I live and love as if reborn—
a soul unclenched, no longer torn.
The skies toast me with silver cheers,
a prayer answered through the years.

They come—those laughs, those quiet grins,
in giggles, bursts, and subtle spins.
Joy spills from me, a song unplanned,
like heaven kissed my throat by hand.

Love lives in me, unmasked, awake,
no echo now, no smile that’s fake.
This flight—unreal, yet somehow true—
feels like the stars are shining through.

So bless me once, then bless me more—
this heart has found an open door.
Alive at last, and every time,
my pulse recites a warmer rhyme.

And now—farewell to cries and drains,
the ghosts of sleepless, silent pains.
I’ve stitched my wounds with threads of grace,
and kissed the shadows from my face.

A fresh start waits with arms spread wide—
a softer path, a gentler tide.
Let love come near, with light that stays,
in hugs and hopes and golden days.

Watch me drift, a flame unchained,
laughing where the stars have rained.
The sky broke open just for me—
yes, life still burns—
but now, I burn to be.

There is hunger for pretence—
figures beyond human,
hurtling through soft blue-grey light.
We cheer for their battles,
their victory for us all
against darkness woven like fog.

It is a crutch for choosing—
right or wrong,
their faces become masks for uncertainty.
In their image, we stagger toward
edges sharp as broken glass.

Not all shine is gold,
not all gold is pure.
They rise, the hollow ones,
their voices weighted, but empty.
Hear them speak—
the cadence of cloying lies.
Their shadows will fall,
but leave no imprint.
No heat to warm the frozen ground.

Authentic Heroes are found elsewhere:
in quiet rooms, where sterile hands
touch life trembling.
In the streets where voices rise,
break like the surf
on walls too smooth to hold them.
A nurse, nameless—
soothing sweat-streaked brows.
A marcher, faceless—
breaking the silence of centuries.

Human,   flawed ones walk.
Their steps are uneven.
But they march—
Spartans in no armour,
heart tarnished but true.
The fallen stand again.
Their greatness cracks but does not shatter.

This, too, is comfort: to see them rise
with the weight of imperfection—
gold mixed with clay,
dust glowing in the sun.
We hunger for myths.
We dream of glory.
But heroes walk among us,
as human as breath is fleeting.

inspired by tony labrusca's portrayal of josé rizal

babae likes me contained.
me—a tupperware full of lumpia.
i'm soggy, *****.
*****—inday—i'm gwapo. fried uy.

sorry. soggy.
druggy. sorry.

my chest tattoos?
yes, they can be removed.
will that be provided in my—

nevermind. thank you.
she opened her purse.
hard candy.

waving me away.
sorry carb-eating lad.
she is just ******* hard candy.
cgeh. babay. cgeh bi.

jose, they say you wrote novels.
but i wonder—
did you ever write yourself out?

did you watch your own ink
bleed into the soil?
did you wish for something softer?

in the way i am devoured. hero forgotten.
in the way i am swallowed
whole—one piso coin
by lovers, by history, by a name
they gave me before i ever
spoke too. ii

Don't really know what I'm feeling
I'm probably feeling too much
Don't know why I feel so lonely
When every day I get your touch
Don't know why I feel numb
Numbing is a strategy
Thoughts these day get so tough
Having a heavy melody

Destiny of our souls?
Where is it written, show me,
My mind is desperate to know,
Where all this is gonna lead me
I am not ready yet
To give up on every dream
I know I keep steady
In times like these
I'm moving slowly

But with connected hearts
Art is not a real choice
It's a remedy
The only place that restores
My inner voice and my integrity

Does that mean I lack authenticity?
Maybe, out of necessity?
Maybe it's my conditioned brain,
Always wired to simply be afraid.
I've let confusion lead the way
In many of my decisions,
I've let anxiety lead me astray,
Make me lose goals and precision.

Now I am here and typing
Words in my phone from
The heart.
And I rejuvenate my core,
Feeling it's warmth,
Health being restored,
Every tiny step counts...

There's no way this depression
Will feed itself off of me.

Knowledge only takes you so far;
Authenticity reveals your complexity,
Humility accepts your vulnerability,
Surrendering accepts the hand of the one
that is all things: knowledgeable, authentic, humble,
and submitted to the ultimate power in the universe.

She is not the reflection they painted,
nor the role they assigned.
She is the breath of the earth,
the roots and the bloom,
both soft and unyielding.
She carries worlds within her—
and owes nothing to anyone.

I’m weird,  
for dreaming in broad daylight,
for speaking in riddles,
and letting my silence speak louder than words.  

I’m weird,
because my thoughts spill out in silence,
hovering on my lips like secrets,
and when I speak,
the world looks away,
as if the truth in my voice
is something they’re not ready to hear.

I’m weird,
for finding beauty in broken things—
the fragments others throw away,
and in the bruises I hide beneath my skin.
They whisper stories,
reminding me of the pieces I hold together in myself,
stories (that) only I seem to understand.

I’m weird,  
because I laugh when I want to cry,  
and cry when no one else does—  
my tears fall for the stars,  
and my heart breaks for the moon.  
I feel too much,  
love too fiercely,  
as if my soul was made  
for a world too fragile to last.

I’m weird,
for I don’t fit in the spaces they give me,  
so I carve my own,  
even if it means standing  
on the edge, alone.

But if weird is what I am,  
then let it be,  
for I’d rather be this beautiful ache,  
this painful bloom of something true,  
than fold myself small enough  
to fit into a world  
that never made room  
and never will.

I’m weird,  
and maybe that’s the best thing I’ll ever be—  
not perfect, not easy to understand,  
but real, raw,  
and unashamed  
of every odd, jagged piece  
that makes me whole.

I am enough as I am.

I don't need to impress. I don't need to entertain. I don't need to please. I don't need to satisfy.

I can just be what I feel like being.
I can just do what I feel like doing.