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KRRW Aug 2017
Batong niluluto, tinutunaw, tinuturok
Dahong sinisinghot, hinihithit, pinapausok
Dukhang nahuhumaling, hinuhuli, pinapatay
Mayamang sinungaling, tumatakas, kumakampay


#ChangeIsComing ngunit wala namang binago
Ang mahirap ay tumba, ang mayaman ay nagtago
Inosenteng nadadamay, diniktan ng karatula
Bangkay na nakahandusay, hindi na bibigyang hustisya.


Halina,
doon sa bago kong tahanan
Ang tawag ay kulungan
ngunit marami do'ng libangan.


Pinuno,
leader ako ng sindikato
Kung tawagi'y bilanggo
ngunit sinusunod ang luho.


Mga alipin ko'y parak
Mg bataan ko ay trapo
Pamilya'y bilyonaryo
Ang negosyo'y protektado.


Unlimited supply—'yan ang tunay kong pangako
Subok kong mga suki, wala pa rin namang nagbago
Tuloy lang ang bentahan, dito tayo sa taas
Ngunit tatandaan: kikitilin lahat ng Hudas.


Ako'y panginoon at walang katalo-talo
Agimat ko ay tsapa, baril ang gamit kong rosaryo
Ako ang humuhuli sa sarili kong buntot
Ang mahina **** kokote ay aking pinapaikot.
Written
27 September 2016


Genre
Rap  | Spoken Poetry | Literactivism

Copyright
© Khayri R.R. Woulfe. All rights reserved.
KRRW Aug 2017
Gusto ko ring
maranasang makulong
para naman
magka-thrill
kahit kaunti
ang buhay kong
napaka-boring.


Pero gusto kong
makulong
nang walang
ginagawang
anumang
krimen.


At a loob ng kulungan
ay pabahuan
ng hininga,
kili-kili,
puwet
at singit;
paramihan
ng libag sa leeg,
tinga sa gilagid,
kalyo sa labi,
at tartar sa ngipin.


Doon na rin
masusubok
ang aking
pagiging
best actor
sa pagkukunwaring
makadiyos ako
sa pagdadala ko
ng banal na libro
sa lahat ng oras,
minu-minuto
upang parolya
ay aking matamo
at kinabukasan
ay laya na ako.


Hustisya
ay kaydaling
laruin,
sistema
ay kaydaling
butasin,
buong kuwento
ng aking tula
ay uulit-ulitin.
Written
09 July 2016

Genre
Rap | Spoken Poetry | Literactivism

Copyright
© Khayri R.R. Woulfe. All rights reserved.
Jules Jun 2017
why
as the blade runs through the flesh,
blood starts gushing out

she cried,
she screamed,
p a i n f u l l y
repeating it all over again
with a sense of hesitation

a miasma of burning cigarettes
and stale alcohol hung in the background
with bits of despair and tears

——

why can't she do it?
why can't she end her life?
why can't she save herself?
Jules Jun 2017
We were on top of your rooftop, still five inches between us, looking up the sky and fighting the urge to hold hands. I thought of all the things I kept within me.

I didn't even like you, at least that's what I thought.
I didn't like the way my name slips through your tongue or how calming your voice sounds over the phone.
I didn't like our late night conversations about how vast this universe is and how the both of us are mere particles in this world filled with billions, silently in anguish.
I didn't even like our afternoons spent biking around the park, enjoying the breeze and color of fall, our favorite season of all.

I didn't like the way you smile at me whenever I'm being serious, when I'm in this corner contemplating myself, you'll flash that sarcastic smile of yours that makes me want to punch you.

I didn't like the way your palm touches the back of my neck whenever we would kiss,

I didn't like the way you say "I love you", soothing and calming,

I hated myself for never saying it back.
"I love you" you would say
"I know" I'd reply



The truth is that I don't just like you or love you, it's a very shallow way of labeling what I truly feel for you.

My darling, I live for you.

I live for these moments, I live for your smile, your sweetness, and warmness. Even words aren't enough to describe the euphoria that you give me.
You've kept me alive, you're the reason of my every breath,
You're my rock.

