When his fingers traversed along my freezing and weary arms,
cruised a little further inside the trenches of my spent thighs and
navigated across the tropics of my exhausted back,
I could only close my eyes and think,
"oh, this dream voyage has to be a dream indeed".
    Back then,
I knew that my worst nightmare would be his touch steering away from my aching and craving skin.

You sang hymns of solitude across my shoulders,
uttered summer sonnets down my stomach,
whispered your prayers between my thighs,
all in a language I have yet to translate or remember.
All of it sounds in between the foreign and familiar.
You screamed of ballads of adoration
hungrily against my neck,
confessed your long-hidden elegies on my bare chest,
moaned your blues inside my dry, anticipating mouth.
All of it rings and buzzes and resonates throughout my body.
My body which no longer belongs to me.
And this is the very comedy of our sweet, sudden parting.
But I shall turn over and dance for you this time,
and promise to never stop playing my favorite song for me while I'm at it

I'm a simple girl,
I only want few ugly things out of
this equally ugly world.
Hot showers on summer afternoons,
frozen desserts on stormy evenings,
old, sad rock songs on christmas day
and scribbling depressing poems on my birthday.

I like the comfort that I get from sitting right beside the door of a moving vehicle,
that the possibility of it sliding open
while I'm leaning on it feels like
my favorite warm blanket from childhood.
The idea that I could be sitting upright one minute
then the next, my face will be parallel to my knees and ankle
feels like my cheat cigarette stick after months of "quitting", it's that good.

And I love thinking about the probability in the fact that I might not wake up after tonight,
that this might be my last poem written.
That if I pop a bit too many pills,
I can just end all of these.
It's like I got magic under my sleeves.
But who the hell needs magic?
Instead, I wish I had a beautifully tight noose to put me to eternal sleep

I dream of wearing the perfect red dress,
skin-tight but easy to take off,
the fabrics light yet hard enough for
men to take their eyes away from.
And did you know that I love how your name rhymes well with death?
If my skin would bleed or sweat out rhymes,
it might as well be to the sound of your name.
My guts shall dance to your liking,
watch my blood flow like the wine
you've been gulping.
Do as you please, but please never go easy.
My body is made for the opposite.
Now excuse me, while I go and search for the
perfect
red
dress.

First stanza, my upper lip
Second, his
The chorus, our tongue dancing
to the momentary rhythm.
Third stanza, my lower lip
Fourth, his
The bridge, a bite and a little pull,
sending us both to the brim.
Oh, this has to be my favorite song,
our kiss

Dad wouldn't go to museums with me anymore
Dad wouldn't pick me up from school anymore
Dad wouldn't buy me my favorite sweets
anymore
Dad wouldn't take me to the mall
anymore
Dad wouldn't play pretend-princess-and-king with me anymore
Dad wouldn't go see movies with me
anymore
Dad wouldn't finish my popcorn before me anymore
Dad wouldn't force me to eat my peas and greens anymore
Dad wouldn't sing and rock me to sleep
anymore
Dad wouldn't let me sleep peacefully and soundly anymore
Dad wouldn't kiss my boo-boos goodbye anymore
Dad wouldn't help heal my scars
anymore
Dad wouldn't wipe my tears anymore
Dad wouldn't stop them from flowing for a few years more
Dad wouldn't piggy-back ride me up his back anymore
Dad just wouldn't carry me up anymore
Dad wouldn't fight the dragons in my head anymore
Dad wouldn't break down the walls he had built himself anymore
Dad wouldn't let boys hurt me the way he did anymore
It's been nineteen years, dad, wouldn't you want to be a part of my life anymore?

Sung epics from afar
Half-shouted prayers nearby
Cat's meows by the window
and familiar howls by my bedside
Jesus christ, won't you
hear my cries?
Shut all these noises,
hush all these voices.
I want none of these songs
for these won't pacify me.
I want none of the prayers
for these won't save me.
But please thank your father
for introducing Joy Division,
The Cure and Morrissey to me,
for me.
They're the best substitute to noose,
knives and pills.

He softly touched her cheek
the same way cold touched
the first few mornings
of Februaryㅡfrigid but somehow fleeting.
Full of adoration
yet full of uncertainties.
And like the whispers of warmth
on some mornings,
he's almost always anticipating to leave.
With those cold hands of his,
he softly touched her cheek
and like the fury between
the cold and warm,
he kissed her
while whispering goodbye
at the same time.

All those homilies are works of comedy;
the only sounds you'll need to hear are my moans and plea, praying for you to take me.
I would need no altar to make you kneel,
the sight of my bare back alone would send those sinful lips of yours into overkill.
And, please, put that bible away,
we'll have the best erotica written by the time this night is over anyway,
or perhaps until the sun becomes astray from the unforgiving light and day.
So come on now, your able hands
would make the saints envious
with all the unkind things you'll do to my equally unkind body,
Bring it on, your cunning tongue
could make even a skeptic curious
even the angels would be stripped off
their grace and glory.
Forget about your god when all he ever do
is make you bleed, cry and beg,
you know the only place you'll ever find eternal salvation is between my legs.

