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Carl Oct 2018
Kung mayroon akong pinakaayaw na almusal
Iyon ay yung lulunukin kong katotohanan na  lilipas
ang bawat oras, papatak ang bawat segundo ng napakagulong
buhay ko na wala ka.
Sayang lang, Ang ganda kasi nung mga eksenang pinangarap ko
Na buo na ang bahay na ang palapag ay tatlo, Pagpasok mo rito,
ikaw ay nakaupo sa sala na binuo ng mga pangarap mo at oo.
Nang hihinayang ako, paglulutuan sana kita tapos gigising ka sa umaga na may mainit na kape ka nang nakatimpla.

Pero inabot na kasi tayo ng takipsilim
Nagwakas ang mga pangarap na almusal nang magsimula ka nang maglihim
Nang umalis ka na lang dahil hindi mo rin naman kayang magkwento at umamin
Noong humingi ako ng ilang segundo ng katotohanan matapos ang ilang taon kong inakalang hinding-hindi ka magiging sinungaling.

Alam ko balang araw, masaya kana sa iyong bagong kasama.
Sa mga munting eksena na nag lalaro sa isip ko, gusto ko na yung eksenang masaya ka na lang sa iba.
At balang araw hindi na tayo masusuka sa mapakla at mapait na almusal ng ating pag-ibig, salamat, totoo.

Salamat sa hindi na manguyang pag-ibig mo.
Jas Sep 2018
My words don't hit home for me anymore.
They don't hit home like they used to.
The brisk stabs of pain sprawling,
Stretching inwards, a sternness in my hips
Hunt for a budding takeover in the center of my pelvis,
This stomach ache performs a concert
In my system at full volume, and my walls?
Those are gone;
The racket of this band mangled my flesh -
Stretch marks and wrinkles and splotches of damaged skin,
A colony of bruises like water and mold beneath dried paint.
The belly of this wave folds and quivers
And each time I try to be free of this;

Before, I could ***** it out.
Before, my chills - that cool, clammy sweat -
Would break at a night's turn.
In burps and in sneezes and in gurgles
My words would slip off my tongue as bile
Would rise in my throat at the command of my gag,
And they, my words,
Would flow through the cartridge of my pen like ink
Awaiting the heat of my palm to paste them onto paper -
My words' release would exude a warmth down my body like ginger tea
But, none of this happens anymore.
I feel no heat
No comfort.
eden schreave Sep 2018
It’s already 3 in the morning
My eyes are still wide open
I’m not even yawning
I’m not even doing anything

Staring on the ceiling
Right there I saw my world crashing
Right there I saw myself drowning
Right there all I want is sleeping
Sleeping and never waking.

Sadness lingering around my body paired with the emptiness that wasn’t evident if you saw me,
It’s here, right inside this ugly mediocre body.

I beat myself every night,
Thinking is tomorrow really worth to survive?
My day goes by “yes I’m fine” when it’s actually “help me, I’m dying inside”

All I could ever think is to die
Dying fascinates and scares me at the time
Questions began to arise,
“It wouldn’t hurt that much if I leave everything in this world behind, right?”

It’s so unusual that one day you feel nothing,
And then the next couple day suprise, you feel everything
And when I think everything’s okay
There someone somewhere saying “something’s wrong today”

You think this is the day you can justify you’re definitely happy
Only to realize that later at night in the four corners of your room you’re incredibly lonely and empty.

And to be honest I don’t know why I feel this way,
One thing I know for sure there was missing inside me,
I couldn’t possibly pin point what could it be,
So I’m trying to fill it with thousands of possibility,
I ask myself “Am I going to be like this day by day?”

I never understood myself then,
Was there something wrong with me?
Was I over reacting?
Or this is really the real me slowly unraveling?

I couldn’t tell anyone what I feel
putting my feelings into words is so much to deal

But then I tried,
I tried telling them I’m dead tired.
And only to get “It’s all in your mind.”

They would say be positive
Or look on the bright side
I hope it’s that easy,
But it’s not, right now my mind is way way messy.

And how I wish I could control what I think,
And when a toxic negative thought felt like coming,
I could let it go away in just a blink.
But it’s not.
It doesn’t go that way.

I’m crying each night, crippling my own heart.
To the situations I am trying to brush away so hard.

I’m maybe the one to blame.
For the thoughts that hardly keep me sane.

