We were on a halt

Opened our lost messages

Checked the tiniest fragrance we had left

on the days when we were sober and free

Like a free verse in poetry

Still I laughed at our fancy deals;

Both the casual and the formal

I wished we could go back

Back to that moment

That moment when the thrill was so expensive

we wouldn’t want to let it go.

We were on a halt.

Or maybe not.

But we were fading away..

Like one click and all memories

would vanish into the mist;

buried six feet underneath

And perhaps there wouldn’t be a way

to resuscitate what we had back to what it was like.

The thirst for each other has receded

like flood water being pumped out

to open clogs and fan air.

Time used to be expensive. It still is now.

Before we could still afford to save

a little of our precious time to

seal some of our precious moments.

But now everything has gone up.

Then there is not enough demand,

and yet one is still supplying.

The market is close to a recession;

It’s depressing because it’s an indefinite altercation.

The banks might declare bankruptcy

since the client is deliberately withdrawing his money

leaving the other depositor unattended.

Love,

If we could go back…

But if we couldn’t,

well the earth stays on its orbit,

the stars don’t pluck on its own

and you are still you. And I still am.

We have outgrown each  other

We have outplayed ourselves.

Perhaps if we couldn’t go back,

I guess It’s about time we grow apart.

To restore your ‘peace mind’ that was disturbed

when circumstances allowed us to get closer

After all, we used to be like that.

We don’t own who? or what?

single,

detached,

Two-piece.

Maybe in my sleep I’ll be comforted

I wake up with it to be rational.

Tell me.

What does it take to be rational?

When I’m more of the heart than the mind?

Tell me.

What does it take to think rationally?

When I cry most of the time at night?

Tell me.

What does it take to be rational?

I eat words. My body is oiled with phonemes

and morphemes. Encyclopedia? I read it sometimes.

I ask and answer questions intensely like when I scream over the cliff and it

echoes just. Or when you ask snow white’s magic mirror and it answers fast.

Philosophers? Scientists? I’ve read their stories.

I think I am rational.

But,

You.

How long can you stay rational?

Look at the chopping board. It’s stabbed by a knife 10,000 times.

Say you are that chopping board.

How do you stay rational after your heart’s been butchered 10,000 times?

Hmm..

Ok. Let’s try the night.

The night is cold, black, heavy and lonely it sends you to utter depression.

Say you are that night.

How can you think rationally when your head’s been coated with such an impenetrable darkness?

I think that’s a bad analogy.

What about the logs?

They are cut from big trees, stock-piled for winter and burnt in the chimney after.

Say you are those logs.

How long can you be rational?

When your soul’s been burnt like logs?

Forgive me. I know.

Lemme try it again.

What about the garbage in the landfill. Some have decayed. Mostly haven’t.

Say you are the garbage yourself in that landfill.

How do you keep a rational thinking?

When the world sees you as a garbage to be disposed?

Or

How do you stay rational after you’ve been betrayed and left to suffer alone?

Alright. Here’s the last one. I won’t bother to make a scene.

What about the land?

It has been stepped on, ran over by 10-wheeler trucks, suffocated by hot asphalt, mined, bombed, deforested, transformed, neglected even; in art.

Say you are that land which holds the earth.

Do you think you can still be rational after you’ve taken all these alone?

Perhaps.

 

But,

No wonder I’ve gone astray.

For trying so hard to be rational at all times…

 

To be all knowing?

 

I need more sleep.

 

 

Because

 

Maybe in my sleep I’ll be comforted.

 

 

Or

 

 

 

Probably not?

 

Blindfolded by his indifference

Found a man in the street of vague and ambiguity

I called and said hi cos it was a radiant day

But there was only radio silence

When I didn’t hear him say a sentence.

I moved closer to where he was

Intrigued by the way he responded

Then I saw he was blindfolded

Deprived to see the multitudes of the earth cos he was blinded.

Blinded by different dimensions

In a world that taught him nothing but strict defense and senseless rejections.

He could hear my voice so I told him various stories

One was of a girl who tried to put the rainbow in a bottle to keep her happy all day

Another was of an old man who complained why he couldn’t pull his rickshaw one day

Next was of a man who threw black pepper dust on air so others could sneeze and fear the day

Then he laughed so hard I wondered

Because those were stories of success, strength and beautiful struggles.

So I asked him why and he answered

“I’m glad I was blindfolded not to see their sadness

In a world ruined by madness.”

That moment I realized why he was blindfolded

Not by fate

But by free will —

He was happy for his eyes concealment.

All throughout he chose to be indifferent.

And never looked the other way.

