#visual
Through all these marvelous lavender fields
Is a sight of something else that nobody could ever yields
Feel the fragrant morning of a tingling breeze cold
All the mountains dance that follows the wind never untold
Caress me with that flawless blooming lavender stalks
Shades of bluish transformation, a colors that walks
Pay respect to those who grow and those who have grown
The dew of the blessed plant stays pretty unknown
Hear me with the voice of your temptations
As if the plants talk like a human conversations
Permission to pick you one, never belittle what I sow
Promise to not let you worry and besmirch with sorrow
Oh, Lavender fields, a sweetest success to my eyes
Pleasantly giving to the weary eyes, filled with no lies
I think you know by now my favorite color was blue
Thus, here I am, still wanting to see you again oh so true
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 10:23 AM UTC
Yellow is the crushing anxiety squeezing me tight,
Green is the pit of nausea the has overcome me,
Red is the burning hot anger I have for myself,
Blue is the bottomless sadness that has consumed me,
Purple is the endless mourning, just begun,
White is the blinding emptiness burning in my chest.
I’m crushed by this rainbow of emotions,
Consumed by the spectrum of loss.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 2:55 PM UTC
The flow of the stream is steady and strong.
It carries the current
down the mountain and into the valley.
Water flowing endlessly,
like time flowing away from me.
The water rushes away.
In time it becomes a river,
eventually finding its way to the sea;
to be part of something bigger than it was before.
I wish to be like the stream,
surrendering to the flow of life,
drifting with the currents of time,
Into something greater.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 2:46 PM UTC
Down goes the sun,
down go the clouds
till they meet
with the sea
far away
to the west.
Orange? Pink?
Thus the sky is colored,
in places orange,
in places pink,
but mostly both—
and at the same time
neither.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 9:02 AM UTC
it’s the lucent sky,
the blue-pink gradient
cotton candy strokes:
the ghosts of the skyscrapers
that once persisted; the
lonely sisters of the fields
in dawn—
it’s a sight you don’t ever
want to take your eyes off,
but it’s what consumes you,
so you will.
undoubtedly, you will;
just to never see it again.
Nov 14, 2025
Nov 14, 2025 at 3:13 PM UTC
the snow will fall
down the waterfall,
and the air will pollute my insides
as my self-conscious self will let me find myself
running,
chasing the streaming frozen water.
the winter garden has been kept away from me,
its orchids and hydrangeas behind the shadows
of this gray city,
so down the meadows i’ll chase the wind.
you said the sunset will sometime fade,
but as i stare in its eyes,
it’s hard to believe this color palette
is about to drip down the dusky sky,
so i repeat to myself
the worn-down mantra you once told me:
“calmness is the vigor of the empires”,
and i breathe
as the same
iciness fills up my lungs,
the sunset leaving its trace behind:
a handprint that it was there just seconds ago,
and it’ll wait in the afterlife.
Nov 10, 2025
Nov 10, 2025 at 7:27 AM UTC
he s̷p̷ea̷k̷s̷ in th-th-the hush b̷e̷f̷or̷e̷ c͟o͟m͟m͟a͟n͟d
bɑ̶r̶e̶-̶c̶h̶e̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ // b̷r̷a̷c̷e̷d̷ f͝o͝r͠ the̴ se͞n͞t͞e͞n͞ce͞ to L̸̡̫̮͊̿͠͝Ą̵̜̥̎̾N̷̦̳̤͝ͅD̷̳͚̈̐͌
h͎i͍s͍ ͔n͎a͔m͍e̳ cu̸r̷l̷s̷ b̶e̶h̶i̶n̶d̶ their t̶̵̻̻e̴̞̼̻͐̽e̸͖͒͜ẗ̶͈̲́̓h̴̳͓̓͝
a wreck— soft r̸e̴a̷d̴y̷ f̶or͞ c̷ol̷lis̷i̷o̶n̸_
they move like thund̴e̶r̷—holding— back
drawn tight į̵͈͔̫̄̈́̈́͝n̵̦̺̼̄t̴̢͉̪̥̽í̴̯̈́m̴̙͊a̶̞̙̕ẗ̸̛̼̬́͂͐e d̷̞͗̍̈́e̷̪͈̫̬͊ḻ̸̘͒̅i̷͈̖̖͊̈́̒b̶̯͔̥̹͝e̷̡̛͎̳̥̔͠r̴͓͐ą̴̡̛̅͘ţ̸̂̓e̸̼̞̎̓͘
he / d̷̲̝̖ͅo̵̢̘̠̰e̶̼̤s̴̮̤̰̳n̴̢͔̼̹’̶̢͍͕̦t̴͇̹̦ / run he r̴̨̯̯̋͝i̷̩̟̠̯͘s̵̲̼̖̾̊͌ė̴̢̺̩̞̅s̸̘̜̬̐̎̋
not broken b̴̡̮̎̓e̶̳̮̓͝n̶͎̞̿̓t̶̺͒͘ toward becoming…
Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 1:50 AM UTC
Specked on the toes
or heals of a plate.
