#musings
How much do I like you?
So sweet
whipping into the delicateness of a hen's
first egg
I cannot remember
when I last had one of my own
or if I'd like to make you a father
on this Saturday afternoon
perhaps sometime in our five year plan.
Give or take never.
You make me feel domestic, and perfectly correct when I hold your hand not so gently
and lead you to meet my not so friends.
I remember to fold the flour in
to not disturb the tranquility of
the careful balance of ingredients nestled in my secondhand bowl.
You are always offering
to get me a brand new one
but I bite my lip
and secretly wish
you will just be happy
with something familiar.
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 12:18 AM UTC
What remains of me at the end of this life?
This decade?
This epoch?
At the very end of all that is,
will my spirit still soar as fragmented energy?
As pulses of light—a sort of post-existence fire?
Will anyone or anything know and
bear witness to what once was—
to the reality that I presently occupy?
And will it matter—does it matter—if nothing does?
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 9:08 PM UTC
That realm between
Pain and Pleasure
The sweet spot
I’ve been pondering
not sitting the fence a-lot
pain brings out the best in me
it’s in those trying moments that I learn to know me
pleasure incredible as it is
highlights the things I don’t want to be
I’m comforted in the uncomfortable
And I see the flaws between the sparkles ✨
There’s no place to hide
The answer lies inside?
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 7:41 AM UTC
your mind is running on asphalt,
that you have created for yourself.
you chose this, sticks of memories
that keep crawling, scratching your skin.
hair falls, nails grow out, you voice deepens.
listen close enough and even your racing heart has a static voice.
the adam's apple camouflages itself.
the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence,
but is there really any fence?
or have you created it in your bones and arteries?
if you did, is there really any substance
in looking over your shoulder
and all you see, is wet moss and sticky soil.
while seasons bend over the gold plated sky.
keep your arms to your chest
and answer the question.
do you have an answer?
all tributaries do not lead to the sea.
all roads do not lead to rome.
but that again, is the question,
do you want to go home?
or do you want to get lost?
when you look at it,
both the question and the answer do not fit themselves.
a third person plural needs 3 things not 2.
similar to the fence in your head.
you are captured, enslaved and freed.
so, where do you even go?
where is this fifth direction?
Feb 4
Feb 4, 2026 at 1:47 PM UTC
you were never as dominant as you liked to believe.
your orders fell clumsy and weak upon my young skin
out of inexperience, i assumed,
but boy, was i wrong
you were always so eager to please me
to tie me up, to hurt me, anything i asked
so caught up in the lie that you became a leader.
but you cant lead.
your instructions are clumsy and weak,
you dont truly enjoy it, you only do it out of obligation,
because you think its your role.
maybe we were doomed to fail
cause how yould it ever work out
with two submissives
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 5:35 PM UTC
I had become acquainted
with unseeing eyes that still saw
too much. The cloister of a cocoon
meant to preserve all that remained
after the fire coursed through, crying.
The heaviness of stories I had clung to
like the hand of a parent who had
already slipped away and failed
to realize the child who saw beyond
the mirage, who hoped against hope
for even an artificial light to provide
warmth, to somehow be unveiled
as the source to begin with. Was I still
wandering into a borrowed tomb,
unable to discern these times, seasons
that ushered in the fragile new growth
when all I'd known was decay? Carry
that weight and leave the shell. Let
the molten fragments be found
by the next unsuspecting stranger
eagerly awaiting new rains. I had been
steeped too long in the deluge of death
only to shrink from the only true light
that could heal those deepest parts
of my being, of those stories I wished
weren't mine to hold. Still, the flicker
illuminated all they had wanted
to keep me from knowing all along.
Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 2:33 AM UTC
art is an interchangeable form.
what is poetry can be prose can be music can be art can be TV can be movies can be video games can be visual novels can be webcomics can be dance can be movement can be aesthetics can be a flash of inspiration hidden behind a street corner.
art is a connective process.
you forge new threads between yourself, others, and the world around you.
you realize the universe is so much bigger than yourself. and yet, you discover just how you can be a part of it, just how you can fit in.
through art we are not human, yet art is the most human form of being there is.
art motivates us not just to live, but to thrive. it shows us the evidence of why we should all still be alive.
and to appreciate art, is no less than to make it.
to create, is no lesser or greater than to be.
go feel art.
go make art.
go be art.
Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 4:56 PM UTC
If I had your power, Wanda,
To meet another version of me,
In an obscure corner of a universe,
I wonder....
Would she be perfect, better than I've ever known?
Would she be a genius, with every idea her own?
Would she have it all together, so she'd never break,
Would she know how exactly not to make a mistake?
I hope her world thrives eternally, on her joy,
I hope nothing in her life can ever be destroyed,
I wish her peace, and the strength to find her way,
When the sun hides, the moon is dark, and her heart is led astray.
