Mientras no estás,
tengo confesiones que hacer.
Y mientras estoy aquí,
también tengo unas preguntas que hacer.

Estoy esperando tu regreso,
¿tú también estás esperando el mío?
¿Crees que el verano también
extraño el invierno y el frío?

¿Crees que la luna extraña el mar,
por eso sigue tirando de las mareas?
¿Son las conchas las lágrimas de la luna?
¿Son las olas el sonido de sus gritos y peleas?

Estoy esperando que vuelvas,
¿O tú también estás esperando mi llegada?
¿Crees que Dios también extraño
el mundo tranquilo y vacío?

¿Crees que el sol extraño al mundo,
es por eso que hay flores y frutas?
¿Son las flores los besos del sol?
¿Y son los frutos la prueba de su amor?

¿Crees que de todos modos Dios ama tanto
el mundo desordenado,
que nos dio a su hijo y la luna y por eso pintó
los colores de verano para el mundo?

¿Crees que Dios te ama tanto,
por eso te creó perfectamente,
nos dio la vida y el sol
y por eso me creó para ti, no el es justo?

Mientras espero tu regreso,
yo haré vuelto a nacer.
Y cuando estés aquí,
no tendremos más que placer.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒏
𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒐𝒌.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒏𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒖𝒈𝒐
𝒐 𝒅𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒐.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒔𝒐𝒌𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒌
𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒌 𝒔𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒐.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒕
𝒐 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑰𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒚𝒐𝒏
𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒌𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝑰𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒐.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒖𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒐𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒑𝒖𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒊.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒍
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒊.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒋𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒛𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒓𝒂
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒔𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒐
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒐𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒂.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐
𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒌 𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒂 𝒂𝒍𝒃𝒂
𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒖𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒐𝒔.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒘 𝒔𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒔𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒘.
𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔.
𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏.

(𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘙𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢)

May bakas ng relihiyon sa bawat kalsadang nilakaran mo. Dito sa siyudad kung saan tila naghahari ang diablo, mga dinaanan mo ang sandigan, mga pinuntahan mo ang paniniwalaan, aawitan, papupurian.

Dito, naglakad kang matapang. Nag-lamyerda kang para bang hindi ka baguhan at dayuhan. Walang pag-iingat, o walang pag-aatubili. Na parang naglalakad ka rin sa pananampalataya sa ating Diyos.

Tanong at dalangin ko lagi’t lagi: mararating ba natin ang oras? O ang hanggahan? (o kung may hanggahan nga ba ang oras sa tuwing magkasama tayo? Hindi ko alam, kung may konsepto ng oras sa langit.) Umuwi ka bang nakadiskubre ng buntalang may posibilidad ang pag-iral? Ngunit hindi mo pa ito pinapangalanan, hindi mo pa inaari.

At hindi natapos ang pagiging sagrado ng mga espasyo noong nakaalis ka na. Sa pagitan ng dagat Pasipiko at Mediteranyo, ang panalangin ko ay makakarating sa’yo, mga dasal ko’y hahalik sa katawan mo, dadapo sa silid **** hindi ko pa nararating, at dito, kasama kita, kahit hindi kita kasama.

If you were to become sand,
I would not be just some hands.
Not even another mortal homeland.
I will become time, I will weather and stand.
But if you were to become an island,
I would not be just some beach or sands.
Not even a firefly or a wasp that lands.
I will become a tree that withstands.
Or if you will be the time, I will be a tree.
Together in our tiny little island,
we will be gleaming and free,
we will be holding hands.

Tinawid ko ang karagatan,
binaybay din ang Kabisayaan.
Mula sa hilaga, sa Katagalugan,
mahanap ko lang ang katotohanan.
At makita ko lamang ang kasagutan,
malasap lang ang angkin nitong tabáng.
'Di lang karagatan ang handa kong tawirin,
mga ilog na may buwaya rin, aking giliw.
Makita ko lang sa'yong mata ang saliw
at dampi ng aking nadaramang sakit.
Babaybayin ang buong bayan at isla,
bibilangin ko ang bawat mga tala.
Lilibutin ko ang kabundukan,
lilituhin ating kapalaran.

Kasabay ng iyong pagpikit
ay ang imbay ng aking katawan,
pag-alon ng mga balikat at pagkibit.
Kasabay ng iyong pagtalikod
ay akma akong aapak at papalakpak,
dahan-dahang papalapit sa entablado.
Kasabay ng iyong pagkukubli ng damdamin
ay ang pag-muwestra ng tadhana sa akin,
pag-gabay tungo sa kung ano ang tuwid.
Kasabay ng pagtago ng nadaramang totoo,
ay ang siya ring paghahanap ko ng sagot
sa wari’y hindi mo masagot na tanong.
At kasabay ng pagsasara nitong kurtina,
ay ang paghinto sa pagpatak ng luha
at ang ating maligayang paglaya.
At kasabay ng pagdidilim nitong entablado
ay ang kaliwanagan na di nahanap sa’yo
at ang aking pagsuko para sa teatro.
At kasabay ng kanilang hikbi at palakpakan
ang pinakahihintay na pag-uwi sa kawalan
at pagsalubong sa sarswela na naman.