The horse is waiting. You don’t know it —
you should breathe in & out in situations like this.
Situations lead to more of them. You smell like Axe. My breathing hasn’t been consistent
-or monitored enough to know the depths of the soul.
Scroll down or turn the page depending on what era you are in. There is infinity on the back of my hand.
On your other back there is some tension. Taste like sweat. Southeast Asian flavored — not in an overly ****** or fetishized way. You and me are the same.
The other you called me an intruder. I know by nationality — not blood. So, you are partially right.
On the other side, you get a massage. We’ve taken turns with other versions of ourselves. Plenty of work in the 21st Century.
A job. Updated resume. For someone who might love you in that moment. Truly love that job. On the back of your real back.
A hand job. Not a quickie. We work. Free labor. We use our hands to make things. All jobs are hand jobs — don’t be a pervert. I thought you were a nice person. Don’t sexualize everything? What job isn’t a hand job?
Why is it so hard? Why is it so big? Why do I have expectations?
We met at a mall. Or you picked me up. My feelings are present. Your feelings back there. You and me are scared. Because jobs that are tiring can be scary.
I miss all of you. You’re back and my back. My stupidity and my wisdom is yours too. The back seat smells like SafeGuard. Breathe in. Brea- Calm. No more scared.
You just ate. That’s how we flirt in the Philippines.
I had black pepper on my foods because it’s used on the front of a dish where I’m from-
When I eat, I don’t burp from the back. You sprinkle the front of the food on its back.
On the front of the back of the phone is an anticipation.
People I know of back home are dying. There is black pepper. No one I have been really close to has passed yet. In the back of your mind you know it’ll happen.
I back up a bit from the table and you. I always think I am smart. I always think of crying when I get home. But I am too smart to cry in public.
Back up — back up. Black up. Sprinkle Black Pepper on food. For you. Backed by support from followers like you.
You may be familiar with my back. Or vice versa. What a beautiful time it is to eat Black Pepper in September!
Wondering what is going on in the back of their minds. You tell me to get over it.
Try the Black Pepper in a town near you. Sides go great with a little back back dash of the Black Pepper. Yes I am ok.
You need salt. I need salt. Back away. Because moderation. Just use Black Pepper. It is your job.
Black. Then front. Top it off. Then back and black. Self love advice — taking everything with a grain of (bath) salt.
Which Black Pepper is the best Black Pepper?
Back and Black. Duh.
Forward through the congestion of Cebu City — I back up but not enough. My new job is to sprinkle the Black Pepper on us. After the commute.
Crazy?
You’re crazy, babe.
You…
Baby, I know I am crazy.
Sike.
You bet.
Because of the motorcycle makes me feel dangerous and cool on your back. I drove too. Danger. You. Never mind! Never. Mind. Men are dumb. That includes me.
That means everything men do other men and women they pursue is dumb. Black Pepper takes their mind off that front and back to the front. People are dumb. Di ba?
Black Pepper is Black Pepper. Nothing but Black Pepper. I love me so much. You too. You told me to love myself more. So I ate Black Pepper.
You aren’t always looking at palm trees, or nature, like I do. Back on your phone. Black pepper grounds the tree.
Now from the back to the other back I calmly sneeze.
Where has life taken you in regards to others? The backs of theirs.
It is not hard to believe in the world of form — because Black Peppers are on my back.
So is the back of your motorbike. I smell Black Pepper on my upper lip. There is Black Pepper sprinkles. Everywhere. I use the back of my wet hand to wipe the back. You wipe the front.
— in the back of my mind, I’m glad most of the Black Pepper is covered by my clothes.
Sleeping on back back — exhale. Exhaling from both the nostrils. I remember the time I garnished a dish with Black Pepper in the Upper East Side. I felt gross. I remember that moment in the back of my mind.
How could anyone hate you if you’re back?
Black Pepper eaters never seem to care too much. So you — don’t back up that with a fact check. Back up. I am not crazy.
I love the blacks. I love the peppers. If you back the love too — it’s a job. You too will know love from the back.
— Sprinkled with black pepper and backed by gold.