And then one day I get used to feeling not okay.
I get used to the hole living inside
To the devil that’s speaking in my mind.
And lastly, I get used to telling people I’m wonderfully fine.

But I couldn’t help but to hope
Hope that one day
All of these ******* would go away,

hope to go back to the old me,
Positive, spontaneous, happy and carefree.
Daisy Sep 2018
The Greeks say that when the King of the Dead
Laid his eyes on Persephone for the first time,
He was struck by her innocence,
Her simple beauty as she tended to flowers.

He lured her in with an enchanted daffodil,
And when she drifted towards the small petals,
The earth opened its ugly mouth,
Swallowing the child upon Hades orders.  

She may have been the first,
But there’s no such thing as a last.

Girls have grown up seeing the look in men's eyes,
When they realize how
Fragile.
How his heart softens when he sees her.
As though her innocence
Could cure him of his sickness.

As if breathing her bubble gum air
Will somehow make his life pop.
The ends of her bows tying knots
Helping him keep his **** together,


She becomes a savior
Before old enough to become a woman

He wears her like a bruise,
Privately poking as to see the shift in hues,
But in public who would have known.
They also say that her mother, Demeter, went mad
When she couldn’t find her daughter.
And even more so when she did find where she was.  

The Goddess of Agriculture killing the crops she planted,
Starving the people she created,
Raising hell up in the heavens.
Her anger was said to scare Zeus himself.

So when you,
As a man in your friends passenger seat,
Decide to open the earth,
And allow it to swallow somebody’s child whole,
How mad do you think her mother would be?
**** it, how mad would YOUR mother be?

I wonder if you have a sister,
And if you heard the way strangers speak to her on the street,
Would you still be laughing?
I wonder if you can smile more.
I wonder where you’re headed looking like that.
I wonder who mislead you.
Who taught you that this is what means to be man.
Who forced the human out of you.
Mother Nature was willing to destroy the world due to one monster who felt entitled.
What makes you think she’ll spare you?

I wish we could go back to that field,
Back to when Persephone was chasing her friends,
Before the flowers wilted from her disappearance.
Before the six pomegranate seeds that bound her to the underworld every six months.

I at least wish we could tell her that
One day, she’ll grow up.
She’ll move as far away from the past as she can get.
She will bloom,
And smile again.
Her roots stronger from the wind.
And Spring will fill the air as she passes by.
And he,
Will spend all of eternity burning in the fire she sparked.
Abby Reynolds Sep 2018
There is a pit that has made a home in my stomach
it's been living there, growing there
since the day you laid your hands on me
the day you slid your hands to places they had no right to be
the night you took advantage of the position
you knew you had
ever since then there are words that make my head foggy
and there are boys who can put me **** close to cardiac arrest
just by looking
for a little too long
you called it miscommunication
you called it regret
you called it asking for it
I call it assault
I call it waking up at 3 AM every morning
in a cold sweat, another nightmare
I call it scrubbing myself raw every night in the shower
trying to rid of the skin cells your fingers grazed
I call it jumping whenever my kind boy reaches for my hand
out of love
you are a man made of dirt
you are a lion
so why are you preying on butterflies
I don't know when I allowed you to tear off my wings but I am reclaiming them
today.
raphæl Sep 2018
A series
of short puffs
from a rekindled
cigarette expertly put out
on the half
reminds you of your
fastidiousness
now you feel like **** as you look
at the wreckage site
of a desk that
is your own doing
       That is what you do.

While your ego
floats like the unmelted
coffee you put in cold water
Hardly dissolvable
to anything normal
missing anything temporal
You lash out once more
waging a war
with a nation
of thoughts
You kick the furniture
to send the dust flying
       That is what you do.

You attempt to sheathe
an intricate wound
patterned on your
knuckle, as detailed as the
dystopia of your
own human agenda that
can be trivialized by just
"I haven't been myself lately"
when somebody asks
because you're afraid
they might see
you find it
                hard
          to
  belong
Slowly, the dust resorts to settle
on the bedroom floor
       And so do you.
raphæl Sep 2018
I hated it
when your beauty
had to be seen
by countless sets of eyes.
Your shapes and tones
tampered by a
carefully blended touch
of Lark and Juno
as if they represent you well.
I still know
those details
dumb pictures could
never tell.