Your hot breath and hands against my neck,
amen.

My favorite poem
is your hands on my neck.
If you need my lips all over you,
I'll deliver and keep it in check.
What about you?
You see I don't write love poems on paper,
I write them on the sheets.
You know my mouth and my tongue
are your new favorite sweets.
Enough of these rhymes,
we are just wasting time.
Just show me where your bedroom is,
and tell me how much you want me.
And I'll show you what you've been missing,
and it's heaven when you're deep inside me.
What about you?
What is your favorite poem?
I hope it's your hands on my neck.

What I'd give to see that one weekend all over again
In a film
or perhaps read it in a novel
ㅡa year's worth of tears to feel the warmth of that riverlike stream again and a half-year's worth of winter in his eyes

a half year's worth of anguish to have him watch me fall asleep in a cold rainy night again and tuck me in for a month's worth of his familiar warmth.

a month's worth of thrown up food to get a taste of the liquor in his lips once more, to get intoxicated by his touches' week's worth of sweet summer in September.

a week's worth of disappointments just to have him light up a day's worth of my cigarettes again.

anything.

or maybe a few more sticks will do.

A poem that shouldn't be. A poor attempt to express an affection so otherworldly, it will probably seem comical.

Rather offensive; my words wouldn't justify such affection.

This is a sweet poem of relinquished gratitude

For a man who has done nothing but dig a hole that goes through the core

Like a worn-out book binded by threads of thirst that doesn't wish to be quenched,

A daughter who can only whisper prayers of solitude for a man who traded a jade for his *****.

Now that jade he's turned his back away from is not so precious anymore.

Rather a daisy all rotten, vines growing around the cage with which despair has clenched.

How my hands will reach to grab the demons' hands out of your body,
pulling you, redeeming you as close
as I can possibly get.
How our lips will utter the words
we cannot say while pressed together.
As your teeth mold against the
skin of my neck,
the stars shall hold me up and make me forget the word 'wrecked'.
How we will leave each other breathless
but still screaming for more,
how we wanted to curse so loudly
and also softly whisper our 'thanks'.
Both of us are shaken.
Broken, but finally fixed too.

I hope we both bruise lifetime bruises.

How sweet it is to relive the years of young over and over!

How lovely it is to recall the good old days and remember!

The candies, the soft songs, the bliss of innocence, the tinge of rainbow at every sight!
Oh, bring me back to my childhood!

…but this is their story.

my childhood had been what life is to me all along and now;

Everything and everyone comes and then goes.

There are but few things that haven't changed from when I was four;

the longing I can never outgrow.

the house I can never really call home.

the constant nightmares, cries and screams.

nothing a child would ever imagine nor dream.

The scars, the beaten-down rhymes, the blame beneath the chastise, the fading of every color from the light.
Oh, I am finally kissing my childhood goodbye!

*...and this is mine.

Ang gabi ay hindi dapat maging kaibigan ng delubyo.
Nangangambang baka sa isang sulok ay may nag-aabang na demonyo.
O baka sa likod pa natin mismo.
Saksi ang dagat at bundok sa pananaghoy ng bagong umaga.
At sino ang hindi makakaamoy sa pagsabog ng mga tala?
At nasaan ang gabi, ang inaakalang tanging katuwang?
Kasiping ba ng mga pangarap para sa bayan,
na siya nang nilamon ng digmaan?

Lumuluha ang bawat lawa at nagtatanong ang mga talon;
makakaahon pa ba ang nalunod na tuwa't pag-asa ng kahapon?
O baka ang tuwa ay siya na'ng hinigop ng langit.
Pinagtatawanan na tayo ng langit!
Sa mga dugong dumanak at ang naglalakasang pagtatangis
na tila ba isang bulong sa bingi,
tama nga't hindi ko kaibigan ang gabi!

Ganid ang gabi, palaging uhaw at nasisidhi sa kasawian,
sa mga buwaya tila ito ang kanilang kaharian!
At ang ngalan ng may akda ng munting tula na ito ay "delubyo".
Paminsan-minsan maaari niyo ring tawaging demonyo.
Hindi na ako magpapaligoy-ligoy pa, sa sulok ay hindi na magtatago. Haharap ako para tingnan ang bawat isa sa inyo sa mata.
Sa dangal. Sa diwa. Sa puso. Sa dasal.
At kakalabanin nyo dapat ako gamit ang mga ito...
hanggang sa pag-usbong ng bagong umaga.

Pula, bughaw at dilaw laban sa kadiliman.

I… was going to write words, and they were going to make sense, and they were going to be songs of praises about his name.
Perhaps they would’ve been words about love, or about fantasy within irony, or plainly about my feelings; raw, uninhibited, loud, bold,
because I'm having way too much of them while trying to understand him, the masterpiece.
But then I watched my sanity fly, my soul depart from my bruised body and then my heart crashing, falling down for him.