Kada sinusubukan kong sumulat sa wika ng aking ina,
nariyan pa rin ang sa ama, tila nagbabantay,
tila ingay na pumupuslit sa gabing malumanay.
Tila ito konsensiyang kakatok sa aking pinto,
sa gitna ng mahimbing na tulog mga alas tres pasado.

Ang pangalan ng mga kalye sa aking siyudad,
ang pangalan ng mga kalsada sa pamayanan,
ano ang sa wika ko, alin ang sa'yo, at sa dayo?

Kada sinusubukan kong umawit sa Tagalog,
bubulong ang mga rondalla, gitara't iba pang instrumento:
"anong wika ng pangalan naming ito?"
Kaunti na lang ay tutula na rin ang aking kama:
"hindi ba't oras na para sa banyo?"

Ang pangalan ng mga bayani sa labanan,
ang pangalan ng mga ninuno ng angkan,
alin dito ang salin, ano ang sa Tagalog?

You left me in this scene of the crime,
in the mouth of your enemy;
but unbeknownst to you
is an undefeated one.
Undead like yesterday's song.
You found me on one fateful night
from your days of valor and prime,
blew sonnets on my wounds out of charity; the terror's nowhere to be found, it is gone.
The enemy is *******, his legs are helpless.
Now he's gnawing on my flesh,
this dainty darling rose could care less.
He's determined to cut my petals,
slice them each by thirty-fours,
out of the petals he shall denounce
the rebirth of a new rose, grow it fresh.
I am a rare rose,
but the dying kind,
so they say.
Now they are determined to find you.
Force me to speak the way they do,
I would never sing and betray you.
So run, run into the dark of the night
as I bleed and wilt into this
one chaos of a delightful plight.

“𝑺𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆,
𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒆?”
But what does Santa know, though?
I bet on a reindeer even you don’t know.
All year, Santa was hiding in North Pole,
at the same time, I’m hiding my feelings;
what used to be a heart here is now a hole.
January is a beach, December is a cliff.
If the sands would turn to snow,
mountains from Pacific Ocean would grow.

“𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆’𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘,
𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕”
But what do I also know?
I dare the trees to be still as the wind blows.
Tropical the whole year, now I feel frozen,
when exactly is the most wonderful time?
Like a prized painting, my heart felt stolen.
My poetry is confessional, for truth is crime.
If you are made of blazing flames,
I am a forest catching fire after fire.

Kapag niyaya kitang lumabas ulit,
this time, I don't know, maybe sa zoo?
Kahit sumakay lang tayo sa jeep,
next time na lang sa Maynila or museum?
Sasama ka ba?
Kung sa bagay, ayaw ko pa ring magka... alam mo ba?

Pagkatapos, kakain tayo sa labas. Na naman.
Baka ikuwento ko na rin ang nakaraan,
'yun ay kung nais mo lamang malaman.
Dahil yung sa'yo, jusmiyo, alam ko na rin naman.
At ayokong maging unfair, parang kanin na walang ulam.

Mahal ka ba niya talaga?
Mahal ka ba niya talaga?

And did you say she was pretty?
And did you say that she loves you?
Baby, I don't wanna know!
And can you tell me, was it worth it?
Really... I don't wanna know.

Naaaliw ka ba sa'kin? Tawa ka kasi nang tawa.
Pero kung yayayain ulit kita, maybe sa zoo,
sana ay bigyan mo naman ako ng awa.

Ngunit kung sasabihin kong "wag mo kong iwan",
ngunit gusto mo palang mapag-isa,
ok lang sa akin. Uuwi na lang at magsi-siesta.

Mahal ka ba niya talaga?
Mahal ka ba niya talaga?

Mahal ka ba niya talaga?
Mahal ka ba niya talaga?

Ako, hindi pa naman.
Hindi ko pa alam. (4x)

Bibigyan mo ba ako ng dahilan?
Or perhaps maybe baka ito na yata ang last na tula?
Bibigyan mo ba ako ng dahilan?
Or maybe hihintayin na lang, parang iyong mga kanta?
Bibigyan mo ba ako ng dahilan?
Or baka we're meant to be friends lang talaga?

Anyway, I'll follow you down 'til the sound
of my voice will haunt you.

Anyway, this is "Wonderwall".

