Gusto ko simulan ang tulang ito sa tanong na "kamusta kana?"
Kamusta na ang taong minahal ko ng sobra pa sa sobra
Naging malungkot kaba nung ako'y nawala?
O naging masaya dahil wala na ako sa tabi mo sinta

Nagbabaliktanaw ako sa mga ala-ala noon na ating binuo
Naging masaya naman tayo
Kaya di ko alam anong dahilan mo para mag bago
Para masaktan mo ako ng ganito
Para iparamdam mo sa'kin na hindi ako kawalan mo
Para ipamukha mo sa'kin na wala na talagang TAYO
At ngayon napaisip ako kaya ka pala nagbago kasi may bago na palang nagpapatibok ng puso mo

Di ko mapigilan hindi magalit
Di ko mapigilan na hidi masaktan
Di ko mapigilan na lumuha hanggat gabi patungong umaga
Di ko mapigilan na tanggapin na ako nalang yung naiwang tanga
Tanga na umaasa na magkabalikan pa tayong dalawa
Umaasa at nagmamakaawa "Pakiusap mahal, usap tayo. Ayusin natin to"
Pero sarili ko lang pala ang niloloko ko
Kasi nakikita na kitang palayo at hindi na maaabot
Nakikita na kitang naglalakad kasama siya habang puso ko'y kumikirot

Kaya sa huling pagkakataon
Binalikan ko ang dati nating tagpuan
Nagbabasakali na ikaw ay madatnan
Pero namulat ako sa realidad na may mga bagay palang di na pwede maging katotohanan
Kaya heto nagbaliktanaw nalang ako sa mga magandang ala-ala na akin paring hinahawakan
Kasabay ng pag-agos ng alon ay ang pag-agos ng luhang nagasasabing kailangan ko na 'tong bitawan

Kaya ngayon tatahak nalang ako ng ibang landas
Maglalakad ako, pilitin na ang mga nangyari sa'ting dalawa ay maya-maya ay kukupas
Maglalakad ako, habang wala ka na sa tabi ko, yung taong minahal ko ng wagas
Maglalakad ako, maglalakad ako
Pero  lilingon parin ako at makikita ko ang iyong mga bakas
Bakas na patunay na ikaw ay naging totoo
At hindi panaginip na nilikha ng imahinasyon ko
Na merong ikaw na pansamantalang minahal ako
Merong ikaw na minsan ay ginawa kong mundo
Merong ikaw na tinanggap ng buong-buo at
Merong ako na sinubukang lumaban pero sa huli meron paring ikaw na bumitaw nalang ng bigla-biglaan

Hanggang ngayon naglalakad parin ako dala-dala ang katangang "Pinagtagpo pero di tinadhana"
Yan nga siguro kasi ang kwento nating dalawa
Ang mga landas natin na wari'y nagkita,
Ngunit hindi inalaan para magkasama.
Maglalakad ako, hanggang sa malimutan na kita mahal ko

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 mong kokote ay aking pinapaikot.

Written
27 September 2016


Genre
Rap  | Spoken Poetry | Literactivism

Copyright
© Khayri R.R. Woulfe. All rights reserved.

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.
Ninah Dau Nov 2016

for how long can i go
without loving you out loud
before my teeth break
for bitting down on themselves
before my soul aches
to message you late at night
looking for old answers
with the same old questions

for how long will my heart beat
without you loving me
before it stops, tears, and breaks,
snapping the pain away like ink spills
from the old pens i keep

fow how long can i breathe the smoke
(if i were ever to quit smoking
but i'm not)
before my dry lips crust to their very core
becoming a thirsty slave again
from your puddles drinking dirty water
prasing you like the god you are not

fow how long can i exist in this sliver
burying my brain into the depthness of nothingness
I made myself become
voided, meaningless, so proud of all the bitterness
i never planned it out to be like this
but  it is such a beautiful thing to be out of feelings
unpure feelinds, lonely feelings, loving feelings,
shallow feelings, with you feelings, anxious feelings

fow how long will my poems sing about you
without cutting you with its sharp tongue twisted knife
before i can not longer crawl back to you at night
because it's so late and you're so tired and the never ending pain
keeps growing within me; (i wonder if you have ever noticed
all the bad you have caused me just by existing near me
so far away from me, outgrowing me like bad weed)

for how long have i loved you now
for how long have you not cared
drowing in front of my eyes,
in front of the mirror my poems have made me out of
ought to confront the not only wrecking but defeating battle
of loving the unloving, you;
for you were never one to settle
and it was pathetic of me to think
you could ever love me
for how often i realize that someone like me
doesn't end up with someone like you

i suppose i can only fool myself long enough
until i forget why i need to
but even that is not long enough, apparently

