I'm not okay... But it's okay

Because when I put that blunt to my lips I'm okay

And when I put that blade to my wrist I'm okay

To you these are simply few words with little meaning, scribbled on paper.

This art is made up of blooming thoughts.
Once remarked, then glorified.
Recognition of the amazement in ourselves.
No longer an outcast
Just a vessel of beauty.

Never will you know how much these words mean to me.
You are blind to me.  

I am lined paper torn up and thrown on the cold floor
You’re oblivious to the steps you take.
These words are endless thoughts with no magnitude.

My soul is in disguise, between faint blue lines, hidden but alive.
Thriving, with the pain of no gratitude.

I’m sorry you cannot see the beauty in paper.
I’m sorry you cannot see the beauty in me.

In the night,
I saw his mind
bury him in a
dark place.
        A place that none
        of my kisses or whispers
        could pull him out of.
Yet all my heart
could say was,
*"My lover,
come back to
my arms."

This one goes to the real poets.
To those who decide to carry the world on their own.
To those who carry hell in their head and a graveyard of lost love stories in their heart
To the brave ones who fight darkness with darkness.
Tho those who the only answer they seek from a god is if there's eternal life for their loved ones, because they know there's no space for them in that paradise.
To those who know that suffering is the most humane feeling there is.
To those who loved and hated the wrong person.
This goes to Lorca isolated, hiding in a closet in New York.
To Unamuno craving to believe in something impossible.
To Quiroga drinking the poison of his sorrow at a hospital.
To Becquer and Espino for dying so young.
To Neruda for cheating on himself so many times.
To Machados' lost spirit.
To Marquez and his melancholic ******.
To Poe's tormented soul and his raven.
To Shakespeare and his Juliet.
To Dante and his story of woe.
This goes for the only beings who can live with a hell inside of them, and still manage to write heavenly things for those in need to read.
This one's for us.

It's strange
          that the man with "No Mercy" inked o'er his heart.
                    was the most merciful man I ever knew."

I should say Bon appetite
when I hand you my poems
because I know how you
devour the words.
Perhaps I should be honored,
But I'm a little afraid that
You'll know me too well.

My writing is not
pudding cups,
spring picnic in the park.
It should hurt
Like burning your tongue
and getting a brain freeze.
Does it cause you pain?
Can you actually feel what I do?

A poet should keep some to herself
because life is hard to swallow.
I can't forgive you for
reading my choking poems
where there's nothing but air
To take my breath away.

I should be honored,
but I am afraid that
You'll know me too well

Thank you for making me feel that I am special.
Thank you for always assuring that I am really okay.
Thank you for making me feel that I can trust you.
Thank you for all of the effort.
Thank you for the friendship that I really wasn't expecting to happen.
Thank you for always listening.
Thank you for being so nice.
Thank you for being you.

Unang beses palang kitang nakita, atensyon ko'y nakuha mo na.

Ngunit di ako umasa na
ako'y magugustuhan mo pa.

Oo nga naman! Di mo talaga alam ang takbo ng panahon
Darating pala ang isang pagkakataon.

Nagulat ako nung nalaman kong gusto mo din ako, kasi sa totoo lang di ko naman inaasahan to.

Salamat, dahil sayo natutunan ko.
Na may mga bagay na pwedeng magkatotoo. ❤️

I am learning how to live
In a new way
Since that day
You were taken away.

I am learning how to live
With the things left unsaid
Knowing I got to say them
With every tear that I shed.

I am learning how to live
By embracing the pain
Knowing that you live on
Through the memories that remain.

I am learning how to live
Knowing I will never again see your face
And I have peace knowing
You’re in a better place.