My previous school’s canteen had a treat
called Custard Bun, just worth 20 pesos
One of the cheaper snacks, amidst a variety of 25s and 27s
There were times I skipped lunch due to a meeting
But during the five minutes left going up to the fourth floor,
I would dash towards the canteen, just to buy Custard Bun,
and pair it with the classic Calamansi Juice
What makes it special, you ask?
A cheek-like bun, whose only design
was a yellow custard swirl on top
Soft, and
Filled with a pale yellow cream
That isn’t too sweet, unlike its choco-bun rivals
What made it so different?
Perhaps it reminded me of the olden days
Which I sometimes reminisce about, between fits of silence
In this unfamiliar place
I remember, how like its sweetness takes me back to when I was a child
When I loved eating this bread called Graciosa, which was just a loaf of bread topped with
sugar and butter
How simple it always seemed then, how it never needed more
How in times when we get distracted by life’s complexities
Sometimes an ordinary treat is what we need to get by

I remember writing articles for a sports event —
it was night at school
And someone offered us a big box of abandoned swirl-topped buns
Still in their plastics
Untouched by the athletes they were meant to serve
I thought, how lonely they must be in the night
So I took one, and another, which turned to five,
Brought some home, ate some along the way
It felt like I finally found consolation, eating the bun,
Whose taste I could never put my finger to
And afterwards, whenever I passed the canteen
I always looked for it, for the bun that felt like home
And often see one hidden amongst others, just waiting to be
Found
The bun which I discovered,
Was named Custard
And I realized, even if I never tasted Custard in my whole life
It was like a forgotten friend, who came back from a long journey
And I just remembered its name

So if you ask me,
Why I love Custard Bun so much,
If you ever had that feeling of remembering something
Seemingly long lost, from eons ago
And you find it in the most unexpected of places
Bringing with it the most precious of memories
You’d understand so

In a new place, I hope to find it once again.

A score out of 10
My norm would be 1 on the language of love
Devoid of expression
Extremely misunderstood
Unable to utter love

Love is an art to many
A science to some
But an alien to me

In attempting to communicate love
Gifts and parties were thrown
How would that be matter now, because I lost you nonetheless

He Waits for his wife
Sitting in her lawbreaking bra at the bar

These days she goes by
Kathleen

Something odd is brewing in the kitchen
Even the dog is howling

One mouthful is tempting
But better not swallow

Otherwise, it's a certain trip
To Little Red's recovery room

It was hot, and I was starving.

The air was thick and dry, causing flies to drown as they land on your scorching skin. Drunk, I pray for water but I get Guadalupe. She hugs and kisses me stating that I will live forever because she was just blah blah blahing about me. The world quakes in my head until she blesses me with a sealed bottle of polish springs. I shower my tongue with it, wringing out the cuff of my shirt to get every drop. 

Now, famine was left to conquer.

"Come over. I live two flights up with a comfy bed just callin' for ya'."

I guess clam soup it is.

I look down at my plate, watching as melted whipped cream flows, ebbing on the lip of the dish. Orange zest peeks out from beneath golden debris. Although I do not see it, vanilla dances on the nose, twirling clementines below. 

It's more of a symphony than it is a meal. Defacing it with one scoop, a loop, and a swallow.

“This is the worst rendition of southern peach cobbler.”

Drunk,
and starving
I stumble
tumbling
into a hole
in the wall
where I order the cheapest thing on the menu,
pancakes.

I lean against a nearby counter,
staring at my feet below,
measuring distance,
as I time my spit.

Slip,
from my lips.
Drip,
on the tip,
of my wing-tipped,
shoe.

After eternity,
they call my number,
I was ready to go.

The callow man places the dish on the counter
then slides it over to me and asks "The works?"

I nod stupidly.

He then proceeded, with gloved hands, to smash my flapjack and streak odd colored syrups, concluding with a confectioners' sugar storm from above.

"Enjoy."

Drunk,
and starving
I stumble
tumble
out of a hole
in the wall
where I regret ordering the cheapest thing on the menu.

I like my beans,
             maybe a bit hotter than
others..

Mine with jalapeno peppers,
           scattered like snow..
melting it on the taste buds
              oh so delicately...

Then a layer of cheese,
  like soft footprints..
    never touched.


Before my mouth consumes it,
                  What was whole now

          chunks missing..

like a where's wally of the food
                                             variety..

I'll tell you where in my belly..

Beans, beans they'll make you full,
         on what ever you want.

but for me it the saucy kind,
         cos that's where my beany


                                       boat floats.. saucy

Seen in the distance,
        beauty glistened
though ocean waves..

"Help me please,

                              She smiled,
  as she dragged him under...

What people see on the outside,
Is not a reflection of internal existence
Nor is it an understanding of personal grief,
It is instead a reflection of pestering insistence.

The lies that escaped and drenched you in sincerity,
The shroud of happiness, perfectionism and
Optimism. It was tied so tight, I could scarcely function.
It tricked you into a false sense of security.

It was only when activity increased and diets grew,
The feelings of inadequacy and insecurity got harder to dampen,
It was when the outline of bones would protrude through
My skin.
That’s when the nightmare really started to happen.

But by then it was too late, the damage was done.
My mind had already destroyed my ability to function
Like a normal human being.
The only way to describe it, is to say it feels freeing.

The weight dropped off; the sizes grew smaller.
Along shrunk my appetite, yet the mirror grew hungrier.
One wasn’t enough, two wasn’t either.
Three, four and five past, none satisfying enough to
Quench the hunger that burnt and just grew angrier.

To be thin is my dream, my biggest aspiration.
My goals of careers, family and success do not matter anymore.
To become overcome by it was not my intention, it seems to sneak
Up on you from the deepest corners of your mind. It takes over you,
Like a violent infection.

What I ask of you really isn’t much. I ask you to listen, to try
And understand.
I know it’s hard, but instead of pressuring me into therapy,
Maybe just sit down and listen to me
And what I have to say.

It is demons I battle daily, tearing around in my mind.
The pain is colossal, yet no one seems to notice
From the outside.
I feel desperately alone, and I’m terribly scared.
Yet no one seems to come to me, and show me I am cared
For.