My God, Our Creator—
Is so forgiving, has forgiven me
So, who am I, an imperfect mere human
Would not be forgiving to the ones who wronged us.

Caught in a ripple effect,
My plans unravel before my eyes.
I might break, or I might smirk—like a diamond,
Priceless, unyielding.

Honey, I shine with my own originality.
You? A moissanite—just imitation,
A hollow mimic of what’s truly real.

From mourning, I rise reborn,
A black snake coiled around a katana,
Fading to a blood-red hue.

Side-eyed, venomous chic, with short, trimmed hair,
Rebelled like a sin, a tattooed bloodstain on my neck.

Bruised patch on my wrist—slash me with your best shot.

My poems are the true witnesses of my experience,
Instead of shedding a tear, I turn to my keyboard—
typing what I felt,
turning my pain into words.

Instead of being vulnerable in front of the world,
I choose to be vulnerable in verses,
letting the ink spill where silence once held me captive.

I don’t shout what I feel deep within;
I hold my thoughts and carve them into lines—
no longer acting out the chaos,
but releasing it with the stroke of each key.

Gone are the days of outbursts,
of unspoken words and buried emotions.
Now, with every line, I blow out what I once held in,
transforming what hurt into something that speaks.

Stop me, I don't even recognize myself when I'm full of anger, hatred, and sorrow, overflowing with emotion.

Hinding-hindi ko ipagpapalit ngiti mo sa mundo.