The End.


Or is it just the beginning?

Before despair takes my heart and scream "mine",

Before the flowers planted from pain rots away with time,

Before the birds faint and fall from the dark grey skies,

Before the music shuts through the angst of the chimes,

Before they tell us no, we weren't meant to be tomorrow and lie,

Before the daylight howls and before the sunset cries,

take me by the tip of your tongue and spill your sadness in me.

Take me in every corner of your room until I run out of fears to bleed.

Take me. Take me anywhere.

(A tagalog poem)

ㅡ

Tyaka na lang kita papansinin,
kapag kaya na kitang bigyan ng isang
matamis na ngiti gamit ang bibig na hindi
nangangamoy usok ng sigarilyo.
Tyaka na lang kita kikilalanin,
kapag kaya ko na ring kilalanin ang sariling tinig at hindi ang sigaw ng mga demonyong nangungupahan sa aking isip.
Tyaka na lang kita tatawagan,
kapag kaya ko nang alagaan ang aking katawan at muli na akong natutulog
bago pa magpalitan ang araw at buwan.
Tyaka na lang kita iisipin,
kapag ang tanging kinakatakutan ko na lamang ay ang pagkakawalay sayo
at hindi ang maaari kong gawin sa sarili
oras na maiwan nang mag-isa sa kwarto.
Tyaka na lang kita papakatitigan,
kapag ang aking mga mata'y hindi na pagod, namumugto, namumula.
Tyaka na lang kita kakausapin,
sa araw na pag-ibig na ang aking bukambibig,
sa oras na kasiyahan na ang nasa isip
at hindi kung paanong tali ba ang gagawin sa gagamiting "lubid".
Tyaka ko na lang hahawakan ang iyong kamay,
kapag naghilom na ang mga hiwa at sugat na ginuhit, inukit sa pulso,
kapag ang isip at kalooban ko'y
muli nang nagkasundo.
Tyaka na lang kita hahalikan,
kapag kaya ko nang talikuran ang mga bote ng alak kapalit ng dampi ng iyong labi.
Tyaka na lang kita yayakapin,
tyaka ko na lang hahayaan ang sariling
maranasan na iyong mahagkan,
kapag muli na akong nakakakain ng tama, sa tamang oras.
Kakayanin mo kaya ang maghintay kahit magpa-hanggang kailan?

At patawarin mo ako. Patawarin mo kung ano ako. Patawarin **** ito ako.
Patawarin mo ang kototohanan na
binubuo ako
ng kalungkutan at kaguluhan.
Patawarin **** kung minsan
kapag bumuhos ang luha
ko'y mas malakas pa sa ulan.
Isang araw, aawit ako
ng awit ng pananalig at katiyakan.
Susulat ng tula na naglalaman ng kasiyahan.
Ngunit sa ngayon,
dasal ko'y patawarin mo muna ako.

Giliw, tyaka na lang kita iibigin...
kapag kaya ko na ring ibigin ang aking sarili.

The band is where I need to be
When I buzz and splash
and when
I roll,
My weary soul's finally set free.
The moment I undressed
for the snare,
I knew
the last thing I ever wanted
to be is sane.
My tired limb pitched in for the bass,
I got afraid
my music is bound to be
an unsolved case.


Silence...

Then here they come again.

Then I shall be beating and playing again.

Tonight I'm...
Wearing my mom's red lipstick,
Getting all tangled up in cords
Thinking about how...
Your lover can turn you into magic
While I can only turn you into words
Thought together we...*
Could be more than just electric.
But did you know when we met, the angels all sang in accord?

But that night has beaten every bet, every win of a year's worth of games in Lisbonㅡ we both knew we've lost as reality went all in and we only had nothing but our dreams and art to gamble while the stakes were high.

And did we cruise along those rather soulless waters of Barcelona down to Málaga only to jump recklessly, drown and pull each other down trenches of more questions; our oxygen, our rescue being each other's whereabouts for the next few months?

Battered and almost breathless, I crawl my way farther up north alone. Don't fret for I wouldn't let Budapest thwart me one bit,
at least not the way you did.
The streets may be enthralling in every way, yes, but I would never take any photos in it, and that's a promise.

As we bid goodbyes and succumb to the perpetual agony brought about by the distance between our worn-out souls, the world shall be left helpless with no other choice than to weep with the howling of the new aurora sky.

A time from now, we'll put the French Riviera to shame
with the spellbinding travesty
of our *******;  

The stars that grazes the Monte Carlo sky must realize that they've never even really shined once they witness how my eyes will glisten with rapture as you taste me for the very first time.

Oh, we'll hush the musicians of Vienna with the rhythm of our moans, the terrifying yet invigorating song of your gruff voice begging for more.

As we succumb to each other's biddings, the world shall be left helpless with no other choice than to watch.