Love letters #1 how we connect the awkward way

That was supposed to be the night I opened my heart to tell you the truth that I held inside. I thought about how to start, many times. The introduction was right but the body and the closing lines messed up. Those words were not the ones I wanted to say, at least, not the ones I’d like you to hear on a last day. But funny how this life somewhat changed the situation. Either we ended up all too serious or we ended up the comical way. 

The thing about us

Was supposed to be this not that 

Shouldn’t we sit there–

no, we don’t even care 

The intention was to discuss prior concerns,

hey the interview, I knew. I knew! I knew? 

All but the best except my spoiled coffee 

The night simply peeled off the awkward way. 

 

Read to me

read to me the most interesting story 

the way you captured the world’s fish eye 

read to me where there was a scent of orange blossom and the musk of roses more 

Plaintive cries drifted up from the darkness of an invisible country 

read to me the lures of a mid-autumn festival the Sunkist brilliance of your skin I shall never find 

Just read to me everything and I’ll listen with my two little ears.

Love is what I do alone

…When a woman doesn’t want to tell her secrets, It’s a man’s duty to pretend not to know anything. ..even if he already does.

 

hmm..

                                     To kill you or to let you live.            

Are there only two choices?                            

 I mean, we are friends after all.                                                                                                                                                   Aren’t you the one who said so?

If we aren’t friends, what are we?

 

Journal entry #1 What I want in a partner

I’m a child wrapped in the arms of a caring sister; a sister innate in me who values life as much as the child within me. Though life may seem rigid and tough she never forgets the lady, she is. Her free-spirited, cheerful and amiable beauty radiantly excites the world around her. But when my path veered to what I thought was the one for me; I crumbled. I  was stricken with grief and vexation. It made me gnaw at its merciless impact. I knew then that the first cut hurts the deepest.

My past taught me as well. So much lessons I had to keep hammering. I know I’ve a lot more work to do to try to figure out my life now. And I will. I’m working my way through it. There was a time when I vowed to never repeat the same mistakes about who I let in my life, It was very taxing  and toilsome. This time, I’m taking my time to prepare myself to be my best version as well. For now, here are four of the things I want in a partner for the woman in me.

• Has his own identity; someone who never lets himself go in a relationship.
•  Self-motivated
• Shares the same dreams and goals
• Committed to do the hard work

When I think about it I just can’t help but smile because I know that the road to success has just begun. It’s about time I raise the bar.

-Poem-

Afflicted by the irreconcilable past

hoisted by distrusts and fights

A boy; never loved himself

severed the so-called ties

Blame no one but ourselves

Let the heavens tremored;

plagued the land

lashed judgment

For once we were denounced

children of the flock.

Now I have fasted

Appeased the gods

from the errors that

punctured my heart

A girl; overflowed with warmth

awakened to tend her mead.

alone.

For her descendants

For their meads

For their skies

not weeds.

Time is a friend.

Setted the plains

Colored the firmament

Called the gays

To move the waves;

To lift mountains.

then, she’d soar.

Higher her perch above

overlooking the forked roads.

I shopped in his heart for something worth waiting

Waited your heart’s store to open

Be the first customer to yank it open

Excited to look for the things I’d be buying

To see if I could fit your heart’s branded clothing

Elated to find the appropriate fashion

But made me exclaimed when you weren’t meant for selling

So I bargained with your heart’s trusted salesman

To find out if you were mine for the taking

Then I got sad when he responded “I’m sorry Ma’am, he’s not in for the bargain.”

Though I felt depressed at his refusal, my eyes glistened for the year-end special

Maybe then your heart would undress from the mannequin and

Be displayed among the assorted or discounted items

Ready for me in case, I did my next window shopping.

For now, I need to look for your heart’s special offers

To know if promos, raffle draws and marked down items are available

In case fate will bring us closer, I must know your heart’s valued services and grand offers.

I must admit I don’t make much money.

So I wary your heart might be bought by other extravagant buyers or stolen by shop lifters.