Anyway,
please ***** pa rin tayo sa zoo.
Sa zoo (6x)

What do you say to fear when it settles in?
Do you ask it to leave?
Do you run away from it?
Or do you look it in the eye
and crawl closer in?
Do you befriend it?
Or do you swear it's enemy?
Do you set it on fire, cover its tracks?
Or do you run your hands
tenderly down its cheeks?

What do you do when fear takes over?
Do you fight it?
Or do you ask it of its favorite color?
Do you talk to it too soon
about the weather and the future,
hoping it leaves on its own so soon, too?
Or do you savour it slowly day by day,
and pray every night that it will stay?
Do you decide that you are bigger than mere emotions, or do you embrace that such a feeling can overpower even your body?

And what do you do when fear
finally runs away?
Do you kneel and thank the good heavens,
or do you bow and beg hell for it to return?
Do you stay in bed, curl up and cry,
or do you defy and run
the hundreds of miles?
Do you ask for it to stay
and settle down with you?
Do you surrender
and ask it to take over you?
Do you stay and surrender,
do you settle down and take over each other?
Do you accept the where and when
of the right here and right now,
or do you decide that there is no forever;
that even fear can flourish into brand new feelings, take you to new heights,
so new that you have no choice but to embrace it,
accept that such feelings can indeed overpower
your body, mind and spirit,
and encompass your logic, reason
and instincts?

Tell me, look me in the eye...
Crawl closer in...
Set me on fire, run your hands tenderly down my cheeks...
What do you say?
What do you do?

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.

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.

I want to open my ports like never before
I want to welcome you into my shores
I spent months bending my trees
I spent weeks without sun or sleep
Until you came, my summer sky
I forgot about the heavy rains of December
I forgot about all the damages from November
I feel like I could even grow mountains
Like I'm brand new
I feel like an unnamed island again
Because of you

My new season
My summer sun
My rebirth
My new earth

Stop.
Don't puff.
See the ocean?
Run and go.
Want to make a new friend?
Put down your phone.
Or do as you please,
but please don't smoke cigarettes in Siargao.
Don't make an irony of your stay
and a fool of yourself here.
Don't disrespect her sweet air,
don't bastardize her fresh breeze.

See the ocean?
Run and go.
Make a friend.
Do what you please.
Breathe in the sweet air.
Feel the kiss of the fresh breeze.
Don't smoke cigarettes in Siargao.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒔𝒆ñ𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒔,
𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒂, 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒔, 𝒌𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔,
𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒌𝒐 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒕.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒂,
𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒂𝒌𝒐'𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒛𝒂.
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒊 𝒑𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒔 𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒋𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔
𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒚 𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓.
𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒏
𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈.
𝑮𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒂 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒔,
𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒌𝒂𝒚𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒏.
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒍𝒐 𝒎á𝒔 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆,
𝒆𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒔 𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒋𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔
𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒔 𝒎á𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒚 𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒓.
𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒎𝒂
𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒈𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈.
𝑮𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂'𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒏.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒊 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂,
𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒌𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒂𝒚 𝒌𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔,
𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒍 𝒂𝒌𝒐'𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏, ¡𝒇𝒖𝒊 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒛𝒂𝒅𝒂!
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐.
𝒀𝒂 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒊ó𝒏.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏, 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒃𝒊𝒈𝒚𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒊𝒚𝒐 𝒂𝒌𝒐...
𝑷𝒂𝒈𝒌𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒂 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈
𝑷𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒐𝒕, 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒐, 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒈...
𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒊 𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒔 𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔...
𝑲𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒌𝒐 𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒔 𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒂,
𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒔, 𝒌𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔...
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒏, 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒐, 𝒔𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒌𝒂𝒔.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒂 𝒌𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒂𝒏, 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒏,
𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒉𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒂𝒏, 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒂𝒏...

I know you've heard things about me...
This and that, here and there...
And I also know you're a little scared,
could be of me, or of my beauty maybe...
This and this and this
Yet I know that as scared as you are,
you're also curious about my mysteries...
That and that and that
But if you take a chance on me,
if you step into my shores and feel my breeze,
you'll find that I'm just a beautiful island,
I could even be the best you'll ever see,
nothing more and nothing grand...
yet I could be the paradise you've never been
and I could have everything you'll ever need.
I could leave you exhilarated
with my magic, sunsets and seabed...
And you would leave me sparkling brand new,
like my oceans have never been this clear and blue.
This and that,
here and there,
I want you here now
and I want you near.

