#bonding
~
*Where went utopia
As the years trickled?
How you wished for
Southern hemisphere
To see the way snowflakes fall
Your mind
A place of quite friction
But I can't mend a rift by telegram
Love is a miserable miracle
Fighting over the lighthouse
From the days of occupied Europe
It's lustre as
Brief as photographs
Left outside in the sun
Bloodflow wander, rise
Be wise, take care
Can we reminisce?
Near miss eyelash
These frayed edges
Love is a miserable miracle
I often shot off a flare
In the direction of conspiracy
They all fell as poison rockets
Became scuttled ships
In a water globe
On the day of the conjugal visit
You wore barricades to bed
There's a perimeter around your form
I went to reminisce
About the lines and patterns
Of your avant garden
In such severe drought
Palo volador—in motion with emotion
This is for our sins
Love is a miserable miracle
In piety
I reached across and felt the chasm
Before I felt your fingers
And there it was
Love sitting under the lantern's glow
A soft marauder reflection
Illuminating into the iris
Kisses past, kisses hence
Prima materia
It's a simple equation:
We twist the sun and sea
Eternally
"The linkage bonding
One to the other
And me to you"*
~
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 8:38 AM UTC
Girls, we’re in our twenties.
And **** me, it feels like running barefoot through broken glass
laughing so hard we forget we’re bleeding,
faces streaked with makeup and tears,
swearing to the world we’re okay
when every step cuts deeper.
We’re fine.
We’re not fine.
We’re twenty-something.
Girls, we’re in our twenties,
and it’s falling for men who study our bodies
but never learn our names.
It’s whispering “maybe he sees me”
until we’re sick on cheap *****
our best friend dragging our hair out of the way,
shouting,
“He doesn’t see you, babe.
He only sees himself reflected in your shine
and he’s too small to hold the light.”
And we laugh through the tears, because what else is there to do?
It’s midnight secrets and 4 a.m confessions.
It’s shouting “I love you, ***** across sticky club floors
and meaning it more than any man will ever deserve.
It’s kissing girls because we want to,
because maybe we’ve always wanted to,
and hearing the echo of our mother’s voice in our head whispering
“That’s not what good girls do.”
while our own voice screams louder,
“Then maybe I’m not a good girl and thank **** for that.”
Girls, we’re in our twenties.
And families are breaking around us.
Some of us grieve mothers who aren’t dead but act like they are.
Some of us light candles for fathers who never got the chance to grow old.
Some of us have families stitched together with friends,
with women twenty years older who pour us wine and tell us,
“Girlhood never ends, you just learn new ways to carry the scars.”
We hold onto them because they’re the only people who remember the chaos we came from,
the only people who laugh at the same stupid mistakes we keep making,
and when the nights feel endless,
we keep thinking maybe, just maybe, we’ll be okay.
But the thought of thirty is always there,
like a shadow at the edge of the streetlights,
a quiet fear that we’ll wake up one day
and realise all the nights, all the fights, all the reckless magic
were slipping through our fingers while we weren’t looking.
Girls, we’re in our twenties.
It’s shouting at each other until our throats are raw,
storming out of clubs, sending texts and ending phone calls.
Crying in toilets we barely remember,
then finding each other hours later outside kebab shops,
voices cracking, hearts raw,
“I don’t care what happens, you and me, we’re forever. I love you.”
It’s the kind of love that bruises but also saves,
the kind that hurts because it’s real,
the kind that feels more like family than blood ever did.
We grow up in fragments.
pieces of the kids we were still clinging to our sleeves.
The girl who scribbled hearts in her school notebook
now scrolls dating apps at 2 a.m.
The girl who swore she’d never drink
is throwing up tequila in a stranger’s sink.
The girl who dreamed of forever
is learning forever might mean just tonight.
Girls, we’re in our twenties.
And the nights out are both war and worship.
We line our lips in bathroom mirrors,
share tampons with strangers,
cry about dads who never came home,
and sing too loudly to songs we don’t even like
just because it reminds us that we’re alive.
We are half mess, half church hymn.
