I sit in bed, wondering
how life is quite bittersweet.
Yet we always keep wanting
to live a little longer,
despite of it all.

I sit in bed, thinking
how in every millisecond
we decide to still take
a deep breath,
despite of it all

I sit in bed, contemplating
why we have this desire
to live, to exist, to experience,
despite of it all.

I sit in bed, writing
on my laptop
haphazardly positioned
between two pillows,
legs crossed,
that i still decide
to let the words flow.

I look far beyond the distance of my room,
contemplating, then realizing,
how life should not be always perfect,
(just like this poem)
but I am still here, typing,
for the hope of it all.

electric
eccentric
satisfying
and quick

these four words
are all i can think

silent
violent
menacing
and ardent

four more words
as if its magic

added
faded
stranded
and nostalgic

random words
to add the nonesense

plain
feign
wandering
and distant

all these words is
how i short circuit.

she once built
a castle made
of teardrops

over panel windows
and locked double doors,
a princess's agony
never seems to stop.

she once built
a castle made
of dreams

over high mountain
and deep seas,
a mermaid's call
or so it seems.

she once built
a castle made
of sunlight

over earthen floors
and vine-covered ceilings,
a fairy's tale
in a breathtaking sight.

i just built
a castle made
of truths

over pursed lips
and whispered wishes
a queen's plea
the longing it soothes.

such castles
sometimes stand
sometimes crumble
it is for you to find
on where you want
your life's worth gamble.

I took a shower at eleven,
then my head hot all of a sudden.
I thought, "this my death,"
"Stop, take a deep breath."
Thought I was already in heaven.

past the boroughs
and the busy streets.
the suburban lifestyle
he screams of defeat.

past the sorrows,
and away from concrete
the drops of rain (like his eyes)
followed from the backseat.

in the foliage
at the farmer's street
an apple, blueberries, a cart!
he jumped to his feet.

in the solace
through the plants of wheat
the first rays of sun
he slowly felt complete.

from thrashing limbs
to resting knees,
for sanity's sake
all it took
was a change of scenes.

6:04PM
The crickets sound from a neighbor's backyard. It reminded me of when I was fourteen. My life only started when I was fourteen. Everything before that: a blur. Everything after that: a whirlwind.

6: 05PM
I'm running out of time making a poem for a challenge I thought I could commit. I had doubts. This is not even a poem, this is trash in and of itself.

6:06PM
Catching up to time so that I could end this at 6:10PM as if its the most rewarding thing in the world. My eyes shift to the bottom right corner of my laptop: **** its 6:07PM

6:07PM
Why the **** am I racing against time. Its ******* 6:08PM now.

6:08PM
My aunt and her new maid is outside. The maid is the sister-in-law of a colleague of mine. She's the second time around after the first one ditched because they thought she's pregnant.

6:09PM
Okay, I'm pouring out more personal stuff in this website but the **** cares, I just want to write.

6:09PM
I thought its already 6:10PM. Ha, jokes on you time.

6:10PM
Finally reached the finished line, I don't even know if this is about a separation. But let me tell you about it in a short while. Through a poem, obviously since I can't do any literary form at the moment.

Hands flying
on letters she
has absolute command of
she can't even control
the warring emotions
circling in her chest.

For once she prayed,
for the past
of the longing she once felt
when she was fourteen
unaware of the where's
and the what-ifs

For most of her life
she always felt
grounded yet free
but all she ever wanted
now is to be

Detached from reality
she begs for mercy
"Grant my pleas,
give me peace
from this warring
emotions i cannot
seem to flee"

Sweet separation
bind yourself to me.

i often wonder
that i often not
notice the way
one's hands glide
as they touch
things they could not

how they grasp
at things they deem
abhorrent and obnoxious
yet the hunger in clenched
veins is rather obvious
than not

why feed eager pain
with self-loathing
what's there's to gain?
away with mourning.

so i often wonder
that i often not
notice the way
i held my hands
unwilling to let go
when in fact
i could always
could not.

wandering soul, be found
wandering soul, be content
wandering soul, have you had enough?
of questions that remain unanswered
or worse, unsaid?

wandering soul, are you alright?
wandering soul, are you tired?
wandering soul, take a rest
you've travelled the long road
you've done your best.

wandering soul, you are here.
wandering soul, you are found.
wandering soul, let go
your feet was always on the ground.

Trudging the road
with heavy feelings,
like I am a pocketful
of tarnished golden shillings.

Dragging feet
through soaking
pavement; walking,
lured by the lark's
shrilly singing.

Twenty-one years
of overexaggerated living,
I was promised of a life
halfway fulfilled,
only to find at almost twenty-two,
to believe in people's wholehearted joking.

Spending the majority of
my life then, just daydreaming
of how things could be
if only I had stopped believing.

Yet here I am,
a pocketful of useless learning,
but I don't know how long this would last
until I stretch my fabric; thinning,
only to shred it apart; bit by bit, tearing.