You expect me to curtsy,
but what I do is bend and break my bones.
You expect me to be soft-spoken,
I am raised on curses in three languages,
I have five deities and I write poetry!
You expect me to act refined,
but I am a woman dulled by violence.
And when you expect me to be dull,
I'll be as sharp as a stick up your *******.
You expect me to act sweet,
I am raised in Manila, you little *****!
You expect me to be quiet or sophisticated,
but I am a ******* Filipina, you ditz!
So no,
I cannotㅡand will not curtsy.
Nor will I bend and break either.
I will not be soft-spoken.
The last thing I will be is refined.
I will be sharp and smart as a whip.
To hell with acting sweet!
Asking a girl silenced by time to be quiet?
And a true Manileña to be sophisticated?
𝘏𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘱 𝘬𝘢! I’ll make you wish you’re dead.

When she could bring the sun and fun
after surviving rains and pain,
that’s so tropical!
When she dances with the storms,
sings with the winds and their howls,
that’s so pacific!
When she steps out smelling like the ocean,
smiling, looking like the sunset,
she’s so tropical!
When she writes poetry out of tragedies,
takes lyrics and proses from calamities,
that’s so pacific!
When she smells like coconuts and mangoes
after cutting off people and letting them go,
oh, how tropical!
When she sways along with the palm trees,
instead of sulking down on her knees,
that’s so pacific!
The sun and storms,
the rains and fun,
the dances and the winds,
ah, how tropical!
The oceans, the calamities,
the tragedies, the poetry,
the coconuts, the people,
the mangoes, the palm tress,
so, so, tropical!

But what is spring breeze,
if not absence of a kiss?
If summer is hot and torrid,
spring is lacking indeed.
If spring is but a tease,
summer comes with ease.
If summer brings the true wind,
spring only hides want and need.

On one Tuesday, you asked me
why I check the words you use,
why I analyze the things you say,
and you also pointed out
how I see things before you do
And I might seem like a know-it-all,
but ironicaly, I do these to learn about you.
And unlearn my past mistakes and habits,
to learn how to love you better
so I can be worthy of a future with you
and be so good for you.
teach me. help me.

The monsoons of the heart
The cyclones of our whereabouts
It's all brewing and burning
at the same time

Within the all-seeing eye of the storm,
the haze and hail over my island are born
It's both evening and morning
at the same time

The violent destructions on the east
The threatening strong winds on the west
It's all beginning and ending
at the same time

No.
Stop, darling.
I don’t want love confessions in the rain.
I fancy them in movie scenes,
not so much in reality, it seems.
It is late March now,
summer’s coming around.
If I should ever want a love confession in the rain from you,
that would take about three to four months from now, that’s cruel.
Way too long.
No. No. Stop it, honey.
Anyway I never cared about my life looking like a movie.
I’m saying, if you wanna say something,
then hurry!
I prefer kissing in the sunset because we just can’t help it,
than melodramatic yearning in the rain and we’re both wet.
If I should want a love confession from you,
I want it in summer here,
enough time has passed and I’ve been kind, don’t you think so, dear?
No. No. No!
Stop right there, my love.
In June, it will be rainy, lonely, drab
and dull here again.
Should I wait and ask for another six months: “God, when?”
When?
When?
I don't want love confessions in the rain.
Come here, darling.
Go.

Some things you just can’t explain.
Some magic you don’t dare find reason beneath.
Some mysteries you don’t get to solve.
Some metaphors you don't read meaning behind.
Some circumstances you don’t find logic in.
Some tickets you don’t scratch but you win.
Why are flights to a popular island destination cheaper over the holidays?
Why are flights back home more expensive?
Why is daydrinking the norm on an island?
Why are mangoes as sweet as summer there in December?
Why did I meet you when I almost never have?
Why did we brush shoulders only to never see each other again?
Some circumstances.
Some mysteries.
Some magic.
Some things you just can’t explain.

I didn't even ask him
what kind of music he digs,
for his voice alone
is my new favorite record.
I didn't bother finding out
his kind of taste in music,
for my newfound orchestra
comes from his lips.

I didn't even ask him
what kind of films he watch,
for even reality feels like a movie
when he came from the side door,
that's a film I've never seen before.
The ****** is when I was falling
and he was there, ever ready,
waiting and willing to catch me.

I didn't even find out
what kind of books he reads,
for his way with words
is already a novel of poetry.
I didn't even dare ask him
what he thinks of the bible,
for his articles and greetings
alone are my homily.

I didn't even find out
if our taste in music, cinema and literature matches and if I should go otherwise.
You only do that in shallow,
short-lived connections.
I didn't even bother finding out
if our taste in things aligns,
for he already spiced up my
underseasoned life.

While I return and slow down
to the classics;
the film analog cameras,
vinyl records,
typewriters,
silent movies,
worn-out pocketbooks,
and other novelties
of the old world charm...