We are fragile and ******* invincible.
We are learning how to live in a world
that keeps telling us we’re too much and not enough
in the same ******* breath.
And girls,
here’s the thing no one tells you.
Girlhood doesn’t end.
Not when you hit thirty,
not when you have kids,
not when you’ve buried your parents.
Girlhood lingers in the way we hold each other’s faces and whisper,
“you’re beautiful, do you know that?”
In the way we dance barefoot in kitchens,
wine stained and heartbroken,
in the way we promise,
“I’ll love you forever”
and mean it with every fibre of who we are.
Girls, we’re in our twenties.
And we’re lost.
And we’re hopeful.
And we’re ******* magic.
And one day, when we’re older,
we’ll look back and say,
we survived it.
We survived it together.
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 10:42 AM UTC
I tell myself
everytime someone new
starts
keep to yourself, don't let them
know
your dark thoughts, your impulses
your joy
keep to yourself, they'll use it against
you
but then
they open their souls
telling of their darkness, their chinks in their
armour
similar experiences, shared damage
and now we're friends
bonded with the distrust of authority
and hatred of the same enemy
facing the day with humor and parody
one day I walk through the
door
no longer greeted with an eye roll
a smirk
I toss my keys across the desk
hit the power button on the monitor
goodbye scrawls across the screen
I opened up
bonded with this kindred spirit
and now I'm alone
next time I'll keep to myself
I won't say a word
I won't get attached
next time
Jul 5, 2025
Jul 5, 2025 at 4:50 PM UTC
I was the sun,
And you the rain.
What happens
When rays
Don’t shine the same?
And now,
Behind your cloud
I’ll lay.
As your shadow
It grows,
And here I do stay.
But your tears
They flood,
Through clouds
Of grey.
Yet a rainbow
Forms ,
As clouds they break.
And we emerge
As one .
To seize the day.
Jun 24, 2025
Jun 24, 2025 at 5:35 PM UTC
#(on surviving the unreal, and the Grace of finding the real)
There’s a kind of pain that doesn’t scream.
It hums low and constant, like a fluorescent bulb above a hollow life.
It’s the ache of loving someone who chooses the polished unreal—
the version of themselves that sells better, that fits easier, that lies cleaner.
They decorate their soul in fake plastic leaves
because they’re terrified of winter.
But in doing so, they cut off the chance of spring.
And you.. I...
am left holding a love that was meant for the root,
but never made it past the paint.
She wanted the unreal.
Maybe because it doesn’t bleed.
Maybe because it doesn’t ask her to remember who she really is.
And maybe she knew.. deep down..
that the real would burn through her curated silence
and set fire to the mask she clung to like oxygen.
So she left.
Or faded.
Or dissolved into the glossy mouth of what sells well in a culture
that has confused image for intimacy
and chaos for freedom.
I tried to survive it.
Tried to make a home in the debris of what might have been
if she had chosen the real.
But you can’t build a life in the hollow where someone used to be..
not when they’ve made a throne out of illusion
and named it sovereignty.
And then came the beautiful songbird.
Not loud. Not selling.
Not another soul trying to be seen.
Just… real.
She was born into a world her father still loved--
a man who held truth like a compass in his palm.
But her mother knelt too long beneath the plastic trees,
and drank from their shine until she forgot how to feel.
And so the beautiful girl,
shapely and soft,
was offered up to Hollywood like a sacrifice..
where faces are sculpted and souls are scripted.
But somehow, even there,
she kept her edges unsanded.
She learned how to walk through mannequins without becoming one.
And when they tried to name her fake,
she whispered back something real—
and it echoed.
She didn’t hand me a performance.
She gave me a presence.
She let her softness speak without shame.
She showed me her bruises before her lipstick.
She gave warmth that didn’t need applause.
And I realized..
what the unreal can never fake
is the sacred weight of someone truly with you.
You feel it in the breath between sentences.
In the calm that doesn’t need to be filled.
In the eyes that stay when yours begin to water.
The beautiful songbird didn’t try to be the real thing.
