In twilight realms where masks adorn like stars,
The moon casts her glow most tenderly
Upon those who dance unadorned by pretense,
Their radiance deemed too bright for mortal eyes.
Your empathy—a garden of midnight blooms,
Protected by the trellis of sacred boundaries,
Not to wither beneath harsh judgment's sun,
But to preserve your light for worthy wanderers.

Those who carved rivers of sorrow in your soul
Yet deny the waters flowing from their hands
Cannot offer reconciliation's sweet nectar.
Peace resides not in their distant approval,
But sleeps beside you, faithful as moonlight,
A companion through your darkest hours.
The distance woven between pain and present
Is gossamer silk that must not be torn.

Breaking patterns is the dance of dawn,
The first light dissolving night's heavy chains,
Your silhouette fading like morning mist
From doorways where love never flourished.
In authenticity dwells your freedom's poetry—
No longer folding your boundless spirit
Into shapes too small to hold your vastness,
Standing unveiled in your own sacred truth.

Touch not the fragile wings of survivors in flight—
Their path traced through storms of betrayal,
The space they've claimed between wound and healing
Is hallowed ground won through countless tears.
Make peace with misunderstanding's shadow,
Release the weight of constant explanation,
For your truth blooms most beautifully
When nurtured in soil that welcomes its roots.

In her presence,
a quiet dawn breaks,
soft and steady,
like the first light of day.

Her heart speaks in whispers,
a language I’ve always known,
no words needed,
just a feeling,
like the earth calling me home.

Her smile is the calm
that stills the storm inside,
a gentle breeze on a restless sea,
where I can find peace,
where I can finally breathe.

She holds the weight of the world
with a grace that never falters,
turning every moment
into something warm,
something true.

I don’t need to understand it all—
I just need to feel it,
this quiet, tender magic
that wraps itself around me,
whispering that it’s okay
to simply be.

And in her gaze,
there’s a garden,
where every part of me can grow,
where every shadow finds its light,
and I can rest
in the softness of her soul.

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.

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.