I also enjoy the convenience
of the contemporary;
my phone's one-click camera,
spotify premium,
notes app,
netflix,
kindle,
and other niceties
that the here and now has to offer...

And while I rev back
to the retro and vintage,
I also race forward
to the excitement and danger
brought about by the internet,
of chatting with a familiar stranger.
of exchanging laughters in electronic.
of feeling emotions from a vague, distant, technical, difficult source.

Oh, the thrill and tragedy of technology!

Here is a list of things that are bigger,
greater than all of the world's oceans,
bigger than the storms in the seas,
than all the islands in the Pacific,
connecting all of us together,
being one great channel of culture...
Telenovela, chismes, galeones,
teleserye, chismis, galleon.
𝘚𝘪𝘣𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪 𝘓𝘢𝘱𝘶-𝘓𝘢𝘱𝘶, 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯.
𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘥𝘢 𝘯𝘪 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯? 𝘒𝘢𝘩𝘶𝘭𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯.
Sangría? No, sangre de Magallanes.
𝘕𝘪ñ𝘰𝘴, 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘢 𝘦𝘯 𝘷𝘦𝘻
𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘻𝘢𝘳 𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴.
And believe it or not;
Bulerías, danza, bachata, habaneras.
How do you like your coffee, bebe?
Con leche? Bueno.
Evaporada and condensada?
Tequila, San Miguel, Mezcal, Corona,
Cerveza, Serbesa, Cerrado, Sarado.
𝘈𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘰 𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘨𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘢,
𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘰.
Actually, how do you like your coffee?
𝘛𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘧é?
𝘚𝘪 𝘯𝘰, 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘦𝘥𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘶 𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘰.
So do you like it hot or con hielo?
And of course;
Canciones, c/kanta,
And nowㅡreggateon, budots.
Gasolina? Aserejé? Macarena?
Bad Bunny, being our new Columbus.
Playitas, islas, karagatan, nuestro paraíso.
Mas chismes, mas tazas de cafe.
How do you think we're so far yet so alike?
Of all these things? Con chisme? Claro.
So which one first? The juiciest or latest?

Tell the church,
the priest can speak and yap all he wants,
his words aren't the truth, he's another man;
at the bottom of it all, he will never be God.

Tell the church,
the believers are not blind followers,
the church is not perfect, it's an institution;
sometimes the dark at the end of the tunnel.

Tell the church,
the people are not their pets to parade,
we are God's children, not church's slaves!
if worse comes to worst, it's because of the church!

God is absolute, the church is not!
God is loving and freeing, the church is not!
God's love is unconditional, with the church, where's the love?!
And God is divine, kind and perfect, and the church will never be!

So tell the church,
they can make an enemy out of me,
burn me at stake or hang me until I bleed;
at the end of the day, to God I'd still believe!

And tell the church,
they can silence me or bind my arms,
dispose of me, turn my bones to charms;
until the end of the world, all they do is harm!

I’m not in school anymore
No longer a girl either.
So this is not some schoolgirl crush.
And I don’t need more soul lessons.
And I am not one to do crushes.
In fact, I want soul-crushing romance.
And I think this is it.
Except it’s not.
Not a romance.
But it’s soul-crushing.
But if I must be,
I will be a student.
If I really have to,
I will learn.
I will write.
I will read.
Again
and again.

It is 1985. I wake up from an afternoon nap, about to get ready for another night-out.
You see, I'm a typical distressed teenager just trying to make it out alive through music and art.
I take a shower while The Cure is blasting along the trickles of water.
I take my rollers, hairspray and flashy eyeshadows, glamming up for a night packed with new wave music, dancing with other teenagers who share my sentiment.
A night free of alcohol or any narcotics; the loud, booming music is enough to give me that high.
Oh, take me back to the era fit for my old soul.

They are both orange or gingers, as in my dreams
both crazy and funny, like you and me
and in our faces, in the morning, they won't scream.

In the apartment we'll never split rent together,
between the rooms we'll never kiss in
the kitchen we'll never cook in, not for each other.

The litter boxes we won't take turns to clean
the food bowls we won't refill, like you and I never did
wiping mirrors until they glisten and gleam
and looking back now, it's a relief indeed

The bills we won't compute, pay and solve,
the fights that we'll never have.
I find comfort in our inexistent marital issues
and the divorce that we'll never have to encounter.

Maybe you will see through history.
You will find that this is how things used to be.
Maybe it's really supposed to be me, honestly.
Things only got in order, cleaned up the corners.
Maybe this is for the best, and it shall be, no wonder.
The streets that you thought you knew is not all that is.
Maybe it's not me and you, but could I still give you a kiss?
The city doesn't intend to take more, but to give, please believe.
Our city sheds tears daily for weeks.