She simply was.
And that… healed something the fake could only ever reopen.
So yes, Fake Plastic Trees still wrecks me--
but it no longer belongs to her.
It belongs to the grave I buried beside the shopping cart and glitter
where her soul should’ve been.
Because the songbird
waters what’s real.
She doesn’t break me just because she can.
She doesn’t look through me.
She looks at me.
And suddenly, I’m growing again.
Not to impress, not to perform..
but because she makes it safe to be Alive.
#
Jun 11, 2025
Jun 11, 2025 at 2:48 PM UTC
~
*Sugar wife,
slipping husband,
massaged honeymoon flesh
wrapped in cellophane.
The sound of a water clock
cascading down
her mysterious frontage.
Handprints on
the glass pane
opaque with remnant steam.
Let your eyes
be your guide,
when dressed in
the tiniest temptations,
she catwalks into the room
with a novel idea for two.*
~
Jun 3, 2025
Jun 3, 2025 at 12:33 PM UTC
I'd rather be with friends
than on the receiving end
of another certification
of my value in the tainted nation
fated to find its way back to masters
who offer no explanation
as to why they cast this draining paper
into a world that could be castless
if only we checked our own behaviour.
I'd rather be with friends
than working on a promised future
my abuser talking of a nuisance youth
and pointing fingers saying 'useless'
while they stuff us into suits
and boots that bare no resemblance
to the feet that marked our ascendance,
I seek not vengeance for the things we lost
I simply wish to reduce the cost
of being what we've become
cold and lost
and to continue what we've begun
to press on despite the cost and animosity
and all the atrocities
despite this we strive to build a world
that tempers its ferocity
and lets me be.
With friends.
Mar 24, 2025
Mar 24, 2025 at 6:23 PM UTC
It hit me the other day
Not the smell of fresh tea
Nor the steam that hissed out of the spout
Spraying droplets into the air
But of the infinitesimal
Interconnected this of it all.
Even in this teapot a small ecosystem brews
Unaware of its function
I stared at my own reflection
And back it stared
It's eyes glassy
Or was that the sheen of the lacquer?
The smooth ceramic just was
yet my reflection was anything but
In it's simplicity it made a stranger out of me
I am a stranger to myself it seems
And yet I must be a teapot to others
Simplicity or duplicity
Equally deceptive yet difference in kind.
So let's drink tea you and I.
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 1:14 AM UTC
I'm not happy here
With you
Yeah you know it's true
You feel my destain for you
But you hate me too
You do
Don't even try and lie
I'm rubber, you're glue
So we sit in blue
And stew
Thinking 'bout revenge
This trend is nothing new
Then it's you get me
And I get you
The toxic back and forth
Means we'll never get through
It's just what we do
It's pathetic to
Those who have to see
What we put each other through
©2024
Oct 28, 2024
Oct 28, 2024 at 1:06 AM UTC
#
We would be the best looking couple on the beach.
You would be continually dragging me into your
condo bedroom to **** me hard up against the wall..
and then dragging me back out onto the beach
to slap me under the cover of the breaking waves..
where no one can hear me crying like a little *****
Only to become overwhelmed within the emotions of it all;
and dragging me back into your condo bedroom..
Ah, **** Babe..
#
Feb 21, 2024
Feb 21, 2024 at 5:33 PM UTC
We are empty,
Half naked.
Our bodies meet the eye,
The room is quiet,
Sacred.
You slowly walk,
Our eyes talk,
Your lips,
They quiver.
Your voice,
Makes me shiver.
I am smaller,
My body polluted in sweat.
For one magical move ,
And I,
Am now undressed.
I think you may suspect the rest.
Dec 26, 2023
Dec 26, 2023 at 6:10 AM UTC
Slice the sun
Wield Its nucleus
Feel the throbs
Of its light
That's me
Part of you
No half-life
Me and you
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 12:16 PM UTC
#
*You've made yourself miniscule ..
in order to fit in to my Bloodstream
You are unsure.. not knowing
That there is a chamber within me
that has been carved out solely
for you--
The warmth of blood-flow, caressing;
Bathing, the you that feels you can't..