 

 

Really fucking sad; really fucking wrong 😔

My intention was to write for myself, to uplift my world that I often found too full for me; the devastation it brought in my life that made me mad about myself. I thought writing dedicated to myself could heal me, bring me back the spirit I innumerably lost; could help me stand against my own rampaging demons. I thought I could still impress myself with my own articulate words, persuasive and sincere ideas built around my unearthly fantasies and delusions. While these reasons were still true, I realized I no longer write solely for myself, for the sheer pleasure of it, I realized I no longer desire to solely impress myself. My desperation for aesthetics and self-appreciation and expression had caused me so much that I wanted you to be desperate for my words and letters, be impressed by me, desperate for me and hopefully beyond romantic, too.  But the limbo I created, the bubbles I carefully kept not to burst and the ink I spared for you alone collapsed, bursted and spilt for the life of me. And it was sad. It was really fucking sad that you didn’t feel the same way; that all along it was only me living in the dungeon of love and romance. When I deluded myself thinking that the world supported me or was moved by the unwavering affection I had for you; I was wrong. And again I was fucking wrong! Now broken and numb I don’t know how else I could bring myself to stand again; to believe in love and to believe in my ability to discern things and its driving force. I’m ashamed of myself for trying so hard, for desiring so much and for not going against my will. I’m mad because I was stupid; stupid to fall for you. Yet here I am quite unapologetic for my self-made mistakes, convincing myself to at least hear what you have to say, an explanation that you probably don’t even know what and why you have to. I was so wrapped up, too carried away, too smitten and too hurled up by the good things you naturally do to me. I thought I saw your eyes glistened for me because I was intimately special for you. But then and again, you weren’t and I didn’t turn you on enough for you to want me. And it was really sad. It was fucking sad that I was wrong so wrong.

I wished I was better. No. I wished I thought things out critically when I worked so hard to finish the feelings I embroidered on a white cloth for you, the hopes I knitted using a more refined yarn for a future you and me and the cross-stitch I was proud of doing in all the days I devoted for you.

I knew It was my fault. Just that…

It was really fucking sad; really fucking wrong.

-Poem-

Once you were

the source of my desire;

A shelter to my dreams in

A paradise I held thrice.

Locked you up in

a heart called mine

Betrayed by the emotions

I held through time.

Without you dreams

could never fly

like a kite,

Dead of the wind oh my.

In the sky I dreamt 

To mind.

Desperate and cold was I

For fooling myself then cry.

I spoke first but didn’t think twice

So great I made multiple crimes.

Wished we had so much time

To know the language we never

Knew will find

In a place heard not

Of escapes and a flight

But of love and home

Reunite.

Weekend orgy

Let’s sum this up!

Friday is rough.

Let’s have some fun.

I’d like a man!

Don’t hang the phone

you won’t be alone.

Let’s go to the pub

I need a hug

Hmmm…

Come on ease my tension!

Darn, I’d like you mention

a beer and affection

to feel the sensation

in a crowd full of attention.

straighten up a bit

cos I feel so wet

I’d like to get a grip

of your vertigo stick!

Now, sit down; drink up

I’ll warm you up.

Lemme dance my way into your lap

to give you that easy-peasy lemon squeezy rub

so you can get so hard up!

 

Relax honey; this is so intense!

To fuck you close-packed with such suspense.

 

So, what do you say?

Would you like it dirtier; meaner Saturday?

We can invite some friends to make it a three-some play.

Don’t worry sweetheart.

I’ll make it up to you wild Sunday

so we can have it long all day!

 

Ohh..

healthy weekend orgies! 

just can’t wait for more…

 

heated rounds?

I couldn’t agree more!

 

 

 

Why I travel alone

there’s a reason why I travel alone.

there’s a ritual i’d like to do alone.

hotel accommodations don’t matter

that much for

I’m a cow girl as much.

To travel is to date myself;

To date the one I hid somewhere

To date that girl suppressed deeper

To date the woman I disowned since

To date the mother I became

To date the whore he made me

To date the forgotten child within me

To date the teen gal they hated

To date the girlfriend she tried to be

To date the man in her

To date the rebel beside her

To date the friend you rejected

To date the ‘me’ I neglected.

Whether she travels short or long

far and wide

happy or sad

lucky or just mad

She has her reasons why she travels alone.

 

She must fall in love with herself again to see the world anew.

 

or else,

Death within her is but lucid.

 

The story she never wants to tell

Our present wretchedness

who can support life and reason under such a disgrace?

the greatest gift, if any.

Say not a word to it. Hear nothing, surmise nothing, whisper nothing til

 

she writes herself again..

No to search and rescue operation for me

NO TO SEARCH AND RESCUE OPERATION for me if I am just an afterthought inside your brain faculty’s cathartic release and lethargic arrest.