Loving him
is like swimming
the depths
of the unknown ocean.

Unpredictable and dark,
yet you are drawn near
because of its secrets.

Loving him
is sweet torture.
Like a Nightingale
trapped inside an iron cage.

A tune for a song.
A song for
my melancholic reason.

Loving him
is being free
of boundaries
and pretenses.

A mirror
that always reminds me
who I am
and what I can be.

Loving him is
like keeping
both feet
on the ground
while his hands
wrap around my wrist,
forcing myself
To fly with him.

Loving him is
tasting the first bite
of every
surprise possibility.

I always see
myself craving
for his abrupt
trickery,
A magic only
him can manipulate
and see.

But all these things
can never be done
nor never be written
if only I said
those words
ever so quickly.

I am loving him.
And he doesn't seem
to know that now.

Or does he?

when a poet
falls in love
bear in mind
that your eyes
will be compared
to the twinkling stars

your smile
like warm honey
on a lazy afternoon

your laugh
like a bee's buzz,
a tingling sensation
down the spine

when a poet
falls in love
the universe splits in two
spiraling down
down
down
until it bursts in color
filled with glitters
and moonlight

when a poet
falls in love
you are the
only one existing
in a bucket full
of soft whispers
and impossible thoughts
the center of gravity
in a world full
of chaos and madness
(you drive the poet insane)

but when a poet
falls out of love
you became a treasure
one that would make
dandelions chase you
even without the breeze

you became the pollen
that bees chase after
your existence
a reson to live

you became the most
beautiful human being

hearts melt
stomachs go uneasy
hands grip
smiles show

you became
the best version
of yourself
when a poet
falls out of love
of you

because for once
you made
a poet feel things
impossible things
and she knows
that someone will too.

i hope you notice that
every time i smile
at you

The crypt is one thing I see,
A mirror that reflects me.
One that lives is one who hates.
One that died is one love waits.

The world
Is like
A huge carnival.

Everything is known
Yet not everything is seen.

Everything is behind
closed tents
closed curtains
closed realities.

And can only be opened,
by magic
by dreams
by deadly secrets.

Everything is a performance.
One that is shown
for the world to see.

To know,
to appreciate
What is under the sleeves
of magicians,
clowns,
and gypsies.

All these became a spectacle.
A presentation,
to talk
to chatter
once it is over.

And when it finally
disappears,
It is void of color
of fun
of secrets to reveal.

The only way to get past,
is to let yourself be fooled.

So come on,
Enter the Carnival.

And see for yourself
the beauty
and darkness
of the it all.

Please come again.

He was the moon
So glorious and majestic,
Extravagant and eccentric.

I am the (night) sky
Full of dreams and stories
Etched within the stars
That beautifies me
Everynight.

Without them
Without him,
I am nothing
But a void.
No reason to look up
No reason to care at all.

Everynight,
He is hidden
Behind the dark clouds
I don't know
Where they came from.

Sometimes
He wouldn't let me see
Himself in his great beauty.
Only a half, a crescent, or a quarter
Is what he gives.

But there are also times
When he shows himself
All his imperfections
And shines within
The vast stretch of darkness
I only care to give.

And people slowly
Starts to see
How we became a beautiful pair.

How he shines for me
And how I
Let them see
How beautiful he is.

And the stars,
My dreams,
Comes dancing and shining.

It was a sight to behold.
We were extraordinary.

But I was afraid
Too much will break our bond.
And so I ran away
When he so beautifully
Shined and glowed.

I always make a mistake everynight.
I let my darkness go
I let the stars kept under my blanket.

For I make way to someone
Who is more beautiful
Just like him
Shining and glowing
Just like him.

When combined both
They make up the universe
They make up the whole existence of us.

I am just a mere foreground
Changing my course
And watching them
Chase for each other
Until eternity.

He who breathes the air
was once my ray of sunshine.
He who breathes the air
was once who tingled my heart.

He who breathes the air
is such a coward.
He who breathes the air
was never been mine.

And I'm glad he wasn't.

He who breathes the air
boils my blood.
He who breathes the air
is the reason of me being red.

He who breathes the air
is the one I truly despise.
He who breathes the air
shouldn't also breathe mine.

They call it normal.
And so I did.
It was a mature thing
And being young and naive.
I decided to do it myself.

It was extraordinary.
A glimpse of what will come,
when that time comes.
It was amazing.
Yet absolutely terrifying.

I was taught that
our body is special.
And needs personal care.
Not that soap and water care.
That mind and heart care.

It is created
Our body is created
For a purpose.
And that purpose
Isn't what I am doing
Right now.

I was torn
From belief and human nature
From what I was told as right
And what I know is wrong,
(Yet feels so right.)

And so here I am
Blaming almost every single piece
That is my being.

When will I stop?
When will I resist?
This ****** thing called

Temptation.

When you thought
she was just like you.
From the hair
down to the attitude
and to the soul.

