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cupid 1d
we leave behind pieces of ourselves everywhere we go
we leave traces of ours souls on everything
mostly these are memories or accomplishments
things we’ve made or created ruts of
my cinnamon gum and cherry scented kiss is a trace i left
everything everyone writes out or says is a trace
a mark on the permanent celestial history of existence
every second you spend in a dark room crying
every moment you spend reading off a screen
is marked down by a keeper of time
every song and every vibration of your nervous voice
is recorded by some deity of remembrance
the way i kick open doors laughing and rip things apart crying
is written in some grand book of past happenings
every mean word and compliment that has spilled from your lips
every single time you’ve failed or flown will be read on judgment day
we leave traces of who we are on existence itself
our moral essence leaves colorful marks on the pages of life
**** red and forest green ink left to drip from my artist heart
beautiful lavender and pale yellow, sunset orange
mint blue, desert gold, death white and cold black to run off your soul
we leave the worst yet most vibrant traces on the past
traces to been seen by future monsters just like us
i left a cinnamon scented crimson kiss on his neck, he left a royal violet handprint around my throat
She said that her mind was a diamond
Formed under the pressures of human existence
Her ideas and inspirations rigid, yet brilliant.
She said she longed to be graphite
Soft and layered-
Malleable.
She said that her mind was a cage without a bird
Protecting things that weren’t there
Trying to barricade things that had already been set free
Denying entry to things wanting to get in.
And then she said her mind was a forest fire
Fueled by its desire to rid the underbrush
Not realizing that beautiful creatures lived there, too.
I can't seem to understand
What could be done to soothe this ache
Ripped from a broken rib cage
Measure up all my mistakes

Coloring the glass
Staining all my liquor red
Leave me buried in the past
Spent every last second

Draining the last drops
Strained through broken teeth
Working for the sound of
Something that's worth healing

Finally myself if
Only for the moment
My truth is that I'm lost
In this current, vacant motion

How'd I lose my way
i thought about you today (when do i not think of you?) and all i wanted was to place a million kisses all over your existence.
Sky 6d
My existence flickers,
but only in my own mind-
I seem to be forgetting reality,
and the memories I've captured
are finding ways to escape the jar.
I chase them through the dew-speckled fields,
but they deceive me every time.

And sometimes I stop,
and fling myself to the ground -
roll to face the stars,
and nearly drown in my own tears,
and ask

"Why?"
Hindi na ako muling uulit sa mga saglit ng pagiging makata
sapagkat mahapdi sa tenga ang magkaroon ng isang bagong awit
kahit pa walang mabulaklak na salita ang paliparin
dinig pa rin ay ang bulaang himig ng pagiging batang ganid

Sapagkat musmos pa, at isinumpang maging mahina
dapat na laging maniwala sa mga sabi-sabi
sumunod sa paikot-ikot na pagkirot na dulot ng pagiging salot
naniniwalang kami’y uod ganid sa mga pangarap na dulot ng paglaki
Ngunit ang totoo’y hangad lang namin ay lumipad, at maging malaya

Bakit nga ba ganid at mapangangkin ang tingin sa mga makata?
dahil ba ang kanilang mga awit ay tungkol sa pagbibigay laya?
Bakit nga ba mayabang at mapagmataas ang tingin sa mga bata?
dahil ba sa kanila’y nag-aabang ang panibagong bukas?
O lahat ay dahil sa mga sabi-sabi ng mga matatanda.

Ito na nga ang huli kong awit
Sapagkat ang pagiging makata
At ang pagiging bata
Ay ang pagbabakas
ng bagong paniniwala.

Nagsalita na Naman ang Baliw
Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit
When I watch nature -
And look at the narrow strips
Of what we've allowed to persist of that world

=================================
Squeezed between concrete
Sidewalks, roads, and metal sewer grates.
=================================

I wonder if -
As I look upon bare tree branches
Adjusting to the ever-moving autumn air ~
Nature is some sort of escape for the corrupted human spirit
Another world or plane of existence
Where one may finally be taught to know oneself.

If this is the case,
May one never truly visit this place?
Until finally departing from this world?
Must we be forced to play the role of the perpetual onlooker?
Able to see heaven and dream about it,
But never feel, taste, or bathe in its light?

In contrast,
Could the changing color of leaves,
Death, decay and rebirth before our eyes
Be merely a surface level,
Indifferent reminder
That time continues to march ever onward - - -
Without regard to our concerns,
Pains, and feelings about ourselves?

Is it possible that this strange,
Mysterious beauty that we look upon,
But never truly come to understand
Is only in place to remind us
Of its ever-lasting presence?
And in turn,
The extent to which our own existences
Are so  v e r y  fragile and limited
To short blips in time
On a tiny spec of dust
In  s p a c e  ?
Alongside the taster and the tasted
I am the third
I stand
Beneath the tree which is their perch
I watch their play
That does not delude me
And I still know
That the Sun does not set and rise.

Because of me
These two do not leave their roost
Though I can reveal their presence
Only to those few aware of me
But do I exist in my own right?
I ask.

Fairly
I am as unconditional as the other two
And no different from the space I occupy
Nor different from the sound often heard
Or the light that merely conceals darkness.

Am I the virtual sharpness of my intellect
And the very beginning of all things
The glint in the eye!
But these do not define me
They do not make my senses serve me
Or my mind heed.

Maybe I am the tiny dot marking the end,
A rebel nonetheless.
Stephen Nov 2
One night -
Of love,
Of passion.
Nine months –
Of lying,
Of pretending.
I am born,
And immediately
Unwanted,
Unloved,
Undesired.
I am born,
And immediately
Smothered,
Protected,
Sheltered.
I am called
A Gift,
But I was not
Presented;
Rather,
I was
Carelessly
Created.
I am called
Son,
And though I do
Shine
Brightly,
My heat
Burns everything around me.
It burns me as well,
From the inside
Out.
I am called
Monster,
And could I be anything else?
Born of two monsters,
(As are we all)
How could I not be
Monster as well?
But monster
Is not what I want to be.
So I read,
I learn,
I understand;
This world
Is nothing
But monsters;
Creatures
Crawling everywhere;
Pretending to be benevolent,
Pretending to love and cherish and care.
But I still don’t want to be
Like them.
So I read,
I learn,
I understand;
I don’t have
To be a monster;
No one does.
But the only way to become
Anything else,
Requires
Facing the monster you are;
Finding the heat inside yourself,
Touching it,
Letting it burn you,
So you can feel
And heal
And understand.
I find my heat,
My inner monster.
I face it,
Grab it by the core,
Let it burn me until I am ash.
And then
I begin to heal
And learn
And understand.
I am no longer
Monster;
But I am still
Surrounded
By monsters.
And they are all too afraid
To face themselves,
To see their truth,
To touch their inner fire
And let it burn.
I am
Surrounded
By monsters,
And their heat
Is burning everything around them,
And I am not equipped
To put out so many fires.
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