman who knows.
The young woman who loves.
The young woman who is beginning to understand.
The young woman who will never stop trying.
The young woman who will never give up.
The young woman who won.
The young woman.
Me.

Allow me to
Take you to
Another side of Linny where
Rustling papers and
Noisy staplers and
Grades and records are
Abundant in number and
Children speak and
Children listen.

This is she.
Calm and cool as water
Never breaking her dam
Despite our endless
Relentless questions and
Talking sessions
She is patience.

This is she.
A world of second chances
And in our English classes
Forever with
Grace on her lips
Grace on her fingertips
Speaking out
Breathing in
Grace.
She is grace.

This is she.
Understanding and knowing
When you are struggling
She is there helping
Because she knows
She knows what it's like
The students' life
Sleepless nights
Bottomless cups of coffee and milk tea
Sometime between midnight and half past three
Trying to finish up essays and submit projects on time
She is kindness.

This is she.
A flowing, gushing fountain of
Ideas, ideas, and ideas
She comes in with magic in her pockets
Sunshine in her hair
Excited to share
A part of her life
A part of her mind
With us
Wanting to unleash the
Artist in everyone she
Tries to squeeze out every ounce
Of imagination and creativity we have in us
She teaches us to think
To ask "Why?"
To question our surroundings
To be open to new things
To find answers
To learn and to live
And be more
Than we think we are.
She is art
She is inspiration
She is patience
She is grace
She is kindness
She is a blessing
She is
Ms. Linny.
Yes.
This is she.

Donned a white dress today

With pearls and gold.

How long has it been?

Three hundred and sixty five

Since the day you went

Away, away, away.



Remember the painting

With colors born from rainwater?

Did you even get to see it

Before you went

Away, away, away?



Remember the letters

With heart-ink and tears?

Can you see them there,

In that place that is far

Away, away, away?



The place you are in,

The one that is

Away, away, away

Is actually

Here, here, and here.

My heart, and mind, and ears.

Brother,
For the days we have known each other,
I have come to the conclusion that there
Is something wrong with your eyes, because
Where you see brokenness, I see strength
Holding all your pieces together.
Where you see scars, I see tattoos of triumph,
Stories of how you fought,
Stories of how you lived each battle through.
Where you see ugly, I see beauty in places
You refuse to turn your head to, why
Won’t you turn your head to see
How I see you?
See, you have seen far too many hellos
And even more goodbyes to believe
That I am here to stay.
And I
Am here to stay.

Brother, my hands are here to catch
Whatever falls out of your storms.
I myself have been a storm far too many times
To run away when your rains start to pour.
My feet are ready to come chasing after you
When you stray too far away from home,
And as long as there is breath in my lungs
I swear I will never let you stay lost.
Because I
Am here to stay.

Till the day the world runs out of will to spin one more round,
Till the day the waves stop running back to shore,
Till the day mother and father and sister and brother forget each other’s faces,
Till the day of judgment,
Till the day of blood and trial,
Till the day of denial,
I will stay.
I will stay.
I will stay.

they will all leave

one day.

why make friends?



they will betray

one day.

why trust?



you'll regret it

one day.

why love?



so much sorrow

these days.

why smile?



it will fail

i say.

why hope?



why?



because...



just because...



you need to learn

to live.

TAKE IT
TAKE IT ALL
I AM SICK
OF HOLDING ONTO DESIRES
THAT DON'T COME FROM YOU

empty me
empty me
then
fill me
fill me
and please,
show me
show me
the way.
Your way.

**** me
**** me
then
raise me
raise me

i will hurt
i will cry
i will try to fight
but
i
want
YOU

I saw you from the time
you were a sapling
gasping for carbon dioxide,

you didn't deserve it
but you were given beyond
what your branches
could carry

yet I will love you
until all your leaves fall
and your roots turn to ash.

isang sundalo
gitara ang sandata
laban sa mga sigaw ng mga
multong
galing sa gubat ng
pagtataksil

i wrote your name
on the backs of my hands in green ink
because Neruda likes green and green is for hope
and i like Neruda and i like hope.

i painted your dreams
on my ankles in the shape of wings
your dreams that are big enough to carry two
and i hope that's okay with you.

what i'm trying to say is that
i'll never forget you.
never, ever forget you.

I wish that one day I will

write words

that would pierce hearts

and seem as if

they were woven with magic

touch lives

and come alive

I wish inspiration

would come as easily

as a bee is drawn to honey

I wish

urgh

asdfghjkl

I (hate) poetry.

twilight.


new moon.


eclipse.


breaking dawn.



beautiful words were they

with beautiful meanings

and beautiful imagery

before they became a series.

I thirst for a water
That I cannot hope to find
In any other fount

I yearn for a love
Love that takes away my fear
And erases all my doubt

And I find all these in You

I cry for a Father
Who will take me in His arms
Cover me with His warmth

I hunger for a Savior
Who will calm me in the storm
Pull my soul out of the dark

And I find all these in You

i’m in the midst of lions.

i lie among ravenous beasts.

men who carry spears and arrows,

are all around me.


but i know i’ll be alright,

your hand is guiding me.

a thousand may fall at my side,

i’ll remain

untouched.