Maybe you will get enough of reality.
You will see that there is paradise in the urbanity.
Maybe we were meant to be apart so we could listen to our hearts.
Things would only get messier, but I will be crazier.
Maybe I got the right tools to help you feel better.
The city is not after you, it won't drown or drain you out.
Maybe my letters are futile, you are who the scripture is about.
The city is for ours to reign in, or you could come when it's raining.
Our city bleeds weekly for months.

Maybe you will read through my poetry.
You will get in between my metaphors and subtleties.
Maybe you're supposed to show me how to write.
Things would be better if certain things didn't happen.
Maybe it's all part of a bigger plan, who's holding the pen?
The city that my children will be running in is one we can't hate.
Maybe there's reason and logic for everything, even when it's late.
The city will be the witness, in my arms is where it's warmest.
Our city will no longer cry and bleed for years.

I should've known from the first ride,
that I would be falling fast.
I should've felt it from my first fall,
that your show must go on.
I should've known from the first rodeo,
that should've been the last.
I should've felt it from my first trot,
that I'm better off riding alone.

I should've known you couldn't choke the horn,
but you were all but a yellow-belly.
I should've watched how you 'let her rip',
yet a horse is all of my riches.
I should've believed you don't want no cahoot,
but I rode for you 'til dawn while hungry.
I should've watched you ride to the sunrise,
yet I am left chasing sunsets.

But I am still the greatest,
with or without a lily liver cahoot.
I am the best, from east to west,
a taste from my lips would prove it's true.
I am the lone star that shines the brightest,
with or without your hat on, you'll be blinded.
I am all of the gold that they all rush to,
the legend they call 'light at the end of the tunnel'.

You should be sorry, oh you should be sad,
all you would be is a runaway robber.
Because I could've been your brokeback god
now I would be everything but your lover.
I put my hat down to say sorry for being your bandit,
Now I ride to where the lights would welcome me,
far away from all the grime, dirt and strife
They all cheer and whistle and holler my name,
while you weep that your whole life,
let alone your morning rides will never be the same.

We were both marching into a new war
when we knew we could end up doomed.
I once dreamt of reaching the stars
until living just felt like picking on scars,
as if opening old time wounds.

But I refuse to be bruised;
I refuse to 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 be bruised,
For I so desire to be thrown off the cliff.
I am ready to bust open my eyes and lips.
I long to have an arrow shot
to my weary heart.
I daydream of spilling blood
on your strong arms.

I refuse to be bruised;
For I am never more thrilled to perish,
Just to get a taste of your lips.
Into the lions' den
I would beg to be shoved,
Only for the glory
and name of your love.
Darling I am most ready to die,
burn and decay,
If that means I would feel your touch
across my face.

Imagine having me stretched, throbbing,
a touch that could soothe and ****.
Yes, it both can.
Your greatest ****.
You simply won’t be able to imagine
just how good it would feel.
No, you just can’t.
Good ******* luck...

I know being with me is not easy,
actually quite the contrary;
I am treacherous, I am messy.
I have crazy trees and crazier winds.
I know staying with me won't be fun,
actually it may not even be an option;
But you’re still welcome, even for a vacation.
My rain comforts, I soothe with my monsoon.

I know you may not know of my waves,
and you might've, but would you be brave?
Are you willing to trade your better days?
Do you dare write with your board and body,
then rest under my shades or caves?

I know you might not have heard of my name,
but touch me and you will never be the same.
Will you dive for my pearls without shame?
Do you dare to sink and swim,
would you play this game?

You’re right.
I do not take rejection well.
For I take rejection sea.
I float and swim in it until I’m free.
I dive in it until I feel opposite of glee.
You’re correct.
I do not take “no” graciously.
For instead of grace, I become the sea.
I slap the shore until my blue turns green.
I blow my waves into squares as I scream.
That’s right.
When I lose, I never use it as a noose.
Instead I sizzle and heat up like a fuse,
smile like a muse, call ******* on truce,
win and govern all your lands like Zeus.
That’s correct.
When I’m denied, I show that I can bite.
I show teeth and they sparkle bright,
tell them I am not as frail as a kite,
I am the moon on a star-free sky at night.

F*ck the postcards and dried mangoes, baby.
The prayers in The Philippines,
The prayers from and by Filipinos,
will be the best souvenir one can ever get.


The Prayers in The Philippines, by the Filipinos
are what has been keeping our islands, vintas and mangroves afloat
and why more new islands have been popping up like moles.
The Prayers in The Philippines, by the Filipinos
are what has been keeping the storms, typhoons and hurricanes all but a joke.
Another one? Bring it on and on and once more.
The Prayers in The Philippines, by the Filipinos
are what has been putting earthquakes and tsunamis to shame.
My grandmothers have been through worse,
what's a little bit of motion and shake?