Jun 5, 2025
Jun 5, 2025 at 9:02 AM UTC
The warm May sun
plants kisses my skin
as late spring days
bring new beginnings.
I close my eyes and listen
to busy birds singing
as they build nests with care,
weaving a safe home
for their chicks to share.
I do love the clear May mornings,
when the garden is bejewelled
with dew-kissed leaves
that sparkle when catching the sunlight.
I look at the countryside,
draped in emerald green,
as I watch the breeze rippled fields
create a stunning artist's scene.
I smile as flowers stand waving,
as they greet all who pass
with vibrant cheer,
much to many a humble
bumblebee's delight.
©️Lizzie Bevis
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 1:43 PM UTC
The soft wind brings resurrection,
as seeds crack the Earth's waking shell,
and she shrugs off her pale complexion,
while spring's mystery is dispelled.
Cherry blossoms break their silence,
pink confetti pirouettes on the breeze.
After months of cold defiance,
new leaves grace once barren trees.
In murky ponds, frogspawn transforms,
and tadpoles emerge to the spring light.
The weather warms from winter storms,
as days bask in the sun's delight.
This is nature's revolution,
Death in reverse, life is reborn.
In April's retribution,
Faith is restored, and hope adorns all.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Apr 24, 2025
Apr 24, 2025 at 6:38 PM UTC
7:17am Sunday Feb 2, 2025
a phrase freely borrowed from
Thomas Jefferson, strikes the
face while being delivered by
Sunrise’s
first glinting, both eye opening
thought and event, a duality
intersection of notions & sensations,
for the early start to a newborn
week, making one think; truly
think. accompanied by a softly
serenading concerto played piano,
young children
laughing wirh shrieking delight,
as they climb aboard their hazy
dozy parents’ wedding bed,
launching themselves with
rocket like force on stomachs
and groins, all groans & moans,
and in the solitude of his mind’s
quiet, he laughs as he ponders,
a concluding a single concept:
This, this, is the business of life
“making yourself what you are…”
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 7:54 AM UTC
shall i compare myself to others every day?
they are more charming, and more talented:
tough luck does take its toll; often too hefty to pay,
and the bill of regrets is way past its due date;
sometimes too hot the baton of pride burns inside,
and often in a sea of mediocrity naked, i swim;
and every ball from ball sometimes drops,
by a poet in his underpants, and ***** untrimm’d;
but my eternal hard-on shall not fade,
nor lose faith inside the hole i bore’st;
nor shall spite keep me from dues unpaid,
when that eternal hard-on in time so grow’st:
so long as i can sing, profoundly and care-free,
so long lives this - it’s a fun read, won’t you agree?
Dec 20, 2024
Dec 20, 2024 at 10:51 PM UTC
It could have been different.
Don't you think?
If we never lived.
The lives we did.
If fate didn't have other plans.
If death didn't take a vacation.
If one thing changed our direction.
We could be indescribable.
We could be unrecognizable.
Trapped in another time.
Destined to never meet.
It could have been different.
Somehow we could have changed.
Never be who we were meant to.
Doomed to forever stay the same.
Fate is funny like that.
Still we wonder.
Only in another life.
Things would be better.
Nov 1, 2024
Nov 1, 2024 at 2:51 PM UTC
These BEAUTIFUL NIGHT SKIES are
so CALM and SERENE,
so PEACEFUL AND QUIET,
like a MOON LOVERS
SWEET DREAM!!!
The DARK SHEETS of
NIGHT, gives to us
DELIGHT,
of the TWINKLING
STARS that light
up the DARK NIGHT!!!
The STARS ALL DANCE,
In the sky of GLOOM,
Then comes
the ILLUMINATION,
of a BRIGHT LIT MOON!!
B.R.
Date: 09/9/2023
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 8:22 PM UTC
On weekends, I usually indulge in mundane pastimes in which life duties have no bearing.
Going on leisurely walks, watching films, or making acquaintances. Ah, the art of living!
On most weekdays, however, I often find myself drowning in murky and troubled waters.
Where expectations and obligations gather in a swarm, taking on sharklike features
Striking after telltale signs of surrender. Leaving trails of existential horrors in their wake.
What would it take to flee and veer off the current course? I’d then sit and ponder.
To chase after rosy-deemed dreams made entirely of garments, needles, and thread.
Confiding in parents amidst the chaos is also a proven futile effort because —
‘You’d outgrow your fleeting obsessions,’ is what they always confidently mutter.
Opening room for more doubt and despair to barge in with a loud clatter.
But I learned to hide my biting resentment underneath layers of feigned indifference.
Mastered the craft of walking in confident strides and etching on saccharine smiles.
Because what good comes from performing a Shakespearean tragedy before prying eyes?
However, when the game of play-pretend becomes taxing, and patience starts wearing thin
I seek refuge in my bedroom vicinity, where I freely entertain the blood-spattered what-if musings.