I hated it
that I knew you were once
carefree.
One, two, three;
Now you wait and count
as they gift
two-dimensional hearts
through ungrateful fingertips.
By then your pedestal
moved up the
ever-refreshing gallery—
A glorified platform
where your beauty
is seen as commodity.
I knew a better use of
those fingers
at that time your
textures lingered.
Soft and calm,
damp and warm;
you were unparalleled
at least for me.

I hate it
that now my
proximate gazes
only graze
your distorted
ideals of real touch
and of real pain;
when each ornate sunrise
embedded on the
landscape of your pores
seek for a casual
tourist's approval.
Hell, I wanted to stay
like an immigrant castaway
living in your skin
day and night;
when you didn't need
to trend
and pretend
that you have certain angles
because you were a
three-*******-sixty—
A panoramic view
of an ancient city
and your valleys were never dry;
back to the era
when you never had to try.
For you I was always homesick
but I still know
to get burnt by young love
was quick.

We were bound
to grow apart.

I hate it
when all I could do
is scroll up
and forget you.
Sin Sep 2018
M
I remember the first time I saw you

On that stage

You stood

You opened your mouth and the words flowed with such grace

I was left in awe

Mesmerized

It was as if those words were only meant for you to speak them

I wanted to know you
To touch you

See what was behind the person you showed the world

I observed the way you carried yourself
And wondered how someone so hurt could carry themselves with such confidence

You asked me if I ever had my heart broken

and I told you the story of the stupid boy who ****** me over
Not knowing that, that wasn't even close to the heartbreak I feel right now

Heartbreak is knowing that we could have been so ******* great
But you were too scared to let me in
And I was too scared of commitment

I'm not one to write about relationships and ex's but you had me writing ****** love poems about

you.

You taught me things I will take with me forever
And for that
I thank you

Sitting on your porch getting high in hopes that maybe we wouldn't feel this ******* low but here we are

Your face imprinted in my mind
I wished to have made you mine
But my mom says God works in mysterious ways
And maybe we just weren't meant to be
But I sure as hell had a good time

****** decisions
****** pick up lines
****** thoughts

Such a beautiful mind
Such a beautiful soul

In a blink of an eye
you were gone

I wish I knew that would be the last time I'd see you in person

Maybe I could have done more
Maybe I could have said something

It's not like you're dead so why am I mourning something that didn't exist?

I didn't hit up anyone "like it was nothing"
You were in the back of my mind
The whole time

But

you had me feeling like there was no space for me in yours

Had me believing that you simply didn't
give
a
****

And now it's late at night and we're having a conversation about things that should have been said before

But I guess it's easier this way
We won't be smoking on your porch anymore

There is more to life than this hurt that you feel
And as time passes I'm sure you'll forget my name
I'll always have love for you
Although I'm not in love with you

I'm just not ready for love and to be honest
I never was.

Don't be scared to let someone in
It just maybe wasn't really meant to be

For us.
storm siren Sep 2018
I used to be thick, inky black regret
Spilling out of an old, tightly closed glass coca cola bottle.

I used to be road rash.

I used to be getting stuck too many times at the hospital, and still no luck with the IV.

I used to be "but these pills are such a pretty color..."

I used to be "but what else is there for me?"

I used to be a lot of things.

Now I am just the blood in your veins,
I am the chilled fall air,
And I the oxygen in your lungs,
I am the carbon of your bones.

I am marrow,
I am mind.
I am all you know,
And each twist in time.

I am the worlds end,
And I am the worlds start.

I am every single part,
Every single note
Of every single quote

I thought I left behind.

You are the air that I breathe,
The songs that I sing.
You are the sunsetsunrise
That I need.


You are the moonrisemoonset
The noon time
I never met

Your heart is all I ever needed
And I am so proud to keep it.
storm siren Aug 2018
I stretch my sore arms out
Spread my fingers as far apart as they'll go.

I open my mouth,
And with my yawn comes a mighty roar from behind my sternum.

I try not to flinch,
But that old wound hasn't healed entirely
Just yet.

I can feel myself
Begin to crumble from the weight of
My own voice.

But I dig my heels
Of the feet attached to my aching legs into the burning, ashen ground.

I stare up at the blazing sky.
Twinkle of mischief in my eye.

Tell them to rest easy--

The dearly departed.
Because I'm just getting started.
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