What to buy, Who to be
This is a harmless harmony
First comes love, then comes trust;
A defenseless memory in the dust
And what could I, so ever in motion,
could contribute to this ocean
that I call Earth and you call Here --
my eyes are a farmhouse portrait,
far and near.

With and without, give my E! take
Sometimes I feel like this hunger
is my and your mistake.
Withering windows give view to past,
give mention to something through
alliterative glass.
What could it be, When could it throw
my life and your life in a redundant television show,
where the laughter is canned, the love staged,
the buying and dying of products we have caged
ourselves in, in bulk, ourselves in a religion of none.

Time to blister with imagery, A delicate, bouncing light
traveling across a sea, moving towards me, moving
towards you, across the darkly shimmer of a reflector
blue, and the denim drugs and t-shirt ***,
the Fat Elvis rock in your lap, Nationalistic paranoia:
the red, white, and blue on your hat, fading, fading
among the shards of air, warm and vibrant,
Terror-Freedom clarity spittle-lip cat bath,
and my laces around the neck of the sound that skips
lids and rids of hipster brains and howling barks
from trees and boys with new noise, killer and robust
in the teenage, young adult, serial defenseless dust.

In a valley down by the danger,
surrounded by silver-naked-trees,
there is trust and there is dust
on plaid blanket, pressed by knees.

Where the orange orb floats through darkness
as midnight and finite as deathly intentions,
they surrender, known pretenders,
**** and pink, among green-glassed drinks,
living as common competition, in a silicon city;
living as voices-of-a-generation, in the pretty gritty.

Dream works; Lion King
Simba talks to Mufasa.
That's when I pulled my pants up, and started fixing my posture.
Then looked up above.
I struggle with love.
Struggle with hate.
Hard to debate.
Leave and change when I fall But I still wanna participate.

22 in 10 days.
Turning 22, in 10 different ways
A different shade.
A midnight black, to a faded gray.
I opened this chapter.
Dressed for the rapture.
Run and tell master.
While they're telling Ima take it all to the pastor.
Or am I dreaming?
Wake up Wake up.
Time to break up, from the shake up.
Don't let em see you down,
Get dressed,
And put on make up.
I'm evolving.
Starving like Marvin.
Sky is still calling
My name ain't Jim Jones, but one day I'll be ballin'.

Will I give back?
No looking back.
Dashing that.
Getting older now; getting bigger, steady hungry trying to pick up the pieces.
Pledge of allegiance to the money now.
Now and forever.
Finesse, but I'm still not that clever.
One day I'll be; probably never.

And nowadays 22 is still declared young.
But that won't change me from growing, I won't settle for none.
Nowadays 22 can feel old or feel young.
With these 10 days left I know it's better to come.

Daydreams about my future
consumed my fifteen year old mind,
if only I was informed that eight years later,
I'd still be daydreaming about my future.

Daydreams about my future
consisted of joy and freedom
if only I was informed that eight years later,
I'd still be restrained and joyless.

Daydreams about my future
so misleading to think I would be successful
eight years later and I still question if this
pain will ever cease to exist.

Daydreams about my future,
a world full of fairness that celebrates brightness
not this mess of confused individuality where
anonymity is the new frontier.

Daydreams about my future,
gave me hope that one day I would find the acceptance
I so desperately craved
Eight years later and I'm still hungry.

Daydreams about my future,
reprieve from the torment from my peers.
who would have known, that eight years later
my peers would still misunderstand me.

Daydreams about my future,
the place I withdraw and hide in.
Eight years later and I'm still stuck
in daydreams about my future.

Daydreams about my future,
a hopeless concept my young mind created
to pretend that reality is nonexistent
Eight years later and my reality is still choking the life from me.

Daydreams about my future,
the only thing that keeps me going,
eight years later and I'm still relying on a lie
to get me through this life until it's time to die

Daydreams about my future,
who would have known that I would be so naive to stay here
Eight years later, my twenty-three year old mind has
disappointed my fifteen year old self.

Daydreams about my future,
are all I have left.
Eight years later and I'm still here,
daydreaming about my future.

It was
the grace
of a daisy
With 23
that teach me
on this blessed
new day
that it shall not matter
to start counting
from
I love you
or
I love me
The revealed is
One
and the same
Divine reason
only

i can make one bottle of beer last hours
From cold to lukewarm
My *** settling into a state of what I call
Perma buzzed
Wussy sip after wussy sip
Perplexed looks and slights from friends
It serves me right to drink so slow,
Evading the glass bottle bottom but
I guess I want to be able to hold onto something so much,
It warms up to me and serves me well.

~

Right now, I want to be buried in a house of lavenders.

what a strange quiet house I'm in
Where i can't even hear myself think
Bottle after bottle and the silence ensues
I am alone here, and I will be alone here
For as long as the vacancy in my chest
And the absence of my mind
continues

~
I want a house overrun with lavenders for my children to play with.

Ang edad ko na ngayon ay dalawamput tatlo
Pero ang mukha ko ay edad pang labingwalo
Wag na kayo kumontra at magreklamo
Pagbigyan nyo na dahil kaarawan ko

Salamat sa mga taong nakaalala
Kahit ung iba sa facebook lang nakita
It's the thought that counts ika nga
Maraming salamat sa dinulot nyong saya

Wake up early,
with the mess hair curly,
face blur and silly,
speak out loudly.



Going to school by Rapid,
dont want to be stupid,
the test were repeat,
cause shy to ask and speak.