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Leigh Marie Apr 2017
Growing tired of the present I
Fear the future cause she is
My next door neighbor
I am reminded of her everyday
I pass her in the hallway
She waves hello but I
Do not want her to move in with me
I'm happy alone
AL Marasigan Apr 2017
Una, napakaganda ng mga simula, ng mga umagang puno ng kaba, hinahanda ang sarili sa mga posibleng pagpapakilala. Hinahasa ang mga ngiti, ang mga galaw, ang mga paglakad sa harapan ng iyong mga kaklase. Tinatanggap ang mga matatalim na tingin habang naghihintay sa bawat salitang lalabas sa kaluluwa **** malapit nang sumabog, mga taingang naghihintay, naghahandang makinig…

Pangalawa, magiging kampante’t komportable ka, iisipin na ang buhay ay ganun lang kadali, na ang bawat simula’y pagpapakilala lang ng sarili na pagkatapos **** magpakilala ay makikinig ka nalang. Iniisip na ang kaginhawaan, galak at takot sa simula ay mananatiling sa’yo.

Pangatlo, mapapagod ka. Na ikaw ay gigising ng mas maaga, papalitan ang dugo ng iba’t-ibang uri ng likido, sa pagbabasakaling ang simula ay mananatili hanggang sa dulo. Ikaw ay unti-unting susuko.

Pero pang-apat, ang daan tungo sa tagumpay ay di dapat kalimutan at sukuan di’ba?

Subalit panglima, ang tagumpay ay di palaging may sementadong daanan, na ang lahat ng bagay ay di perpekto. Na ang langit na narasanan mo nung simula ay di mananatiling ganoon hanggang sa dulo na ito’y posibleng maging blankong espasyo na lamang. Matatakot kang punuin ito ulit.

Pang-anim, maghanda ka sa paglipad. Unti-unting buuin ang mga pakpak gamit ang mga balahibong parte ng iyong mga simula.

Pangpito, lisanin ang lumbay, ang galit, gamutin ang mga sugat sa’yong mga pakpak. Unti-unting abutin ang araw kahit na ito’y iiwanan kang abo, susubukang pabagsakin.

Ito ang pangwalo, maghanda kang bumagsak, mahulog, masaktan.

Pangsiyam, masakit ang mahulog, bumagsak, umasa. Ngunit gawin mo itong lakas, lagyan mo ng pwersa ang bawat pagaspas ng mga pakpak ng iyong simula. Oo, di tayo handa na mahulog, bumagsak, umasa, at walang kahandaan sa mga ganitong bagay.

Pero pangsampu, huwag kang susuko, magaling na ang iyong mga pakpak, tapos na ang paghahanda. Subukan mo nang lumipad muli sa langit na dati’y pinuno mo ng mga unang beses at mga unang bagay bumuo sa’yong pagkatao. Liparin mo ulit ang blankong espasyo, lagyan ng mga bagong simula, buksan ang mga nakakandong daanan, abutin ulit ang tagumpay, subukan muling lumipad, at pag ika’y muling nahulog, abutin ulit ang langit, lipad lang.
Inspired by Juan Miguel Severo's  "Sampung Bagay na Natutunan ko sa mga Umiibig"
Jules Feb 2017
you may say nothing,
but don't tell me it doesn't feel strange to you too.
doesn't it feel strange;
doesn't it feel harsh,
doesn't it ache
to know
we may not be here again?

doesn't it make your heart
pound out of your chest
to know
you will not see the skies from this one specific place again?
doesn't it weigh upon your shoulders
to fear
that we may not meet again?

doesn't it make you nauseous with the whole heaving hurt of it,
and the entirety of your relief.
don't you get torn
between good riddance
and i'll miss you,
between is this the taste of freedom,
the heady weightlessness in my chest
,
and take me back; what i would give to do it over.

doesn't it make you go weak-kneed.
to think, we're almost there.
we've made it, and now
who even knows
where next to go.
the school year is almost over
Zollie Trista Jan 2017
And it's graduation,
I'm thinking "now or never",
And you look at me
Like this is it,
And you clasp my hand
Like when we were kids,
And my ******* are hard
From the nighttime chill,
And our pasty skin is fluorescent,

We count backward from ten,
And at one we leap off the dock,
Into the icy river,
And I can hear your feet
Propelling you to the thick black surface,
But I stay under
Feeling the water
And the little bits of sand
Floating up around me,

And when I'm ready,
I plant my feet on the ground,
And kick off,
My head finally bobbing under the stars,
And you're already laughing
Like your mind is as far from me as your future,
But I'm ready now,
Because all I can do is move on
and laugh with you
Day Oct 2016
Oh how scary it is, to know so little
to feel like a rabbit running in circles
when every one is telling you to run in squares

Oh how scary it is, to be so out there
with no one to hold your shaking hand
and to have nothing to be proud of

Oh how scary it is, to fake a smile
and tell everyone how excited you are
but you feel like an overturned turtle

Oh how scary it is, to be next in line
gripping tightly at dollars and dimes
but not yet knowing what you want

Oh how scary it is
to not be ready
You guys, I'm so unprepared. I have no idea what I am doing. I feel like everyone has their life put together and that I am just a  mess. I have no idea about college. My parents are helping either (with applying or tuition) I'm trying tho
b e mccomb Aug 2016
it's not that
i'm not sincere
it's that i don't
know how to
convey that i
actually care

(what a complex
color scheme
so bright and
busy on the mind
i can feel your eyes
picking it apart)


because i've
worked hard
to look like
i don't
worked hard to pretend
i don't need you to care

(and how my words
start looking
unconventional
formulated to seem
like something i
never was)


i wasn't
not really
it was just the
here's the thing
how do i say
tired?

