"endo" poems
Sa dami ng mga trabahong tumambak dahil hindi mo pa nagagawa
Mga papeles na nagpatung-patong na
Yung lamesa **** inaagiw na dahil hindi mo alam kung saan at paano magsisimula.
At mga istoryang di mo pa maisulat dahil nangangapa ka pa.
Isama mo na rin yung katrabaho **** nakakairita na sa tenga.
Dahil crush niya daw si Justin Bieber
At paborito niyang frappe sa Starbucks ay Caramel.
Kahit mukhang ang afford niya lang ay Nescafe “Oo nga pala, French Vanilla” na iniinom ni Toni Gonzaga.
Pero wala siyang pambili ng sarili niyang tumbler.
Tangina.
Idagdag mo pa ang mga patay na oras na sunod-sunod ang mga buntong-hininga
Nahuli ka pa ng boss mo na nakatulala
Kaya hayan at napagalitan ka pa.
At dahil contractual ka, yung limang buwan na kontrata mo
Biruin mo, baka mapaaga pa ang endo.
Aminin mo na ang pagpatak ng alas-singko
Ay may kakaibang dalang saya.
Na parang sumagot na ng “oo” yung matagal mo nang nililigawan.
Nakulayan na rin yung mga pinlano niyong outing na buong akala niyo’y hanggang drawing na lang.
Parang pagbabalik sa Pilipinas ng kasintahan **** kumayod sa ibang bansa.
Parang ibinalita sa TV na hindi traffic ngayon sa EDSA.
Himala!
Kaya ang pagsapit ng alas-singko ay kakambal ng paglaya.
Wala sa’yo kung sa bus man ay tayuan
O kaya sa dyip ay makasabit man lang.
Basta makauwi ka lang.
Nakakasabik pa rin ang ideya
Na ang bawat pag-uwi
Ay kasing banayad ng mayroong sasalubong sa’yong ngiti
Mga ngiting papawi sa kangalayan ng mga binti.
Mayroong yakap na nakaabang
Ang mga bisig na nagmistulang pinakapaborito **** kulungan
Dahil doon mo nararamdaman ang tunay na kalayaan.
Mula sa pang-aalipin sa’yo ng lipunan.
Nakahain na rin ang hapunan.
“Mahal, ano ba ang ulam?”
Sabayan natin ito ng mahabang kwentuhan.
Simulan natin sa simpleng kamustahan.
Dahil pagkatapos, ay aabangan mo na naman ang alas-singko kinabukasan.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
Bilang na ang aking maliligayang araw.
dalawa na lang. Kung isasama yung pangakong panlilibre ng lomi
ng mga kasamahan sa pabrika sa unang restday matapos ang endo-
tatlo. At ganito pala ang feeling ng may taning.
Para kang nasa nilulumot na aquarium na walang oxygen
at goldfish kang kasama ng dalawang golden arowana.
Hindi ka makahinga.
Sa a kinse, matuloy man o hindi ang balitang super-bagyo
Tapos na ang limang buwang kontrata.
Matatapos na rin ba ang hindi naumpisahang pagsinta?
Tulad ng paghahanap ng mga skater sa kanilang skate park,
matatagpuan ko rin ba ang lakas loob at habambuhay na hindi na?
Kaya naman kaninang tanghalian, wala akong kwentong maihain sa iyo.
Parang habambuhay ko ngang uubusin yung inorder kong BBQ
kanin at RC.
Paano ko ba sasabihing baka isa na ito sa huling dalawang tanghalian na sabay tayong kakain?
Paano ko ba sasabihin na sa maraming pagkakataon na sabay tayong kumakain,
nagtitipid ako at hindi naman talaga ako nagugutom.
Gusto lang kita makasama kasi parang gusto na kita.
Pero tulad ng inililihim kong pagtatapos ng aking kontrata
Hindi mo alam.
Hindi mo alam na ikaw ang dahilan kung bakit masarap ang simoy ng hangin sa loob ng pabrika
kahit wala naman talagang bintana at inuubong industrial fan lang ang meron tayo.
Hindi mo alam kung anong kapanatagang nararamdaman ko
tuwing sinasabihan mo akong mag-iingat ako
tuwing uwian kahit ang totoo, hindi natin kakilala ang kaligtasan
at kapanatagan sa pabrikang walang fire exit
at benefits.
Yun talaga yun, hindi mo alam.
Pero alam mo naman sigurong salot talaga ang kontraktwalisasyon?
At maramot talaga sa mga lovestory nating mga below-minimum-wage-earners
at contractual workers ang sistema ng paggawa sa Pilipinas.
Sa mga susunod na bukas, ikaw naman ang mag-e-endo.
Baka mapunta ka sa Savemore na tadtad din ng kontraktwal.
At masnatch ang numero mo at hindi na kita matatawagan.