When you thought
she was your friend
Who can laugh
and who can understand
all silly conversations.

When you thought
she was like a sister.
With the same fathers' hometown
But with different blood.

When you thought
She was your only hope
Only happy light
In the darkest of times.

When you thought
you were right.
But turns out
you were wrong.

She was never
A sister.
Not what you expected
her to be.

She was instead
A ticking bomb.
A time bomb
Of impossiblities you've never thought
she would be.

A smart mouth
Of obscenities
and forced language.

But in the end
She's still the friend.
Who you get to be with
Until the end.

Can you feel it?
that crumbling sound
coming out from your stomach

Can you smell it?
that sick and foul smell
like a dead rat on it's wake

Can you taste it?
that metallic tang
covering the whole of your mouth

Do you know it?

Can you know it?

Did you do it?

How could you do it?

Why did you let yourself do it?

It wasn't that hard doing it
But it sure as hell
painful as hell
enduring it.

Can you now see it?
How treacherous
your inner demons are?

Or is it just something
something between
you and me.

Do you know what it is?

Deception.

My fingertips reach toward
  the unknown abyss
  that is your heart.

It claws its way up
  yet all it touches
  is nothing.

Like your love.

I didn't quit though
   I didn't cry.
   I cling to the Only Hope.

And I know that there will be the right time.

I don't know when,
  I don't even know how.

But here I am waiting.
  Waiting at the mouth
   of the dark abyss
   that is your heart.

I cry in pity in front of this stupid funny thing.
It is both an embarrassment and a tad bit annoying.

My **** is today
I got a low score
My sweet is today
I got to wake up.

I feel like a zombie today
My mind drifting to somewhere else
Yet my body is sitting in class about earthquakes
And a teacher with a face-palming pronunciation and grammar.

"Percent..." I heard her say once.
But it went percient instead.

I feel like sleeping today
Not the usual snoring kind.
That one with a total blackout
where no one can wake me but me.

My sweet is today
I get to write poems again
A slam at most
Now give me the mic (1, 2, 3, 4...)

My **** was yesterday
I was watching a slam with a friend
Not live, though
And someone called me weird.

I feel like an idiot today
Walking these halls
and wasting this ink

But (I hope) Colleen Hoover doesn't mind
I borrowed her version
of **** and sweet

-090915

Why bother me when I do not bother you?
Why talk to me when I'm no mood to talk to you?
Why insult me when I'm in the pit of ecstasy?
Why ruin my happy life and make it twisted?

Why play the cards when you cannot even know the aces?
Why throw the ball at me when you know I have the bat?
Why trip me on my way when I know you were right there?
Why ruin my happy life and make it twisted?

Why were you doing this to me when I'm in the state of being fragile?
Why break the glass I was trying to hold?
Why make me feel left out when I already feel like it?
Why?
Why?
Why?

Wait, why am I even writing this if I know you'd still be mocking me on the next day?

there are two different kinds of people in this world.

me and you.



but guess what, there are two simillar kinds of people in this world.

me and you.

In this monstrous world
Lies a white rose.
Pure as ever
It's petals never to close.

Tainted with red is she
As the rarest of storms come by.
Tainted with black is she
The tears of goodbye.

Gone were the days of pure bliss
The soft touch and sweet kiss
Here are the days of torture and pain
She succumbs in darkness, in vain.

She never gets out of the open
The thorns of her own killing
Each *****, blood oozes.
The rest is a numb feeling.

She stands there in the lost ground of plain gray canvas
She sways as the winds take her petals to nowhere.
Off she sets foot to freedom
The white rose tainted in red and black,
it bleeds.

Her name was Em and she's so beautiful.
Her name was extravagant so as her perfect curls.
Her name was Em.
And I thought I knew what was happening then.

Her voice is gentle like that of a song.
Her hands clasped in my calloused ones, the rose and the thorn.
Her name was Em. And she is unpredictable.

Her name is Em.
Embrace the true essence of friendship and love.
Embark on a journey, either a walk or swim.
Empty the mind and let the soul dance within.

Her name is Em.
And I knew what was happening then.

We shift.
We tilt.
In sleep.
In kiss.

We laugh.
We cry.
In good.
In bad.

We shout.
We whisper.
The words of the unknown mouth,
in the coldest of winter.

We write.
We bleed.
We speak.
I listen.

We think.
We change.
We act.
We reason.

But I'm still so sure.
That by the end of the day.
When the break of dawn
is but a million ticks away.

All we ever do is.

We shift.
We tilt.

This head is searing with pain.
A pain that shots through my brain.
My brain screaming like the lost sounds of rain.
The rain, its droplets I cannot obtain.

This wondering mind, seeking for truth and reality.
Reality, the one thing that shatters humanity.
Humanity, the only thing that leads me to insanity.
Insanity, so thy help me.

I fly away, blown by the breaths of unwanted sympathy.
Sympathy leading to empathy.
Empathy leading to reality.
Reality, the one thing that shatters humanity.

-072514