(i don't think i'll
ever see you again
and i don't feel as old
as the others seemed)


i'm grateful
for your gifts
and kind words
i really am

(i cashed your checks
months before
hitting the post office
go ahead and
call me a
heartless *****)


just know that
i haven't
spent a single
cent of it

it's sitting in
my checking
account just
waiting and
wondering how
much of
my hospital bill
it will cover

(but if there's anything i can't
do that's blame you for wanting to
contribute to the side of my
personality that you never knew)


please put your money
where your intentions are
and you know what they say
about good intentions

(that the road to hades
is paved with them)


but they never did
mention which one
of us was heading
towards hell.
Copyright 8/8/16 by B. E. McComb
b e mccomb Aug 2016
i didn't understand half
the words he said
and i don't understand half
the words you write

michael jackson
and waylon jennings
wrapped in a paper towel
"papa would be proud of you"
scratched in the back of
a children's book

it's the oddest thing
to no longer miss
someone who's been
gone so long

an odder thing to sit
in silence on your bed
with the fitted sheet all pulled
off the side next to the wall
feeling your best friend's
little sister's scratchy blue
nylon mattress rub
up against your sore feet

and open card
after card
after card
filled with glittering
words of praise and
monetary gifts

and then read about all
the things about you
that people think are
worthy of mentioning
and you start to
see a pattern

"thank you for serving"
"humor"
"creativity"
"imagination"
"let God lead you"
"keep rapping"

(thank you
and by the way
i don't rap only
occasionally slam)

it starts to feel like a
bulletpoint hallmark eulogy
like you've left your body
and are reading about someone else
reviewing all the better
more visible parts of yourself
the parts deemed loud
enough to be acknowledged.

and you start to see
what's lurking off
the edge of the card
and the words they didn't write
the places that you
went wrong

the question marks
behind their eyes
wondering why they
haven't seen you for two months
why your hair is a different color
why someone else is in your seat

and the semicolons in
your stomach
when you realize that
you've made a mistake
and even with all the hurts caused
you've still got a family out there.

i'll say this
when it comes to
graduations and funerals
you find out who your friends are

the people who matter
will show up in the end.

am i mislead in thinking
that sometimes people
don't say everything they
think or feel until it's too
late because it takes a
loss to make them realize?
Copyright 6/13/16 by B. E. McComb
b e mccomb Aug 2016
right now
i'm imagining
the feeling of sweat
and hairspray
and suspecting that the
church will be hot

the knees of friends
and family all
sticking to the edges of
the blue padded pews

i can practically
feel my clammy hands
and the robe hanging
from my shoulders

rosin on my fingers
i expect that i will
need rosin
and nail polish
to keep me
glued together

i hope
i won't cry
i kind of know
i won't cry
but i bought waterproof
mascara just in case

and i won't be able
to feel my toes because
they'll be numb
in my finest heels

all i want is to be
out of here
but it's still only
in my mind.

and as i'm sitting in bed
contemplating

(you could call it
dwelling or
obsessing but i will
call it good
old-fashioned
contemplation)


i'm thinking about
my graduation
and how i don't even
really care

about a kind of
paltry milestone
inside this year
compared

to the feeling of
the last day of class
that moment on stage
dancing in sneakers
my finest poems
late nights
mornings too early
yearbooks
and every weekend
spent together

i'll miss
everything i had
and dread all
that i don't

but i sure can't wait
to get out

i just have to get
past graduation day.
Copyright 5/18/16 by B. E. McComb
cassidy Jun 2016
five years old.

a wobbling mass of uncertainty
perched haphazardly on a bike.
daddy holds me upright,
his strong hands refuse to let me fall.
pedalling, pedalling, faster and faster
a weight releases
at last, I'm flying.

six years old.

first day of first grade
I clutch onto my mom's hand
so many children, both familiar and stranger
letters, numbers, a line on the wall
a smiling teacher. I let go of her hand
sit in a green desk, grab a crayon
one last glance out the door
but she is gone.

ten years old.

suspended in the cool water
skis strapped awkwardly on my numb feet
a lifejacket rises tight around my neck
my mom behind me, holds me
right side up in a firm embrace
suddenly, a massive force
pulls me up out of her comfortable arms
through the deafening spray of the water
my mother cheers.
I'm gliding, and I've never felt so free.

sixteen years old.

my hands caress the steering wheel
dad's in the passenger seat
cautious, careful, I proceed
the open road ahead of us
we pick up speed, but then
a deer. his hand grabs my shoulder
my foot slams on the brakes.
I'll pay more attention when I'm driving alone.
we take a breath. we're safe.

eighteen years old.

I scan the crowd as I sit in
my crisp blue robe. my strange square hat.
no more unfamiliar faces.
just layers and layers of memories
blended on top of each other.
my name is announced
I stand up, cross the stage,
again, a mass of uncertainty.
again, awkward in my high heeled shoes
my dad holds my mom's shoulder
my mom clutches his hand.

once more, I'm forced to let go
in order to move forward.
a diploma replaces my mother's hand
crushing realization replaces my father's security
again, I'm flying
but things will never be the same.

c.l.c
graduation is so bittersweet.
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