No to search and rescue operation for me among the piles of powdery white sand as if I am an indigenous basalt rock to be brought home as a souvenir for men’s crooked ways.

No to search and rescue operation for me in the shallow, murky and parasitic water of neglected potholes in the dark alleys of the red district.

No to search and rescue operation for me in one of the tainted windshields of Chevrolet and ferrari whenever they run around the long, sleek and perfected highways in full throttle.

No to search and rescue operation for me behind the pink, dainty and ornamented curtains you see in the house of faultless strangers or familiar beauties.

No to search and rescue operation for me because you are solitary and you need a magnitude huge enough to momentarily shake your bed from all the ladies lining up; ready to be tucked in your belt to fill its rigid holes.

No to search and rescue operation for me if you intend to display me as a scarf, shawl or muffler around your costly neck blueprint as you risk walking on a cold, chilly winter night in December.

No to search and rescue operation for me if you’re only waiting for the stars to frolic before your eyes and drop onto your strictly curved eyelashes to make you dream about crayons and watercolor in a reality succumb in eternal darkness.

No to search and rescue operation for me if you pretend to be my closest friend only to steal immortality in my sleep and leave me lifeless in the light of day.

No to search and rescue operation for me in a heterogeneous mixture of kaleidoscopic liquid processed to separate me from all others only to expect me to become a sparkling wine and be baffled as I come out a poorly crafted one.

No to search and rescue operation for me in those philosophically charged books cos you won’t find me there in any way you thought I’d be.

No to search and rescue operation for me as if it’s your obligation to be good and stay nice to me because I owe you nothing to treat me as equally futile as the idea itself.

No to search and rescue operation for me among the fancy words I spill my ink for to give life to the bold fantasy I created for you in a world where I find you a better sanctuary to be consumed.

Because,

I need not be searched

Not be rescued.

 

In a universe ruled by gods and fortune, I’d like to be that someone you don’t see coming into your life’s carefully written biography. 

Fever

I was quite insensitive.

The night deepened. pigmented and frothy water covered the yet dramatic, exaggerated window sill unfazed in this shallow rain pouring, pessimistic, egocentric, day dumping, eye dropping unlyrically time swelling and energy spoon draining. you asked who the culprit and the captor were in this noblest stupor? -fever- that did nothing but to keep you away from the taunting mystique of a life polishing and career whining animal that nudged the heart of the remaining bombastic blood-spilling excitement there was left in life. Yet all there was to do was be med-reliant, be a protagonist of this nightly liver scraping, brain altering overtones and heightened body confusion.

This was not for the fickle heart.

Not for the feeble body.

To my daughter, Audrey

On your Birthday

Days flipped like a book’s page

I didn’t notice the flap it contained

the image when I held you through grace

Now it’s almost three years

but it seems you never age.

I wish you remembered your

first birthday

when we celebrated it with

Papa and Grannies,

You were so happy you

kicked your cake when the

camera flicked.

Icing swirled around your toe

and we sang you a birthday

song.

November 22; what a festive day

cos it’s going to be another one

historic day.

Sweetheart it’s your birthday!

But this time Papa and Grannies

won’t be there;

that it won’t be the same.

With your tiny voice no words came out;

you wouldn’t look for them

the way you should cos

you’d think they never left and

you’d still play.

Your giggles and energy and

cuddles here and more there

You’re beautiful, you’re mighty

you’re blissful; I ask no more.

Excuses, alibis and reasons

won’t buy your time

much more the ones inside your heart

I’m sorry Baby if it has to be

as dark as this on your birthday.

I know your sad; I understand your mad

But I hope one day, only destiny can tell

the day when circumstances are bare

And I can tell you straight everything

worth your pain; worth your wait.

No. I wouldn’t expect you’d 

accept; more so understand

cos none of you & your brother

is

at fault; or to blame.

What happened between me and Pa

remained a fact and I bled cos

it didn’t last.

Years and more of those 

years you’ll gaze before your tears

They won’t run dry; they never will

and then

it would be like heated sea salt

to a grated wound

And I’m so sorry sweetie if it had to be

I wish I could contain all your sorrows

and mental stress

but how much of ’em I needed to know

when It was you my dear who was in distress.

Please don’t cry; don’t cry my love.

Know that I’m here for you.

I won’t leave you two because

Ma loves you that’s a fact

I’ll raise you; protect you both

That will remain til the sun gives up.

Someday you’ll grow up

to see the world both flip & flap

But in my dearest heart I prayed to God

I hope my love,

You won’t hate the world so much.

Hold that love inside your heart

Be brave and strong no matter what

All is not lost in love and war

have faith cos

that’s all you’ve got.

Still with all the grimes and nasty truth

Let me shout for you

on your birthday

Happy Birthday, Darling!

Much Love,

Mama