And I live for you even when you drive me insane, especially then.
I wouldn't have it any other way.

And as my favorite book says
"“You can be Han Solo, ‘And I’ll be Boba Fett. I’ll cross the sky for you.”


Now we're back on your rooftop, hand in hand, no inches in between.
this piece is inspired by rainbow rowell's eleanor and park, my all time favorite ya novel :)
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
If you want flowery poetry
Hit pause, backspace delete.
I write on a lot of subjects;
Only a few could be called sweet.
I’m not into swirling windstorms
Or describing billowy clouds.
Not into extolling autumn leaves
Or conifers standing proud.

I try to select the human things
Whether good or even bad.
Sometimes I wrestle with
Life twists that make us sad.
I try to speak for everyman
And that includes the women.
I try to reflect life circumstances
And the results the travel with them.

So, crooning polysyllabically
Is seldom my favorite tune,
Nor is waxing limerickally
About June, and spoon and moon.
Instead I’ll probably take to task
Those who live in sappy hope
A prince shows up in their life
A proper romantic dope.

I write the rhymes about crooks
That steal from your children
And the supposed leaders
That ****** and abuse women.
I write about parents who
Ignore what their children need
And instead find their joy
On selfishness and greed.

After so many millennia
We really need to stop
Waiting for someone else to come
And be the moral traffic cop.
It is us who need to change
And teach our children accordingly
Because the way we are fixing things
Humanity is progressing dismally.

So keep your butterfly couplets
And views of rain on hedges.
We are falling apart as humans
And it’s visible on the edges.
It will only take a few crazies
With power enough to wield
And this planet, and us of course,
Will no longer have a shield.
Andrew T Mar 2017
give me a chance
to take you out
for one last night
in the city,

as the angels sleep on the sidewalks,
and the reptiles snore in the white house.

I'm crying alone
while your friends check their phones,
smoke their vapes,
and Brady the dog nudges my leg
with his snout,
soft as a napkin
wiping breadcrumbs off a table.

Chipotle before we write diary entries
for our children who look like your
ex-boyfriend. Tell them stories
past their curfew,
as their heads cloud with dreams,
where nothing but beauty blooms,
and sadness goes to pasture,
to be cooked on a rotisserie,
and spit out into bits.

like your flesh when it's been burnt by a lighter.
so listen up,
finish your game of FIFA,
then make me laugh,
so that I could forget about yesterday's fight.
R Jan 2016
we write when we're at our weakest
we write when we've been cut open
we write when we're bleeding
we write when we're dying inside

Not all those who write are sad,
but all sad people write.
You may not agree with this, but generally, it is true.
112715 #8:20PM

Pagkat ako'y tanod sa pagtalilis
Sa yari **** agos
Ni tikas mo'y nakakubling paraiso
Sa bulag kong pag-irog.

Ang masimod **** yakap,
Daplis lamang O, Sinta
Sana'y matantya mo
Ang pagkukumahog ng pangamba.

Di nais na masukol ang tiyak na pagdaloy,
Kaya't heto ako't hahalili sa bukas
At tunay na buhay, **siyang isisikhay.
(Para sa amazing creation ni Lord na beach front ng Las Cabanas, El Nido, Palawan! Amazing!)
112715 #4:25PM

“Banaag ko ang Wikang tugon;
O Giliw na siyang inaapuhap,
Sayo ang bituing salin sa tatsulok
Sayo ang kambal ng Langit at Dugo.”

Mala-unos ang bungang may diin.
Salawal ng kataga’t tugma’y banderitas na puti,
Doon nabuo ang Kasaysayang hindi makasarili.

May iilang Juang Hudas,
Bumalasubas sa Bayang itinakwil
Kaya’t suwail ang makabagong talinhaga
May lalim sa pag-unawa
Bagkus ang isip ay libingan ng mga diktador
Na siyang puspos sa paghihikahos.

“Paumanhin, Giliw
*Pagkat ang puso’y may gitgit.”
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