Mar 20, 2025
Mar 20, 2025 at 1:50 AM UTC
The
Ever
Green
Trees still
Amaze me like
Nothing else ever has
They're just so entrancing
Dancing
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 9:39 AM UTC
. Inch by inch,
cruel word,
indecision,
pressure,
spin an avalanche
around my grubby life,
cocooned, cold
my sight
goes
black.
A crack, amber light bleeds
into my shrouding chrysalis.
I struggle,
tearing silk,
escaping
to smell the sun
taste its nectar
and
see
I am
a
butterfly.
Nov 1, 2024
Nov 1, 2024 at 9:27 AM UTC
Soaked from the rain.
Surrounded by figures.
Invisible to all.
I heard it:
'You want to be loved.'
The gray clouds enveloped the sky.
I shook my head.
Everything was crumbling.
Emptiness.
Worthlessness.
Complaining.
Hatred.
Distain.
Apathy.
I was seen,
But it wasn't me.
Stop looking.
The grass withered at my feet,
Turned to mud behind each worthless step.
My suit worn down with grime.
Stained with dirt and blood.
It looked nice,
The stains were covered.
The voice:
'Not loved for how you are.'
'But loved for who you are.'
'Despite who you are.'
'You want to belong in your existence.'
'You want you,'
'The real you,'
'To be loved.'
'Not the manufactured you,'
'Not how you look,'
'Or how you act,'
'You.'
I laughed at it's words.
Feeling the urge to ***** and cry at the same time.
But only smiling.
Then I said no...
...I said no...
Aug 22, 2024
Aug 22, 2024 at 9:55 PM UTC
Locked out of every building down the block of trust
Left in my torrential downfall to rust
Knocked off course by a simple gust
A visual SOS is a must
But follow the flair I launch daily at dusk
And stumble across a cold and lonely husk
©2024
Jun 5, 2024
Jun 5, 2024 at 3:59 PM UTC
Hurdles and trials
Deadlines and bills, stress galore,
Find me an angel
Dec 28, 2023
Dec 28, 2023 at 7:38 AM UTC
I.
All I can say is that it is a hum
Reverberant, droning, consistent
Quiet thrumming along the surface
Stirs me awake and then it fills me with
Ichor and I sip, sip, and sip (until I'm drunk).
All I can say is that it is a hum,
Quiet droning, a hushed whisper,
Loud screaming inside the head,
A piercing headache, sometimes a discordant wail.
II.
You sit on the porcelain lip of the tub
Hooded eyes lowered, your fingertips
Pressed together like the steeple of a church
I think: Yes, this is what Renaissance painters modeled angels after. Your skin is like a rose-tinged alabaster, your cheeks Suffused with blood. The painter took a measured time with you.
"Do you honestly think you'll be okay on your own?" You ask.
Silence, she greets you.
III.
Hasn't my mother violently
Ejected me from the nest
I'm only a few months old, a nestling
Wings awkward and clumsy
Beak agape for masticated food
(I'm not ******* ready yet)
Ejects me
Her beak threatens to pierce my shell
This is dejà vu.
I've conversed before
Different room, different domain,
Different speaker, a sicker listener
I'm as sick, sick as **** now
Mind, she hums, crescendo
Crescendo high like a choral piece
Orchestral, and this is resplendent
Everything is gleaming
Your face encased in a soft glow
Halo of light
Your face, cherubic,
His face, Romanesque, was sculpted like a Bronze Age statue.
"Your mother didn't give you the right set of tools. My mother at least gave me–" he falters.
IV.
I remember calling the ex 28 times in the span of 2 hours.
The policeman, he counted.
Thrashing on the floor, weeping like Persephone must've in Hades, like a fallen Mortal reborn as a minor goddess
Stripped me, he did though, of my wings
Avian feathers streaked with years-old blood
My tears, why yes, they're bleeding rivulets.
My shit-brown eyes alight on the bleach
Yes, sweet death
"Stop calling me. I'm ******* another ***** right now," the ex says.
V.
Memory is so faded,
Plays like a scratched and worn cassette tape
Mind is a-humming, humming, my mind is
Orchestral choir, church choir, Pentecostal
Now, I eat ichor, ravenous, now I am Closer to God and she is a woman,
Draped in funeral attire
She weeps, soundless, a Seer
"I don't know," I say.
"The med isn't working," you reply
Cherubic face shifts and morphs
Melts into soft glow light,
One with the halo, is the halo
Nothing makes sense, everything else does too. My mind races, cassette tapes
Whirs, skips, images flash, I weep
Weep like Sisyphus
Eyes spilling rivers of penny-tinged
Crimson, sanguine ichor
One day he'll taste it and hate me,
Loathe me, the jade-eyed serpent
Poison-fanged
I'll clutch his scales until my fingers are Cut, welts, mottled bruises, fading scars
I will be punished, am punished
The illness, the eternal Boulder on the eternal hill, it rolls and rolls, my mouth agape
I await my cyclic fate ordained by the Higher God
VI.