At ako, baka sa hirap humanap ng trabaho maisangla ko ang aking telepono.
At isang monumentong singlaki ng Mall of Asia ang itatayo sa pagitan nating dalawa.
Kasalanan ito ni Ernesto Hererra.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
potion lost by unknown souls
effervescent masturbatory master debater
creationism is masochism told from the horses ***
past blast take my soul
make me whole and complete
separation anxiety is ***** envy
memories of mental memos crash past rushing fools
used and abused on cruise control
I misjudged your guided thistle
because missiles are meant for drones not home-oh
listen to the seedless man cry for his dead *****
tediously miserable always unforgiven
what lies hidden within the door
could be a deserted desert dessert
like an after dinner breath mint
or a succinct lunatic on the brink of such destruction
may be distraction fight or flight action reaction
marilyn charles though more bronson than you
Aren’t thou marked for death
broken gasp choked sob
undergod slaughtered in an abandoned euthanasia clinic
euphimistic innuendo more like in your endo
indoor marijuana smoke makes the colors run
my american flag has flown and fled
please jesus save our country bumpkins
napkins go in the lap not as hat
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
I am the heart surgeon's hand,
working on his audience
in cardiac arrest,
But this *****
it's beating,
slowly,
I need to
speed it
up,
Actors
surround me
in latex gloves,
***** and cut
with utensils
I pick to ****
The Epi,
The Myo,
The Endo,
Three layers
my gloves
must fold under,
We must
prevent
sudden cardiac death,
To notice
drama
through superior atria,
To hear
oxygenated emotion
through the body,
As long as they're breathing,
hearts pumping,
the performance is at play.
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 9:20 AM UTC
Synchronicities coalescing
like an orchestral crescendo
bubbling up all at once
no longer guessing
no shorter waiting
the *** is boiling
moreover
I might
be synch
i
n
g
...
a pod
of killer whales
crash-splashing
quite a commotion
up, out, and back
down into the ocean
born into the storm like
a frightful forte
a front brake
endo
the
feathered
fickle angel
screams pianissimo
on tiptoes, reaching out
toward tomorrows
continuously
contagious incapacitation
tells me it straight like an arrow through time
like a taught fishing hook line
and sinker —
trying to figure out
your reason your rhyme
parsley, sage, rosemary and crime
please, let me in on your
pickled paradigm
a stormy sea, all your own,
decides for you, where
you're thrown.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Eyes of golden fields,
And hair of flaming sun,
Beauty of Aphrodite,
Voice of a siren.
Her sad gaze
Grasps you soul
And rasps your breath.
She's an unknowing temptress
Claiming lonesomeness
And strength of solidarity.
Dramatics fill her life
While tears penetrate her ducts
Only to be wiped dry
By her smooth white digits.
The opinions she illuminates
Are half always harsh
Half always right.
Yet in the gloom
She watches the man
She bows her song
And swallows the shine
Of that which she gazes upon.
She drinks softly
Falls to the cotton
Falls into self realization.
Her karma awaits
Sticking to her endo
Like fresh golden cream,
****** from the hive of greed.
She puts the unwanted to obscurity
And places her dreams in a bottle
To be carried from safety.
Her pain goes unnoticed
As she presses the glass
And downs its purity
To reach her haven.
I truly wish to save her,
For her beauty astounds me
And her love is secretive
Hidden to all those who seek it.
If only a door existed
For the key I posess.
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
I lay awake...
Again...
Unable to sleep.
Replaying those words you spoke to me tonight.
Over. And over. And over.
As if my whole life had led up to those few words.
As if nothing else in the world mattered before those words curled up at the end of your lips,
And laid down to rest by the fireplace of my cold heart.
Over and over and over,
My inevitable smile never straying from my cheeks.
Falling... Falling... Falling...
Until I realize "falling,"
Does not quite quench my desires,
For maybe by dumb luck,
Maybe by fate,
Maybe an unlaced shoe,
Or maybe your straying, clumsy foot,
I endo'ed.
Brains above my unlaced shoes,
And heart somewhere in between.
And to stand up,
Would mean I had the strength,
And the will to do so.
So here I lie.
Never to stand up,
Nor fall again.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
one in ten women they say
that’s a hell of a lot of women
but still i’m here
at twenty years of age
speaking with the doctor
about infertility
and pain only manageable by
hormones and narcotics
we talk of a diagnosis
only discoverable by surgery
there has to be a better way
there has to be
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
Sing from your diaphragm, she would say to me
sing low, sing low.
I think of
the subway system of my body,
of mice and men,
its systematic chaos and
deep rumbling, as
long silver serpents ricochet off endo,
cardi,
metrium (repeat)
(endo, cardi, metrium)
I am the whale, I told myself.
I am the whale that swallowed the city
in all its alabaster glory and
underground ********
the Joes and ***** that ride them.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC