"rey" poems
Isa, dalawa, tatlong yapak sa putik.
Isa, dalawa, tatlong lubog sa tubig.
Isa, dalawa, tatlong pugpog ng alikabok sa aking mga paa.
Hindi ako marunong magsalita ng Tagalog.
"Roel! Bilisan mo naman maglakad, patay tayo kay Ginang Cruz." Sambit ni rey.
"Oo sandali lang natumba ako sa putikan."
"Ang lampa mo kasi." Nagtawanan kaming lahat pagkwa'y tumakbo nang ubod bilis.
Mga kamag-aral ko sila. Palagi kaming magkakasabay sa paglakad sa umaga patungo sa eskwela. Natutuwa ako sapagkat masaya silang nag-aasaran kahit hindi ko naman maintindihan ang sinasabi nila. Nahihiya ako kaya nag-eensayo ako sa bahay o habang kami ay naglalakad, pabulong-bulong, ginagaya ang pagbikas ng bibig; ang pagsara, ang pagbukas.
Mga kamag-aral ko sila. Isang buong grupo kami na wari ba'y batalyon ng mga sundalo na handang sumabak sa giyera; may putik ang laylayan ng pantalon at basa ang mga paa.
Uy malapit na kami sa eskwela, ilang hakbang na lang; tumakbo sila, gayundin ako, mabilis. Nagpatuloy sila ngunit ako'y biglang huminto.
"Oo nga pala, hanggang dito na lamang ako", mahinang sambit sa sarili. Natigilan ako, lumiwanag ang mukha at sumilay ang tuwa. Tumakbo ako papalayo sa eskwela't papalapit sa palayan kung saan tutulong ako sa anihan. "Marunong na ako magsalita ng Tagalog!" Sigaw ko sabay yakap sa mga aanihing palay. Salamat sa mga kasabay kong maglakad tuwing umaga, salamat sa mga kamag-aral ko sa kalsada.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
Her face, flawless and filtered, flows over
my chest, ribs, stomach, hips, fitting the curved
mounds of my body, and even within simplicity
of thread and dye, I sense her presence as her face
hangs from my frame, a statement louder than pillow-lips,
Nancy Sinatra-hair and a glamorous 60’s ***** face.
When paired with leggings and an artfully-distressed denim jacket,
I become a member of the “freshman generation of degenerate
beauty queens,” a hipster fallen to the circumstance of youth,
but I wear her face and the romance of it all reminds me:
we are not defined as Lolitas lost in the hood, or distant,
airy voices in a sea of crude jokes and half-baked skits
meant to highlight shortcomings of a person who doesn’t give
two ***** Lana fits me better than my ribbed, red
sweater and even amidst gods and monsters,
this T-shirt makes pretty last, and I am just as cool.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
to be young and beautiful
is desperate and dumb!
to have it all
to get nothing, none!
to need it bad
anxiously wanting some.
sleepless nights,
dreams of ***
pain is
promiscuity at bedrest.
angry abstinence shouts
this is a cruel test!
pretty doll face,
glowing of grace.
why have this body?
and not share its joy
why be a good ol' girl
If you cannot love a handsome bad boy?
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
I paint my nails black
I dye my hair a darker shade
of brown
'Cus you like your women
spanish, dark, strong, and proud
I paint the sky black
You said if you could have your way
You'd make a night time all today
So it'd suit the mood of your soul
Oh, what can I do?
Nothing, my sparrow blue.
Oh, what can I do?
Life is beautiful but you don't have a clue.
Sun and ocean blue
Their magnificence
It don't make sense to you
Black beauty
Black beauty
I paint that house black
My wedding dress black leather too
You have no room for light
Love is lost on you
I keep my lips red
To seem like cherries in the spring
Darling, you can't let everything
Seem so dark blue
Oh, what can I do?
To turn you on
Or get through you
Oh, what can I do?
Life is beautiful but you don't have a clue
Sun and ocean blue
Their magnificence
It don't make sense to you
Black beauty
Black beauty
Black beauty
Black beauty
Black beauty
Black beauty, baby
Black beauty, baby
Oh, what can I do?
Life is beautiful but you don't have a clue
Sun and ocean blue
Their magnificence
It don't make sense to you.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
rihanna and lana del rey
please don't become her
one day
dorothy dandridge
whitney houston
marilyn monroe
anna nicole
their sadness I did know
beautiful and broken
the pain never let go
the men, the drugs,
the heartache followed
they were all a living example:
misery is captivating
and beauty is shallow
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
Name: Falen Acon
Residence: San Diego California
Age: 15 (almost 16)
Birthday: Jan 4, 2000 (Capricorn)
School: Don't worry about it!
Grade: 10th (Sophomore)
Class Of: 2018
Favorite Color: Ballet Pink, Gun Metal Gold and Burgundy
Favorite Flower: Wild Flowers, Roses & Sunflowers
Hobbies: Dancing and Poetry
Favorite Food: Pizza
Favorite Drink: Strawberry and Root Beer Soda
Favorite Dessert: Ice Cream (Shakes) (any flavor)
Happy Place (place that makes me happy): Beach or Dance Studio
Career Path: Professional Dancer
Lucky Day: Saturday
Lucky Number: 3
Favorite Number: 7
Friends: Christan Zeal, Elsa Angelica and Drevon Young
Goals: Find true love, Find happiness and Travel World
Favorite Artists: Lana Del Rey, The Weeknd, Drake, PartyNextDoor, Post Malone, ILoveMakonnen, Rae Sremmurd, RDGLDGRN, Kyle, A.$.A.P Rocky, G-Eazy and Zayn Malik
Celebrity Crushes: Zayn Malik, Justin Bieber, RED (from RDGLDGRN) and Steph Curry (GSW)
Favorite NBA Team: Golden State Warriors (GSW)
Favorite NFL Team: North Carolina Panthers
Favorite MLB Team: Chicago Cubs
Favorite College Football Team: LSU Tigers
Favorite Nascar Driver: Kasey Kahne
Future College: Texas State University (TSU) or Something :)
Future Sorority: Delta Sigma Theta (DST) /_\
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
& so my nightly routine begins...
1.) I turn on my unreleased Lana Del Rey mixtape
2.) light my last cigarette
3.) turn off the lights
4.) crawl into my unmade bed
5.) cuddle up to my favorite stuffed animal
6.) and I begin to cry
7.) then finally... sleep comes for me.
8.) & the nightmares begin.
Oct 24, 2022
Oct 24, 2022 at 11:18 PM UTC
Diabetes, babe
Why can’t you be kind to me?
I appreciate your sweetness and all.
Setting my life on “reset”
And making me feel like ****
Diabetes, my love
Can you please be nice to me?
Give me a few more years to live
Stop making my mouth dry
Stop making ‘ama cry
Diabetes, chiquito
Tratame bien corazon,
No me metas tentacion
Por que de ver los tamales,
El pozole, el salpicon
Se me olvida que el suicidio
Se esconde en un chicharron
Diabetes, mi rey
Anda pues no te hagas wey
Que la dieta sea mi amiga
Librame de la fatiga
Y de la azucar maligna
Diabetes,
Let me live
I want to eat cheesecake again
Life without sugar is lame
And equal is not so great
Diabetes, babe
Let me be…
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
Tory Lanez
Drake
The Weeknd
PartyNextDoor
Post Malone
ILoveMakonnen
RDGLDGRN
Kyle
G-Eazy
Rae Sremmurd
Future
Travis Scott
Lana Del Rey
Bryson Tiller
Jhene Aiko
Cal Scruby
Twenty-one pilots
The Neighbourhood
Zayn Malik
Jimi Hendrix
Nina Simone
Damian Marley ft Nas
Stephen Marley ft Wyclef Jean ft Nina Simone (Song:keeper of the flame)
No-Maddz (Song: Shotta)
Jesse Royal
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
I will love you even when you're no longer young and beautiful as Lana del Rey once asked.
I will love you even when we are working our ***** off the pay bills we shouldn't have. I will love you when you can't wipe your own **** and when you're grumpy and old.
I will love you when you hate me and tell me I drive you crazy.
When the passing sun and moon go right on by... I will still smile and think how I've loved you all the while.
When the earth stops rotating and our world starts to end... I will remember the days we shared together.
But just remember I will love you when you're no longer young and beautiful.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
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Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
for I shalt always love her, mine Spanish queen of mine, though now she verily hates me, I guess I can't change time, I just wanted her to be happy, so I let her free, she couldn't even be mine friend, she left me dry to bleed, though I'll still miss her, mi amour' of this life, I hope she'll come back one day, to make everything alright, so fly freebird, though I know its me thou shalt not forget, thou canst block me, delete me from thy many texts, but forget me not thou won't, as I know I'm thy only king, maby thou shalt come back someday, wherein again for thou I'll sing!!! ); ( English version)
Spanish version:
porque yo siempre serás su amor, mina de la reina española mío, aunque ahora ella verdaderamente me odia, me supongo que no puedo cambiar el tiempo, sólo quería que fuera feliz, así que la dejé libre, ni siquiera podía ser mío amiga, ella me dejó seco a sangrar, aunque yo todavía la extraño, mi amour 'de esta vida, espero que ella va a volver un día, para hacer todo bien, así que vuela freebird, aunque sé que soy yo serás No lo olvides, tú puedes bloquearme, me eliminar de tus muchos textos, pero no me olvides tú no, que yo sé que soy tu único rey, maby has de volver algún día, en el que una vez más, porque tú Voy a cantar! !! );; );;;
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
Inside this Cocoon of night
nu jazz plays competing
with Lana del Rey tracks
amidst the dim shadows
outside, the broken light
of stars & you ask
how foxes became urban
I do not know
maybe their wild soul
recognizes that like them, a city can't be tamed
entirely or maybe they're just lost
I do not know
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
En Sevilla a un sevillano
siete hijas le dio Dios,
todas siete fueron hembras
y ninguna fue varón.
A la más chiquita de ellas
le llevó la inclinación
de ir a servir a la guerra
vestidita de varón.
Al montar en el caballo
la espada se le cayó;
por decir, maldita sea,
dijo: maldita sea yo.
El Rey que la estaba oyendo,
de amores se cautivó,
-Madre los ojos de Marcos
son de hembra, no de varón.
-Convídala tú, hijo mío,
a los rios a nadar,
que si ella fuese hembra
no se querrá desnudar.
Toditos los caballeros
se empiezan a desnudar,
y el caballero Don Marcos
se ha retirado a llorar.
Por qué llora Vd. Don Marcos
por qué debo de llorar,
por un falso testimonio
que me quieren levantar.
No llores alma querida
no llores mi corazón,
que eso que tú tanto sientes,
eso lo deseo yo.
2.7k
when i write
i always find myself wishing that i wrote like Lana del Rey,
making even the simple things seem extraordinarily grand, to be able to glamorize what is sometimes a painfully normal life
i want to touch someone's skin
and write about it in a way that makes someone feel as though they're touching velvet
i want the kiss we shared
to linger on someone's lips like the taste of their favorite chapstick
i want to write about love
so that in turn someone will lust for what i already have
i want to write about my years of pain and isolation in a way that makes someone want to rip their own heart out and offer it up to me on a platter made of shimmering, sterling silver
which, of course
i'd have to refuse
because what would a writer be if surrounded by love and admiration they knew was real, that they didn't doubt for even a second
although, the sensuality of the circumstance might be tempting
an artist without eternal, incessant suffering
is merely a wolf in sheep's clothing
or a fool who thinks he's a king
they simply aren't built to last
i want to write about my mid-night thoughts and for someone to think: Lana would be proud
Jul 27, 2022
Jul 27, 2022 at 11:46 PM UTC
flower child.
so soft spoken and sweet.
you are my hippy sister.
fashionista you set trends.
I love your vibe.
so calm and carefree.
with a creative mind and unique soul
you are art.
I can imagine you with a
big curly fro.
paint cans, brushes and canvases
cluttering your NewYork flat
as sounds of
Lana del Rey and Jhene Aiko
fill your apartment
and posters of
Aubrey Graham
grace your walls
ten years from now.
O.Rob.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
I am not the kind of boy who fits the mould of it's social stereotype:
Does sport
perving on girls
has the tendency to treat girls like a piece of meat
No, that isn't me.
I never liked sport.
I was a boy who didn't like to watch or play with Action man or Power Rangers,
Instead I was the kind of boy who would tell his friends that he was going to football club,
When in fact I was going to dance club.
At school I studied dance.
"What lesson do you have next, Lew?"
"History"
Dance.
As the school year rolled on it was revealed,
When I had to perform in front of the whole school,
Nerves
Butterflies
Terror
After that I rolled with the punches:
Gay
Queer
******
It angered me that because I didn't stick with the 'traditional' ideology of a boy I was an outcast,
labelled with a stereotype that also didn't fit me.
I like Lady Gaga
In fact, I adore her.
Because I support the LGBT community I am misunderstood as a person.
To this day I struggle to overcome constant attack of prejudice and disrespect that people show me,
I struggle to hold on to that last thread of self confidence.
I don't dance any more. I am too scared to try it again
I don't tell people that I listen to Gaga and Lana Del Rey. They'll laugh at me
Whenever I say I like a girl people think it's a lie
All of this because I am a different kind of boy.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
*"No one's gonna take my soul away
I'm living like Jim Morrison...
In the land of Gods and Monsters
I was an angel"*
Lana Del Rey
Innocence lost, made her crazy
her smile forced, living twisted lies
bitter sweet memories, captured
in death defying detail
waken by the same song bird
who only blessed hope in the
darkness of a new dawn,
singing from the soul,
with filtering movements across
a chipped wood window ledge
enough to keep this young girls
heart in place, making her sad
even cry, with solitude, mixed
with an urgent sense of joy
a window ledge looking out
to grand oak trees, squirrels
playful in flight,
shaken autumnal leaves drop
whispering stories
to the blue **** chaffinch, swallows
a lowly stray cat jumps
chases leaves that swirl
mini tornados, whistling winds
chasing his tail
a thief of his prey he captures
a baby bird of first flight
racing off into bushes
hiding his feed for the day
A cacophony of deafening
sounds forces their noise
up the narrow stairwell
pounding feet; her father
he frightens the song bird
away, and a silence forms
In her nightdress
Emily grabs the soft torn eared
teddy, lays flat to the dusty
wooden floor and hides
under the four poster bed
silent as a ghost
she is filled with the same
fear, she faces each
and every
day.