That feels there isn't..
That believes there can never be
A Home such as this--
.. for you ;;
Residing, in the central part
of me.
Alone in the chamber
of your room..
You can't understand why
things are different, now;
..Why everything you do
and everything you say
Feels so incredibly,,
Incredibly Warm*
#
Aug 24, 2023
Aug 24, 2023 at 5:07 PM UTC
At dinner,
I give her my peppers
she gives me her celery,
and this is how we say I love you.
Jun 20, 2021
Jun 20, 2021 at 8:40 PM UTC
Competition should FETTER among the animals of jungle only
Because when it comes to humans they make it JUNGLY
STUDENTS competes with each other to get 1st rank
Other completes in flowing river to hold the plank...
When Envy plays in the cradle of competition then,
A sister crushes WISHES of her sister
A brother knowingly pushes his brother into DEBT
Not the every deed is the demand of your soul , except SERENITY
All those NASTY Things is the greed of your body.......
Before sleeping faces of betrayal, deceive & lies,
Appears right before my EYES .
They left me in trouble, but promises to help others
Declaring themselves a social reformer, a new THINKER .
CHARITY begins at home didn't they learn !!
Even after all this I want to embrace them ,
Ready to forgive putting my dignity at STAKE .
BUT they'll are enjoying without even realising their MISTAKES
Competition always takes place at the cost of one's life
Whether it's an animal at JUNGLE or animals at HOME .....
May 29, 2021
May 29, 2021 at 2:27 PM UTC
ang kaakit-akit
**** bating-
pangwakas
ang siyang wagas
na nagdala ng madamdaming
mga katanungan
mula sa iyong puso patungo
sa iyong kasintahan,
gamit ang ibabaw ng
mga matikas na alon...
walang pasubali na ipinahayag mo
ang iyong pangmatagalang
paglalarawan sa marami,
bagaman ang mundo
ng magkabilang dako
ay pansamatalang natutulog na
... ang kagandahan niyon
ay mananatiling gising pa rin.
Dahil siya ang natatangi **** daigdig
at ikaw nga ang makulay niyang pag-ibig!
At mula sa iyong napakalambing na pagsisimula
Mayroong "kayo" na magsasalo sa magdamag
habang heto si Ako...mananatili ring tapat
at gaya niya na di nakakalimot sa akin!
Kaya naman sa iyo aking mahal,
Malayo ka man sa akin ngayon,
lagi pa rin namang merong "tayo"
Maulap man ang papawirin
Ating babagtasin
ang araw at sinag nito
hanggang sa isang kabilogan
na lang ng buwan
ang aking pananabikan at bibilangin ko!
Sa pagsapit niyon
matamis na katahimikan
ang siya nating mabubuo!
tanging sa ating pagniniig
nang may buong kasabikan
ang mga himig na maririnig!
mula sa simula hanggang
sa ang wakas ay magsilbing hudyat
na sa langit nating inaasam
ay magigisnan ang malakidlat
na tilamsik ng ating pagsusuyuan
Di-kapara ng naunang magsing-irog
mula sa bukana ng talon ay nahulog
at kapwa bumitaw sa ere sa gitna ng kulog
pero tayo...Hindi tayo sa patibong matutulog!
patutunayan nating Hindi tayo
ang tipong mauuwi sa TaLiwaS
dahil sa katunayan nga mahal ko
sa pamagat pa lang binungad ko na ang SiLaw aT
labo na nananahan sa pagitan ng tukso
at ng bahay na inaakala nilang
panghabang-buhay na tahanan!
Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 9:08 AM UTC
Attached as if our skin
is patched together
by the red strings of fate
that signify forever.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 11:26 PM UTC
isa pa, itagay mo pa
tatlong ikot na lang ubos na.
hindi malamig,
ubod ng lamig.
iisa lang pala ang tama.
ibigay ang pulutan
doon sa malakas kumain.
pagkatapos nito, isusuka rin.