And be left with nothing but the smell and the lonely image of your heart on that hanger.

But my love,

My heart too, prayed for that golden pot at the end of the rainbow.

If a miracle will pour on me,

I wish this time, your heart’s ready for my sincerest taking.

Not for free

Not through credits and

Definitely not for a bargain.

 

But for love meant  for two hearts who patiently waited.

Only then I’ll thank god for shopping in your heart with nothing only to have something worth waiting.

Frederick Wil Mc Nuggets

Dear Frederick Wil Mc Nuggets,

You are such a compelling  and thought-provoking character. I wonder if you know that. And while writing about you takes me to the wall in a voyeuristic rush, I just can’t seem to stop myself from actually reading and writing more about you. 

Please don’t misunderstand.

I’m not sure how you feed your mind with frothing obscenity or frail sand bar.

How your brain secretly twists, turns and twists again and go cart-wheel.

Maybe you think I’m in deep shit hallucinating my way into barbecue skewers for always writing about love and romance as in ‘oh come on, don’t you have another life doing other fancy stuff?’

Or

Perhaps you wonder why all of a sudden my WordPress website wardrobe is flooded with the glossy images of you, descriptions leading towards your silken and regal totality and obscurity or anything related with disgracing– the kind that’s skin crawling, bone marrow sucking and eye sweating dark chanting and deep delusions about you.

Matter of fact, I’ve got a bunch of precious things going on in my life from house makeover, food selling to babysitting to public speaking, self-studying to writing, reading and then soul-searching to rewriting and the list goes on.

I believe you are an artist in your own fantastic, peculiar and outlandish ways. The same way I feel about myself who have seen you in an all new different light particularly not part of the roygbiv family. 😂 

I will not be second-guessing how I find pure inspiration in you. There is just something in your magnetism that keeps my eyes from closing. Inborn cataract around my lenses don’t prevent me from not seeing and seeking such a brilliant light in you plastered by your stream of weakness and a bountiful past I probably won’t even know. Hence, these make you very extraordinary.

So please don’t misunderstand.

How my passion for words and writing dresses itself with muscles and tissues as if a living creature that dwells within your energy.

What I do and not do, the things I write, the ideas I share, what I think and feel about you and things like making you the ‘subject, the canvas and the raw material’ for my seascape.

Please don’t misunderstand all of them.

Because

Seriously, they don’t bite but I do. 😂 

Infatuated,

April

-Poem-

Eyes sighted

Blood veins on a page

darted by lust;

bladed by rage.

A paper blemished with pain

blocked the letters under the rain.

Cold and wet on a stormy night

Words like coals in the furnace burnt

With the ashes as ink

On a scented paper

ramped the unwritten words

Of shadows and thorns

The profuse swelling of dark red blood

Of a heart not mending

Was saved by one’s musing. 

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!

 

 

 

I wish I am a good actress

When everything turns out sad, I wish I am a good actress. It’s been very difficult since I started to feel lost around you. How I jump like one electrocuted cat whenever I see you sneak behind me. I wish I am a good actress to pretend as if unaffected by your wavelength and smile. I must admit your voice is irresistibly sexy and I am so stimulated when you’re making that naturally engraved eye contact but no matter how euphoric this may seem to me, I still wish I am a good actress to be able to look deep into those eyes I feel shy to meet. My gaze is always averted you must have known it by now. I feel anxious when you stare at me cos I’m not sure how and when this adoration started. I wish I am a good actress because I don’t know much about you and I don’t know how much I could take when rejected by you. I wish I am a good actress because your mind is strong and creative they project great images and I’d like to feed from them like the orchids and the trees in the process called mutualism.  I wish I am a good actress to be able to carry myself well around you; that I feel so vulnerable because I’m not like this. I’m confident and strong but it works otherwise when you’re next to me and I feel so immature so stupid for being so nervous when I don’t need to be. I wish I am a good actress to be myself around you; that I don’t need to cry at the slightest provocation of my affection for you. I don’t want to be my own actress for you cos I’d like you see my warmth and truth.