I saw the piece that'll complete me.
I saw it again.
Maybe, you're confused
And I am so nervous
So how could I start my story?
When I just saw my missing piece?
I am a puzzle
And he's a puzzle piece
I am a mindful art.
A black and white one; gloomy, simple, boring.
I am contented with my life, I am not looking for more.
But then, he came.
He came to me like a thunderstorm
And I cannot do anything because I'm a mere stone.
He's a poor lost soul
And I'm willing to became his foolish map
I was hypnotized with his colorful gaze
And I fell deep.
Yes, I am.
I really am. I knew it was trouble,
He's a trouble.
But I am a willing victim, a suicidal prey
Who’s begging for more.
God! I am pathetic!
I know, those laughter's and fears are worth it.
I know that every burst of anger, every drop of tears are worth it.
I am nothing but a handicapped
When it comes to him.
He used to hug me with his fire- coated body,
It could burn my skin. I am well aware of everything.
Yet I let him.
He touched me like
He's taking the air of my lungs with him
And I know it's deadly
But I can give it all to him.
He's a parasite within my mind, heart, body and soul.
He corrupted me.
He became my skin.
My air to breathe.
I did everything so we could fit perfectly.
And that's when I realized.
I realized that he cannot love me as I love him.
He cannot sacrifice himself as I could give my life for him.
He was selfish, I am selfless.
He was composed of color, I am made of black and white.
That's when it hit me.
I am damn too late to realize! Damn too late.
I was falling deep
But I am falling into an abyss of confusion,
An abyss of emptiness and sorrow in the pits of hell.
I am broken.
No, I am always broken.
I look at him blindly and I am at fault.
Maybe I am just desperate
But I am ready to be a fool for him.
I'm a willing victim, a suicidal prey.
I look at him blindly
And forgot that he's a colorful art and
I am just black and white.
I look at him blindly
And forgot that he was a walking disaster
and trouble to my life.
I look at him blindly
And forgot that he's punishing me
With his every touch.
I look at him blindly! I look at him blindly.
But, I cannot look straight at him
'Cause I already gave up… so I am letting him go.
He shattered me into pieces
And now, I'm all alone
As sadness started to grow.
I saw the piece that'll complete me.
I saw it again.
I knew how I reacted
As I saw my missing piece.
I saw it! I saw it.
But I know, someone already took it
Because it is not my puzzle to fit.

Dear Mr. Puzzle Piece,
You're the most beautiful piece that I ever had. I believe that this is not the right time for the both of us, it's toxicating so we'll always end up like this -- broken. I'm so sorry for not loving you enough to hold on, I'm not the "girlfriend type" for you and you're not even the "boyfriend type" for me but always remember that I loved you so much, it hurts. You will always be in my heart. Take Care, I'll always pray for your health and success. Till next time!
Love,
Ms. Puzzle
Nicole Joanne Sep 2014

I'm ready for something real.
I'm tired of being the curtains that are pulled closed every-night.

I once gave a boy my glass heart, and he held it dear,
and then, he moved away. And I was packed inside a box,
it was labeled, 'fragile,' 'handle with care.'
It wasn't for months that I saw the sun,
and when I did, I couldn't tell the difference
between artificial, and sunlight.
Once again, he held me in his hands,
but they were rough and calloused;
the security was gone.

I was placed in a corner where I was rarely touched again,
and one night something terrible must've happened,
my smooth exterior seemed to have sharpened at the edges,
and he placed me in a bin, never to be seen again.

There's vases that hold flowers,
and there's vases that are placed in china cabinets;
I'm tired of being falsely decorated.
I'm tired of having to hold everything in,
and be expected to be the beautiful centerpiece
for everyone to glance at, and walk by.

I am beautiful, but I am not a centerpiece.
I am also a collection of flaws;
I'm translucent: all my emotions flood,
and I'm fragile; I tend to break at the slightest touch,
and I'm empty,
until someone fills me up.

But I want something real.
I don't want to hold plastic flowers,
that will never fade away.
I want to hold the beautiful rose
and at it's prime time,
though I will cry,

I can say it was real.
I can say he was mine.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

I was going off into a rant, and I ended up speaking this and it resulted in spoken poetry.
OliviaAutumn Sep 2014

There are 1,013,913 words in the English language, and not one of them describes how I feel about you, about us.

Maybe its because I lost my words when I first kissed you, when I placed my kiss on them strawberry preserve lips so in the future when you asked me,  ‘hunny, where is the last place you saw them?’ I could answer –‘in you’

But I’ll pretend, I’ll play dumb, and search for them like I never knew the universe lived beneath your tongue, as I never want to find them words in case in finding them I misplace you.

And I never want to lose you. To find you in my box of lost and found on a Sunday afternoon amongst tattered dictionaries that are filled with love poems I can no longer speak.
Full of pronouns that hide bener dust which you make angels in, changing he to she, him to her, spreading your arms to chase the rabbits that jump out from these open sheets.
And seeing you lying there, I am both lost and found, no longer bound by the binding of those before you. All I can say is ‘ darling, the Greeks didn’t see you coming’.
There are not enough letters in the alphabet to write this love poem. To assemble a word that describes the way you smile at me, like how the moon draws pictures of the shore, or the way mountains bend to kiss the clouds.

You leave me speechless.
Its hard to believe, but its true.
Sometimes we forget to listen to that pivotal silence that the orchestra plays. Composed in exquisite harmony to seduce suspense through an empty script, in a pause, a breath; an instrumental craftsmanship that maneuvers you through that moment where you enter the protagonists’ kiss.

That’s how I feel about you. About us.
There are 1,013,913 words in the English language, and only one of them stands out to me: you.

spoken poetry

— The End —