© Sia Jane
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
Conocí a un millonario.
Era estanciero, rey
de llanuras grises
en donde se perdían
los caballos.
Paseábamos su casa,
sus jardines,
la piscina con una torre blanca
y aguas
como para bañar a una ciudad.
Se sacó los zapatos,
metió los pies
con cierta
severidad sombría
en la piscina verde.
No sé por qué
una a una
fue descartando
todas sus mujeres.
Ellas
bailaban en Europa
o atravesaban rápidas la nieve
en trineo, en Alaska.
S. me contó cómo
cuando niño
vendía diarios
y robaba panes.
Ahora sus periódicos
asaltaban las calles temblorosas,
golpeaban a la gente con noticias
y decían con énfasis
sólo sus opiniones.
Tenía bancos, naves,
pecados y tristezas.
A veces con papel,
pluma, memoria,
se hundía en su dinero,
contaba,
sumando, dividiendo,
multiplicando cosas,
hasta que se dormía.
Me parece
que el hombre nunca
pudo salir de su riqueza
-lo impregnaba,
le daba
aire, color abstracto-,
y él se veía
adentro
como un molusco ciego
rodeado
de un muro impenetrable.
A veces, en sus ojos,
vi un fuego
frío, lejos,
algo desesperado que moría.
Nunca supe si fuimos enemigos.
Murió una noche
cerca de Tucumán.
En la catástrofe
ardió su poderoso Rolls
como cerca del río
el catafalco
de una
religión oscura.
Yo sé
que todos
los muertos son iguales,
pero no sé, no sé,
pienso
que aquel
hombre, a su modo, con la muerte
dejó de ser un pobre prisionero.
2.4k
I want to sneak out and meet you at the end of my street and risk everything just to spend my time with you and be able to glide your hands up and down my body again. Would you be willing to do the same? However,Darling while were falling inlove to Lana Del Rey's"Born to Die" in the pitch black at 2 am I don't want you to stop loving me for the night just becasue you are scared of me telling you I love you, wich I do, and even my loneliest words can't explain how I feel without you by my side during that moment in time.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzling like a snare
Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothing scares me anymore
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
Sometimes,
I imagine I'm some
mourning starlet
who sings Lana Del Rey
at the club
every Saturday night.
A honeyed halo of stage light
tangles itself about
the curled labyrinth
of my hair,
sparkles gold against
my tearing irises.
My mouth parts
and the war cries begin.
In the moments that
the melody offers
my voice repose,
I pound shots to the beat
of the drummer's ramblings.
The crowd applauds
my tipsiness,
their hoots of praise
shaking at the depths
of my eardrums
like an intoxicated tambourine.
My neuroticism
fascinates these people,
I think.
Not in an
exploitive,
let's-glamourize-depression
kind of way,
but in an
it is a truth universally acknowledged
kind of way--in a
******* cuz I've been there too"
kind of way.
See,
within my little,
concocted fantasy
of stage light
and music
and *****
the people don't judge me
the way they do
on the outside.
Here,
I am not
melodramatic or
overly sensitive or
disposable.
Here,
my war cries sound
a little less
like death and
a little more
like poetry.
Here,
they love me
in spite of the sadness.
Here,
we share a song--
here,
they sing with me.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 11:24 PM UTC
Divina Lysi mía:
perdona si me atrevo
a llamarte así, cuando
aun de ser tuya el nombre no merezco.
A esto, no osadía
es llamarte así, puesto
que a ti te sobran rayos,
si en mí pudiera haber atrevimientos.
Error es de la lengua,
que lo que dice imperio
del dueño, en el dominio,
parezcan posesiones en el siervo.
Mi rey, dice el vasallo;
mi cárcel, dice el preso;
y el más humilde esclavo,
sin agraviarlo, llama suyo al dueño.
Así, cuando yo mía
te llamo, no pretendo
que juzguen que eres mía,
sino sólo que yo ser tuya quiero.
Yo te vi; pero basta:
que a publicar incendios
basta apuntar la causa,
sin añadir la culpa del efecto.
Que mirarte tan alta,
no impide a mi denuedo;
que no hay deidad segura
al altivo volar del pensamiento.
Y aunque otras más merezcan,
en distancia del cielo
lo mismo dista el valle
más humilde que el monte más soberbio,
En fin, yo de adorarte
el delito confieso;
si quieres castigarme,
este mismo castigo será premio.
2.1k