i once knew a girl from college
whose face looked so
****** up.
two protruding sacks of swollen eyebags
is what her face most consisted of
but her buck tooth was a challenger
but never that noticeable.
her ******* were fairly large enough
for my palms,
her gut, average and slightly
matched her love handles.
her bob cut hair and the ends of it
showed disorder.
some people to me is more noticeable
when they try hard enough not to be.
and this girl just got all the hints
and layers of closet facts that
just needed a little bit of opening.
i wasn’t attracted nor in love
but more of curious,
there wasn’t anything happening
around those days
so i just observed in stale-pretense.
if there’s something i really want,
fickle ******* destiny
wants me to drool for it first
but this time, i tricked her
because i did not know what
i really wanted from the girl
and it just happened:
one night when the class was over
we knew that it was some minutes
past nine,
out of nowhere she asked
us if anyone would like to come
over at her house
to drink since it was friday.
most of our classmates were
plugged in to the system,
next in line before the leaders,
Christians and the like
who never dance,
who never give
who never admit and submit
from their truest form next to humanity
and if a foreign subtance
such as alcohol would enter their
bodies, their oath to the absence
of reason called faith would
be nullified with a stamp
of rejection from heaven.
so only a few of us rusty lungs
came with her.
she had her own car,
it was something,
helped build up
the tick and the vibe
to prepare our stomachs.
her house was mansion-like
and there
we smoked and we drank,
we drank and we smoked
in the biggest breathing-living room
i have ever been to;
she turned out to be
a daughter of a professional legitimate
robber, a.k.a. lawyer.
rich family outside the media.
class.
the place showed a malicious aura
and the lights were dim,
had dark reclining comfy sofas
and the one in the middle
can be setup as a bed.
she had a turtle back guitar
which looked so expensive
though old and seemed
to have been through dozens
dose of the blues for many nights
i’ll never know.
the first layer to reveal itself
off her sleeves was the fact that she
was an alcoholic *******
and what i mean by *******,
she could outlive the limits
of us guys and put us into shame,
leaving us question our
gender and pure existence
of our ***** before the
entire feminine side of her.
one of the guys
showed interest in her first,
checking her out and made
a move
but that didn’t bother me
because i was curious and not
in any vivid form to look for love.
it was funny because she seemed
so oblivious and all she wanted
was to have a good time drinking,
and the guy ended up with hanging blueballs.
most of the guys went in for her
and ended up looking like a loser
but i was the real loser.
during those times i just been past through
some complicated ****
so i never showed anything off my sleeves
but just to be there near her presence
along with the free drinks which consisted
mostly of
coke and *****.
those nights went on and on,
i never missed a night
whenever she invited us.
everything was everything as it was
until the times skipped a lot
of her layers.
as always
she invited us one night after
the examination week was over.
everyone was tired like a ******
factotum like from those
production factories, warehouses and
old attrition-prone post offices
just like how Bukowski described it.
we needed it, her invitation.
things went along as how it has always been
for us commoners at her house,
we drank, we converse drunk,
we argued over useless facts drunk,
we sang drunk, we smoked drunk,
we drank drunk and it went on,.
i was too drunk at that time to even remember
the important details but
in the middle of it,
she whispered something in my ear
and the words came vague to me
as the only word she was able to
articulate well was ‘go in the bathroom...’
so i went in, sat on the throne,
lit a cigarette and waited.
i’m telling you i won’t be
pretentious on this one because
in all sense of my sense
considering i have an inferiority complex,
i knew i was in for a treat...
she came in and closed the door and said,
“******* in front of my face...”
and so i did for the hell of it,
i haven’t been laid for a long, long time.
i worked and worked
and in the middle of my silly beating
i noticed a change in her appearance,
she was staring at my chinese-descent ****
with compassion and
dedicated eyes that showed longing.
before me and my thing,
she looked divine and beautiful
with sadness all over her face,
it all came to me all at once
minus the drinks and my bloated gut.
she put it inside her mouth
when it got ambitious.
nothing can compare, it felt
right as it felt wrong.
she was drunker than i was
as she
bobbed her head, my hands were
submitted to the pleasure,
i swore i would’ve pushed her head
away but i didn’t
for
i didn’t need to, she stopped
three to four blocks away from the
threshold, her eyes was still on it
then she cried.
from there, i knew i was ******.
a girl crying,
in their bathroom with a guy
her parents would disapprove,
plus her mother was a lawyer
and worse, jail sentence.
i felt ******* and so i pulled my
pants up, apologized and
tried to wipe her tears
then she said something
i shouldn’t be writing here. . .
she confessed that she was *****
multiple times.
i asked her why tell me?
“because i feel so embarassed..”
i did what i should.
we spent more than half an hour
in the bathroom having the
conversation.
comforted her as she went on.
she revealed all that she could
and
as soon as we got out,
we were laughing and
we both knew we’re in a relationship.
it only lasted for less than two
weeks.
i broke her heart for some reason
that was mainly her fault,
she cried for me as she pleased
at some point.
i regretted it at some point,
not giving her a chance
and all that
but it was good.
it was all too good to last anyway
and
we just decided to be friends
and it was alright.
too alright for me
to consider something
to write about
over and over again,
in versions.