Aug 3, 2020
Aug 3, 2020 at 4:23 AM UTC
Nagsasayaw
Ang ilaw sa tabi ko
Sa gilid sa harap paikot
Naghalo sa kisameng kasama
Ang antok-hilo kong ulirat
Bingi na ako sa tunog
Ng patagilid-pakalat na musika
Habang pinapaypayan ako
Ng higanteng bentilador
Naisip ko
Mas mainam siguro
Nasa bahay lang ako
Jul 26, 2020
Jul 26, 2020 at 12:19 AM UTC
within the blurred lines
of our wild nights
we found a clarity
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 5:59 AM UTC
I. The Boy With The Cuckoo Clock Heart
Born with a frozen heart,
abandoned in
Edinburgh.
One kind physician
laid her hands upon him,
in a bit of medicinal salvation,
by placing a cuckoo clock
inside his chest.
Now an orphan,
among peculiar friends:
tear-filled flasks,
eggs containing memories,
and a man with a musical spine.
There's but one catch
for this boy:
his heart is fragile,
he must never, ever
fall in love.
Existence is undoubted.
But without this one emotion,
can he really live?
Love is a bitter token.
II. The Girl With Glass Feet
"It was a humid night,
later to become a hated night."
Upon an island sound,
feet first, she is slowing turning
into glass.
By sheer happenstance,
she meets a shy boy
who lives there
with an extreme fear
of being touched.
As she slowly disappears,
she untethers herself
from self-pity,
by teaching the boy the value
of interaction.
Inchmeal, he begins to reach out
and feels everything
she has lost to the night.
Love is a bitter token.
III. The Snow Child
"November was here."
A married couple,
in Alaskan remote,
suffering from one great sadness:
no child of their own
and unable to talk of it.
He's buried by
the weight of the outer ice,
she's crumbling
from inner despair.
And so on a rare
friendly day trek,
they built a child out of snow,
outfitted with mittens and scarf.
A day later it is gone,
remembered only in absentia,
yet there appears
a beautifully arrayed
creature of winter,
a little, lissome girl in the woods,
hunting with the red fox.
In wishing to understand
these encounters,
the couple come to love the child
as their very own daughter.
Yet will she ever accept them
as they do her?
Or see them
merely as snowdrops?
Figurines frosted over by
the harsh landscape
they each wander?
Love is a bitter token.
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 8:24 PM UTC
Hi....
It's been 47 days now and I really don't know when all this is going to stop so I could finally gain access to you.
The sweat that dripped down my body each time I honoured your invitation.
At first the sweats were irritating, I would whine about it or hurry home to wash it off but with time I got used to it and appreciated it.
Most times you leave me in a lot of body ache that takes days to heal....
47 days, that's all I needed to truly understand how important you are to my career, most likely my world.
I grew up dreaming and making up stories in my head about being an actor but not really you.
I always get angry each time I had to choose you over sleep or fun time with my friends.....
Little did I know you meant more than the fame or awards being an actor would give to me......
47 days and still counting with no idea when I would stop cause even when this is over, I'm not sure the rules that would be enforced to contain this virus, would favor us.
But the few times I spent with devoting certain hours of my day to you was and would most likely be one of memories i can never forget.
The bonding, the jokes, insults, anger, joy and fun you always give the people that comes together under you.
I'm really looking forward to having you back to either dance to drum beats or music and move from one stage direction to another, giving life to dead scripts.
Much love from your biggest fan
Pearlspoems 😘
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 1:27 PM UTC
Her body pulls away, outlying
Ask the mountains
Question the clouds
What is rotation's logic?
Have we spun fallaciously all along?
Communicating with inexact words?
Kissing off-target?
********** an imprecise expression?
She settles now on unapproachable horizon
Learn from the shore
Understand the sea
Neither dare, nor desire, to claim
For the indignity or cumber of a difficult collide
Start anew by holding hands
Discover the "we" in you and her
Ever so gently, allow her to orbit
The offered affection
On her own terms
The heart will again probe for
A returning circuit to attachment
Her body will move closer
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 3:24 PM UTC