The Prayers in The Philippines, by the Filipinos
are what has been keeping this country a curse and a miracle;
why we have mountains that we have today,
why and how they're shaped that way.
Despite the chaos of politics, corruption and news of crimes...
Why we have oceans that are bright blue
and how they could make a weary traveler or a desolate native feel brand new.
Despite the familiar dangers and age-old stereotypes...


The Prayers in The Philippines, by the Filipinos
are what has been holding Filipinos together,
be it with each other or to fight through another day for much longer.
The Prayers in The Philippines, by the Filipinos
are what has been keeping this country ever magical and mystical,
even if some days it's harder to feel that way.
The Prayers in The Philippines, by the Filipinos
are the reason why I'm here, why I exist,
why I'm alive and kicking,
full of dreams and spite and hope, writing,
the reason why I'm full of life, full of love
and will keep on living and loving.


I will live and die saying my prayers
in The Philippines,
as a Filipino,
for The Philippines
and for other Filipinos.

There was once a haunted tree,
not feared by many, in fact,
only by that of a young spinster.
But of five and twenty,
liked by many, however,
only a few were ever called her lover.

Until she met a man that felt like an army,
like hundreds of men marching,
whose loyalty was sworn for her beauty.
Until one man felt like a war waging,
yet like a calm ocean breeze blowing
and like marching silently into the dark sea.

Until there came the lover whose laughter
felt like an ache from a life long gone,
whose smiles felt like gunshots.
Until there was he who felt like home,
yet as distant as the tides are to the moon
and as untouchable as a silky thunderbolt.

There was a tree the spinster holds dear,
so close to her ever yearning heart.
This tree, she likens to that of her lover.
whose branches threatens to fall on her,
bears fruits that if they choose to plummet,
someone is to get hurt and it would be her.

And then there was a legend that this tree,
that was once a fruit of another host
that was fabled to be haunted.
But before the tales of horrors and shrieks,
it was abundant, it was the guide to the lost,
until it was axed, hunted as needed.

All of this tree's fruits turned to be of toxins,
opposing the townspeople's songs of praises.
All its branches grew webs upon cleaving,
challenging the tales of awes and delight.
All of which except for one, a golden fruit,
the root's promise and hope of the fallen.

What the preachers say could be of truth,
their words she avoided could be gospel.
What the non-believers say could be a tale,
their rumors could save her from demise.
What if the tree is just as rotten as the root,
what if it is indeed the produce from hell?

"I dream of the day I would see the flowers bloom in Palestine", says an ally.
"I dream of the day I would see the flowers again",
cries an old lady from Palestine
"I dream of the day I would see Palestine",
prays a refugee in a faraway country
"I dream of the day when I would not dream and pray that there would be another day for Palestine",
screams a little child in Palestine


And the sun is the witness
The sun knows it all,
it has watched, witnessed and waited...


I dream of the day I would see the flowers bloom in Palestine!
From the bullets bored through little children's ribs,
to the bloodied blouses hanging in the clothesline.

I dream of the day I would see flowers again!
From the people's laughters and childish ease,
to the tears and pain I can't even begin to imagine.

I dream of the day I would see Palestine!
From the river, in the desert, in the colorful markets,
to the sea, in the beach, taking our sweet sweet time.

I dream of the day when I would not dream and pray that there would be another day for Palestine!
Because there would only be days of freedom!
Only for the children, for Gaza, mothers, fathers, doctors, soldiers, every Palestinian!
Days that are theirs!
Days and endless days are all there is!
And it is all theirs!


And the sun is the judge and the jury
The sun grants it,
the justice for every injury, freedom for every perjury...

And God forbid I get asked again,
"And what do you bring to the table?"
This time, my answer would be; "nothing!"
I have no worth without doing anyone favors,
I have no price without a pretty face,
I have no tags without brains,
I have no name without money,
I have no face without ***,
I have no place without favors.
I have no fame without sacrifices.
So leave me alone!
I don't even wish to sit at your table.
I don't even let myself dream about it.
Don't ask me no questions!
I don't even want to be in your vicinity.
I don't even want you back in my city.

I have crossed seas,
treaded rocks and island.
To find the truth I seek,
and that in your eyes I found.
The truth they so speak,
is it the effect or the cause?
The truth they so praise,
all in faith and love and your loss.
The truth you deny to preach,
are you afraid I will be lost?
The truth you refuse to grace,
turned to hate and war and my triumph.
I have stepped on all of sands,
tripped on all kinds of rocks.
As petrified as wood are my hands,
you'll never touch nor wrap on your ****.
As fortified as the cold mountain is my heart,
you never broke it, not even set it ablaze.
While you trip on your bed like it's hard,
you'll never find me there because it's late.