How many men have I lured into the chamber?
Drunk on sweet wine or mead?
Petrified into osseous
Their gazes failing to avert from my Penetrative stare?
He was an errant General, beautiful but stupid, his mind a one way road, his temper unpredictable and flighty
Oh, how I loved the duality of him
We philosophized
Theorized on the Gods
Laughed at their follies
Wondered at the mysteries of the universe, Her deep annals
Oh, how I loved the physicality of him
Tight, corded muscle, his back like a Wound spring, Bronze hand
Grasping a silver sword
Hark! His rounded shield is lifted, my hideous reflection stares back at me
My eyes, widened, the cup of manna Clatters, soundly in the chamber
Reverberates
Bounces off my throne of skulls
How many men have I–?
VII.
"Can you honestly say that you can take care of yourself?" You ask from the place atop the lip of the porcelain tub. Your hands, a steeple, a church spire
Perhaps, you are a lesser God, perhaps we are all falling Lucifers, wingless, blinded by vengefulness and betrayal
Perhaps, he too is–?
"Am I an infant to you?" I ask.
The headache splits
The pain demands, claws at the side of my skull, dances across my nerves, liquid iron on my tongue
Because when did I?
Oh, Sisyphus you weep! You, who slaughtered so many!
Oh, Medusa, you wept, you beautiful serpentine harlot, you ***** you–
The choir is a strong crescendo, Ascending, ascending, ascending
Lowers like a thrumting and heavy bellow
Deep, rich, and full, timbre
"Everyone, all your life has said you were crazy, but I don't think you are, I–"
VIII.
The tapes skip, voices garbled, muffled, Indiscernible and distorted
Mind shrieks, lower now, quieter now, Barely audible, a fading whisper, your halo Recedes, soft glow dims
Your hands separate, the steeple, no, the Spire collapses.
Held breath hitches,
Serpentine tendrils become wisps of hair, Cloudlike
We are lesser gods, not quite mortal, not quite divine
The itch demands to be felt, protests
And I, I scream endless into a dark chasm
My voice, it does not call back to me
It does not–
"I don't know."
Nov 9, 2023
Nov 9, 2023 at 11:18 AM UTC
I see vivid, my vision flowered
All the colours, i call them ours
Afterimages and my poems
Branded on my eyeball's moments
Blue does spread like food colouring
Dropped in my vision spluttering
I close my eyes to escape the noise
But all it changes, is the background choice
I see the bright blue sky
With floaters, sparkles and vivid lies
And sometimes my hands are dissapear
Beneath shadows leftover from lights bright near
But all in all it is alright
After all i could lose my sight?
And that is without mentioning my ears
that have been ringing for years.
Aug 1, 2023
Aug 1, 2023 at 7:11 AM UTC
The alarming realm of the vertical,
so immence a hue – a blue
of such majesty that wonder
comes over all.
The magical universe of color –
linear filigrees of tone sheened
on unlikely surfaces : clandestine
rose and violet, a shout of crimson,
a whisper of pastel.
Sun-honeyed pine trees,
wind-silver rumpling of fields
falling into manes of lustre,
galleries of varying shades
fading into each other,
mirroring a marriage
of likenesses, mauve
through cerulean.
Tinted pavilions of firmament
overhung with luminescense
where mind is lost in the
amazement of impermance .
Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 4:51 AM UTC
Scenaries I have seen many;
But why do you seem like the
sunset on a cold lonely beach.
Symphonies I have heard many;
But why do you sound like
A baby's first cry.
Perfumes I have smelt many ;
But why do you smell like the first rain on a summer day.
Sweets I have tasted many;
But why do you taste like
Cookies that mom makes.
Fabrics I have touched many;
But why do you feel warm
Like the sweaters grandma used to weave.
Oct 12, 2021
Oct 12, 2021 at 10:17 AM UTC
Rhythmic
Tearing
Cow on grass
Settling rooks
Cross sky
All around
Sound playing
Scent
On wind
Descending
Sun
Gold leafing
The horizon
Obscuration
Veiling arc
And furrow
Crop
And shadow
Poplar lined
Fields below
Quiet here
Above
A moment
Passes
Contrast sharpens
Trees recede
Into darkness
Sun bleeds
Into Earth
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 7:18 AM UTC