Before me
is a brave queen of war
slicing her enemies' heads with the sharp,
cutting edges of the liquid eyeliner
she so expertly paints upon her skin,
unshaken by her rusting metal steed's
sudden jolts and halts.

Her long hair
whips forward with the wind, but
she, unscathed by its clawing
at her freshly powdered cheeks, tosses
the strands away, tames them. Stains
her lips with a blood-red shade, sits
in her own silence, away from the earsplitting
clanging and screeching and thundering chaos
of the battle that rages around her.

It is hard not to stare.

I can only admire her from where I cower,
behind a beaten-up backpack with fraying straps,
pushing my dusty glasses to see her better,
already defeated. Already surrendered.

Funny how the only thing I know
about the stranger beside me
is that our kissing knees and shoulders,
snug against each other,
is the warmest thing I've felt in a while.

You have a gaze that imprisons,
the kind that no one would ever want to leave,
yet they dart here and there, don’t
you see your purpose?
He is not your purpose and he doesn’t see it
yet.
Do not let his gaze imprison you.

Watch this woman.

See how she comes in with the sun on her face, every wrinkle is a mark made by golden drops, each line a story of a time she laughed, stories she probably can't remember but will try to tell anyway.

See those hips and how they sway. Those hips are strong enough to carry centuries of culture, and she's closer to a hundred than she is to fifty, but if you ask about her dancing days you'll see those hips still know exactly where they're supposed to be. Believe me, I've asked. That afternoon, we spent a good hour twirling our wrists to invisible Spanish-sounding guitars, feet darting across imaginary bamboo poles, gracefully closing the gaps between generations. I wonder if this is what she'd like to do in eternity.

Watch this woman.

See her hands, how they are always so full yet also always so empty. What she's holding never stays with her for long. This is how she loves. Her hands know nothing else but to love. Her hands love me when they pack my favorite food into plastic Tupperware for me to take home, her hands love me when they do their magic mending on the rips and tears in my clothes, her hands love me when they insist on doing dishes so I don't have to, her hands love me when they show me which ingredients to pour into a bowl so I can have her bread pudding anytime. This woman's hands could feed armies and she does it like everyday's tomorrow is a final battle.

See her eyes, how God must have placed diamonds instead when He made them. See how they twinkle whenever someone she loves enters the room, how they glitter whenever someone she loves speaks. See how clear are the tears that so easily flow from them, how all it takes is a single tug at her heart for it to become a spring. See how pride gleams from them whenever she travels miles north to watch this woman.

And Lola, this woman wants you to know that she watches you. And she sees you and her love for you often leaves her without words, except right now. And this woman wishes she's got numberless days left to watch you, but for now she says let's keep watching each other, until the day comes we are both dancing before the face of eternity.

You did not look like the knocking type,
but I found you standing at my door
just as I was about to shut it, knobby knuckles
ready to softly announce his arrival.
You never made much noise.

Your footsteps were whispers
on the creaking living room floor.
I never let you upstairs.
You might have stood at the
staircase a few times, but I wouldn't
remember. You never looked long enough
for me to see you.

Just like how you did not
so much as glance at the curtains
your fingers found their way to,
carefully caressing every inch of cloth
as if you had sewn them yourself.

How noiselessly your body
nestled against the hollow walls.
I can only be grateful that they
did not collapse beneath its weight,
or leave an imprint of your chest
on its peeling paint.

We will always have the same sky.

Brother, I have always been afraid to write about you. I have always been afraid that you would somehow find my poetry, my prose, whatever you call these letters I stitch together and see that my embroidery looks kind of a lot like you.

I visited the place where we first met last August, and there I found out that you can still make me cry. And to think it's been three years. Crazy, right?

I used to love that city. I still do, but last August I also discovered that there are landmines under almost every sidewalk. Those places have traces of the ice cream we ate, our laughter on the train, echoes of all the poetry and music and stories we gave each other. Bittersweet landmines. Each time they exploded a smile onto my face but the dark smoke would choke it out and take its place.

I only cry for the dead. But you saw how I cried over you at the apartment elevator that night. I think you told me to stop, but I'm not sure. All I remember is street lights, the taste of wet salt, and you looking like you were having a hard time breathing. Know that I felt the same. Or not. Sometimes I wonder why God never let me lose as many people as you. Maybe He knew that I would barely be able to handle losing you.

I haven't heard you breathe in years. All I see are your pictures and posts, intangible you. I can see you have grown in some parts... I hope you have. But I also see a lot of tiredness. And pain. And change. I don't think I can make you laugh anymore.

I don't know what your plans are now. I don't know if you still want to make films, if you still want to make things, if you still want to go everywhere you said you'd go. But I hope you know that my door is always open. And even if I will never hear you knock again, somehow I am comforted knowing that we

will always have the same sky.