Give an explanation for the lies that you tell
Drinking in the ******* cause you do it too well
And I find a way to get to the point I need to reach
I want to learn the lesson pain is trying to teach
And I will not give up on all the time I was with you
Many songs I wrote for us without intending to
I wish I was inspired
A new muse instead
These words paint your face cause it's stuck in my head
I have attempted to take your picture down but can't seem to make it move
Sinking into inky sea of love I can't remove
In tears I drown my pain and flood this whole **** place
Can't produce enough liquid to fill this empty space

We see them all the time
Who sell happiness as a meal
To unsuspecting people who're confused
They sound smart & have the right jokes

But follow closely & they get old
Bitter, experienced old men
Meddling into everyone's business
Trying to sell some happiness.

(seven)
i stopped wearing shorts—
unable to stop feeling eyes raking my legs
up and down, up and down.
i didn't even know there was a word for that.

(ten)
i started wearing clothes
a size big for me.
they did not ask why
i get angry whenever they force me
to wear something that clings.

i hated puberty,
how things would grow and change,
and they would stare.

(eleven)
i tried wearing shorts again.
immediately i get the feeling of someone
trailing behind me.
i went home as quickly as possible.

(thirteen)
i wore baggy clothes during commute—
a blouse and jeans. it was a thirty minute ride.
it felt longer. especially since this man
sat next to me,

hounding me nonsense— anong pangalan mo?
i do not answer.

that night, i had my resolve—
i will never commute alone again.
people laughed at me. hinahatid ka kasi lagi.

no.

(fifteen)
i started giving prolonged glares,
staring into the eyes of the beast
whenever i hear a whisper as i pass by.
hello, saan ka pupunta?

so i stare them down. funny how
they back away
as i stop in my tracks asking with my eyes
"what now, imbecile?"

does it feel bad when people don't tolerate
the ******* coming out of your mouth?

(nineteen)
ano ba kasi ang suot niya? they ask.
everything feels white-hot, searing.
i refuse to hear anymore of that.

exit.

(twenty)
every time i go home on my own
i carry something
in my hands, a blade if you must.
the night sky begins to envelop the horizon.
the streetlights cast their sickly orange hue
on the pavement as i take one last look at the hospital.

i hope i make it home in time.

the thin line between poet and:


******* artist
is so thin,
it is almost,

almost,

invisible.

i'm such a
paper person

and i've got
the same
design as
everyone else

i'm in a
different frame
but the story
has all the same lines
the same oxford comma
punctuating
the same lies

and i scream

thinking
that my voice
sounds
different
than the others
screaming beside me

what *******.

You profess to know me.
You profess to love me, too.
But you've never put in the time for either,
So I profess that neither's true.