My love, I will be here.
I will be here on nights that all you wanna do is cry and all I wanna do is watch you because I enjoy seeing you in pain.
If I could only take more pain possible and let it wreck you from the inside out every night, I would.
I will be with you on days that feels like weeks
and I will try to make the days feel like years instead.
If I could only shove the sun aside and bring forth darkness to your daylight, I would.
I will stay and sit with you through the dark
so I can make sure that you wouldn't find the switch before I do. The only light you'll ever need is the one you'll see in the end of my wrath's tunnel.
I will protect you until the end
from finding your happiness. You are safe enough inside the cage of my pain,
I will not let go of you,
where do you think you'll go other than here in our bed of daggers made from your remorse and my resentment?
I will hold you closer with the strongest grip of my now unable hand everytime.

There's nothing you can ever do to lose me,
as much as there's nothing I can ever do to love and trust you again.
Being with you, I knew I've brought this upon myself.
Messing with me, you never knew you're gonna see this coming, knocking you from your senses.

Through the gloom and in bloom,
for worse and for the worst,
for richer and for poorer
In sickness and in madness,
to hate and wait for you to perish
everyday we'll crush each other's hearts
I promise even death won't keep us apart.

💍

You know it, and you know it well.
Do I really have to say it? Hell.
I'll get straight to the point;
I am the obvious choice.
You can’t shake me, I’m your joint;
before you sleep, I’m that little voice.
Do you really have others anyway?
And if you do, are there really
better options, by the way?
Are there any other poems on your desk?
And if there are, are they actually
sent and written by the best?
So do I really have to say it?
You already know it.
No matter the language,
the truth simply drips from your lips.
You can’t escape me, I’m your missing rib;
before you go, kiss me as you pull my hips.
I’m the wave that rips.
I’m the edge of the cliff.
I’m the winning manuscript.
You know it, and you know it well.

From my past job
To my previous love
From every cancelled flight
To my concert crowd fright
From car parking overtimes
To cutting into bank lines

I bless and I thank all of you
for my trauma on tickets!

Liquid to lips, waffles to wine,
every day feels like slowed down time.
Kisses that ****, breakfasts like bomb,
with every minute, I grow even more numb.
Winter may lie, summer far,
every breath is a dagger to my heart.
The heat may cry, cold so sore,
every step is a crash on the shore.
Before my hair grows longer,
count them.
Before my sword tattoos fade,
disarm them.
Before I grow weary in waiting,
caress me.
Before I get older and fading,
help me.
Before I lock myself again,
find me.
Before I let my heart go,
love me.

When the hues of red turns purple,
that’s when you drink the wine.
When music is anything but loud,
that’s when you know it’s time.
Like prickly thorns must kiss
the tender petals goodbye.
Like little spiders must bid
their web of safety farewell.
Red to blue to yellow then white,
that’s when you wave and smile.
Loud to mellow to static then blank,
that’s your cue to go and never look back.

I have no time to pray
For instead I must work, cry, eat,
all these prayers, I cannot say anyway.
I have to work for the things
that I want and need
instead of praying and waiting for them,
I have to cry so I can work again for the things I really need
and silence my cries and dry my tears with the things I want then,
I have to eat so I can do it all over again
instead of praying to get warm food on my plate
or fresh sheets on my bed.
So tell me
Where do I find the time?
Where do I look for more?
Do I pray for more time too?
And if so, when do I find the time to pray
to God for more time?
If God doesn't sleep, then I am a God too.
And even if I'm restless,
I still have no time to pray.
And even if I have rest,
when does that happen anyway?
I have no time to pray, to rest
or God forbid, play. You jest.
For instead I must work, cry or eat.
When I'm on my deathbed,
probably then I'll have time to pray.

9 pm in Cubao,
It was only my second bottle, but how come I can't recall whether I left the house just an hour ago?
Ah, I wanted to escape from the chaos that is the metro.
But I loathe this particular place, so why here again?
The record stores were even shut like they'll never open doors again.
That's another magical thing about vintage shops—they look hopeless except they're everything but.
But I'm half grateful, at least one less memory of this place are shut closed, too.
Though I am less woeful, knowing this is not just another equally less woeful night.
After the last bottle, I blew the city a kiss, bracing myself for the unfamiliar ride.
I've stopped counting the months in which I've been dying to see the sun rise by the beach and not by the concrete jungles of BGC.
I softly let go of all my uncertainties,
but holding onto the excitement firmly.
Oh, I can't wait much longer for the ocean breeze.