Thursday, December 20, 2012

The world

supposedly ends tomorrow.

An imagined apocalyptic devastation
of cities burned to the ground,
shells of what once were bodies
strewn about.

Say the world did end,
do you see in the midst of its gory wake
our destiny --- what's left of you and me?

Perhaps we shall live to tell
how the end of the world was not at all
devastating nor apocalyptic.
Rather a time of punctuation,
a muted gesture of pause,
the all-stopping ---
dreams buried,
desires put to rest.
the falling yet not failing.

Instead, the coming
of triumph's end.

Thursday, December 13, 2012


Yes, said the Heart. Yielding to the explosion of words --- harsh, terse --- sentiments kept far too long, clamoring for air. Yes to everything. Stop, said the mind, seeing reality (presumed, perceived) on but one eye, oft guilty of watching, not really seeing. Insert the truth wrapped in a desperate embrace, the plea, the refusal in face of what could be (unimaginable!)

...that I'd almost lost you.

Fearfully ask: What are the chances you'll get another chance like this again?

Take this: the story of a girl molding her heart in the small of your palm.

Because the events of yesterday still weigh heavily on my heart. Because I know I'm not the nicest person, that I can unleash hell especially if it's the wrong time to mess with me, that I am lacking in a lot of aspects but please, please know this: I assure you I can and will fight for you and what we believe in and in what we promised each other in the time we have been together. You know you have my heart. Always.

Friday, December 7, 2012

Vivere Libero

Soon. On my wrist. Or some other body part. But soon.

I apologize. This is going to be a jumble of thoughts. You see I've been trying to write but other than a few flimsy verses, I haven't coughed up anything worth posting. Oh, my taciturn tongue. And what mass of sentiments I have ---

Stand still, my love.
As I have.
Stood still to allow 
the molding of our bodies
(to fit through the cracks
of our broken, mending hearts).


I feel as if all my words (and some semblance of control) have left me in the middle of the night when I was too tired to care about them. Hence, this. Bummer [insert anger management here]. And the problem with anger is that it leaves no room for imagination.

I seriously wish I could give this intersection of indecision a roundhouse kick to the moon.

In the works, though: Photo-poetry of our Bohol-Cebu Trip. And this I am really excited about! Yes, holding on to anything that will make my spirit bright.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Driftwood and daffodils

Into the wind, down the stream,
lightly and utterly will soon become with infinite care
the story I will write.

With apologies to e.e. cummings. And because my life's soundtrack is fast becoming a compendium of human clamor, drowning the seemingly clear goal I had drawn out for myself when I was young enough to believe that the world, ultimately life, is what you make it no matter the circumstances. Relatively young and no longer prone to believing too much, we are but reactors to predetermined fate. The choices we make are not really ours.

Some pretty depressing shit, huh? Ok, 2013, we need to talk.

Oh, and the weird thing is, I really can't think of a place I'd rather be right now.