Sep 21, 2024
Sep 21, 2024 at 8:23 PM UTC
I want him to be smart and funny,
so I can forget curses and bury older jokes
with the music of our laughters.
I want him to be happy, I'll make him happy,
so we can drown our worries and sorrows
when we're in each other's company.
I don't want him perfect,
I want him faithful.
I want him to take care of me better,
I don't mind a little cold here and there,
as long as we know that our home
is full of warmth and it's ours alone.
I want him kind too, and warm,
so I can forget for a while the world is cruel
when I'm in the safety of his arms.
I don't want him perfect,
I want him gentle.
I want him to hold me tighter than ever,
I don't mind storms every now and then,
as long as we know we are each other's
own sanctuary, safe space and shelter.
I want him loyal and raw as I am,
so we can rest easy and sleep at night
knowing we're the same soul, we are one.
I don't want him perfect,
I want him all to myself and mine alone.
May 28, 2024
May 28, 2024 at 7:24 AM UTC
Gayuma
ang titig ng iyong mata
ang mga kulay nitong kakaiba,
pati ang labi **** nakakahalina
Nakakahalina
ang pangarapin ka
alalahanin ang iyong amoy sa tuwina,
ating mga alaalang tila ba milagro at mahika
Mahika
ang muli kang makasama
at marinig muli ang iyong mga tawa,
mawala kung saan mang sulok kasama ka
Ang makasama ka
ang pinakamabisang gayuma,
ang pinakanakakahalinang mahika,
at ang aking pinapangarap na sumpa.
Feb 22, 2024
Feb 22, 2024 at 2:16 PM UTC
They say grief comes in waves
varying in size and intensity;
some start small, moving silently,
might seem harmless but engulf
me within no time and I
was never taught how to swim.
Thrashing and flailing in the water
I find it difficult to breathe.
The seas of sadness pull me far
into their abyss where there is no
light or hope to get out of the misery;
sometimes even that feels enticing and comforting.
On other days these waves come
roaring loud in the ears, threatening
to steal my ground away from me, often
I brave to surf over them with the
help of distractions and they
recede, scheming to gulp me down later.
Wonder how I end up on these shores every time
while on a train or on my bed, in a
classroom or in a conference hall, amongst
the crowded streets and when alone,
memories of yesterday strewn like sea shells
lead me to the waters and I can always hear their elegies.
And when the moon shines its brightest
on them, you get to see the scene of tranquillity
but deep inside my heart there is
a storm brewing slowly that takes
various names every season, maybe there is
one named after you too, who knows.
Do you want to come with me down
to the ocean of tears? We could let
those waves kiss our feet while we watch
the sunset together, I will tell you
all my stories and you could share yours too.
I hope you know how to swim.
Sep 27, 2023
Sep 27, 2023 at 4:48 PM UTC
Five summers, four lovers
and three checkbooks ago,
I've been here, as I am today.
Same corner, same shade of gloomy day,
and about the same volume of falling rain,
still a one-call-away favorite friend of pain.
Only now I am much more
clever and conniving,
more calculating
and dare I say,
more frightening.
My approaching steps are the pitter-patter
of the storm starting,
the thundering warning of my arrival
is Manila's hour rushing.
Words from my lips
are news you'd rather miss,
however I can't say the same
about my infamous kiss.
I am older, and longer are my to-do lists.
My patience is longer,
but my heart no longer sighs or beats.
Aug 7, 2023
Aug 7, 2023 at 4:50 AM UTC
A place of silence
the bed of an exhausted runlet
parched and windless
it can make us remember
the part when we touched
some of us used it as a mirror once
saw in its rippling
the shimmering scales
of fleshed out time
it seemed real
it's frightening to realize it's real
we can recall when the never-ending flow
is exhilarating
alive
unlike other mysterious phenomena
now everything seems irretrievable
though we can still vaguely
hear its voice
in our lives
everyone carries with them
a streamlet
but we never want to be clear
about the existence
and future of the stream bed.
Jul 23, 2023
Jul 23, 2023 at 11:25 AM UTC
Half a year has passed
Love has been recalled
and lives have been lost
Hearts have been split in halves
Lessons learned, wages earned
More questions left unanswered
Am I getting older
or just getting used to it?
Am I growing wiser
or just getting my old self back?
But all the love I think I gave to people,
out to the bigger world,
I need a little bit of that back for myself.
Even just for a little while.
I need some kind of balance
or even an illusion thereof.
Am I becoming stronger
or getting more careless?
Am I getting smarter
or just getting sheer luck?
Yet all the lessons I thought I learned
from all the people I gave my love to,
I think I didn't really need them.
All I needed was to do it myself.
Like I always do.
Is the earth getting warmer
or is my skin growing thicker?
Are my dreams becoming closer
or I just couldn't care less any longer?
More questions will be asked
and will be left unanswered.
Jul 4, 2023
Jul 4, 2023 at 5:03 AM UTC