You are One in a million
But a million in one
It's what I want

Yet you are nowhere to be found

Tears were blooming like roses,
Born from the roots of pain, stemming from eyes,
And those eyes, had irises of thorns,
brown and sharp,
And those tears, were falling on cheeks,
Like petals,

With a fragrance that everyone could understand.

bleeding emotions isn’t my fort

but sometimes these wounds of mine

open deep into the bone.

there’s a splinter stuck in my heart

I can’t pull it out no matter what

I say, God, oh God, help me heal

All I hear is “healing happens from within.”

Yet here i am suturing scars

While wounds remain untouched, left alone

As you see, bleeding emotions isn’t my fort

hence the why,

these wounds of mine have yet to **** me

you see

On the waterway,
a white heron watches clouds;
And while passing by,
a couple see the water;
reflect over the heron.





L.L.

Oh come forth, speak to me my Lord,
I need to hear your words,
For them to guide me to you world.
I need to hear your voice,
For me to follow you, my lord.

I'm just a woman dressed in shame.
Undress me, lord.
See my nakedness with innocence,
And cloth me, lord.
Enwrap me in your mantle of love.

The only thing I know is that
we, all, are broken
even before the moment we are born

And as we grow, it's as if,
with every passing day,
the pieces that will put us back together,
gathered up slowly,
awaiting for the moment
when we finally complete the picture
of who exactly is this Me

Do you know why you love her poems so much?
Because just like you, she is a beginner,
There isn't much quality in her poems for you to chew,
She feeds her readers purée,
Yum, no doubt,
But I as a reader prefer to chew
And put these teeth of mine
to some used

I wanted to be,
just to be...

and I was.

But I was
not what I wanted to be;
a little bee,
buzz and buzz,
flying,
in search of a flower,
with the nectar,
with the saccharine sweetness
of a kiss,
that'll help me make honey,
sweet honey,
out of this life,

I live.

But instead,
I was the flower,
with colorful petals,
in a garden full with trees,
that blossom in happiness
and eventually,
was found
by a bee

My mom thinks I am depressed.
She thinks I'm sad beyond measure.
But I don't think I am.
Yet, sometimes, I think, I might as well be.

After all, since the moment I was born
I'm like the ground
feeling people's steps and weight on my shoulders
( even when they don't walk directly on me.)

I mean, I'm just like the ground
that can't do anything to lift people's worries out of them
They take care of me but I remain floored,
fixed to the idea that I am just me...

a ground
that don't have feet to walk  a  life of its own.

a ground
that don't have hands to build a world to live peacefully.

but then, I think, "No, I'm not a ground.
I'm a human with feet and hand.
I'm a human with a heart and mind.
I'm a human capable of creating a beautiful life"

But then I remember again that I'm depressed,
And I can't stop thinking that I am like the ground:
depressing as I feel people's steps and weight on my shoulders
( even when they don't walk directly on me),
drowning in this depression as I let people's problems rain on me

And I began to depress a lot more...

Until I realize that this depression, has made me gain depth.

a woman at church
with rosary in hands lights the room
like votive candles

a wild rose
flowers thorns
on a stem

He pedal till the petals fell...
Everyday, he'd pedal to his yard
To water the plants and make the greens stand out
But ever time he came to his yard
He watered the plants
But he never saw behind his back.

Thus he pedal till the petals fell
And until then
While looking at the road,
He saw the petals and realized
that I was the flower on his back.

His life.

Sweet nothing, there's nobody,
Just a hollow vague and vast void
An eternal wound opening up
Bleeding out pain,
And not leaving a time to form a scar
Right here, in this chest

Sweet nothing, that's how my eyes look,
Like staring into oblivion,
lost, gazing into a wall, a concrete block,
That blocks the streets where people pass by,
Brick by brick, building up dreams,
Blocking out reality,
Forming a facade of fantasies,
where light is visible only by climbing these dreams,
And I lost the strenght,
I feel tired, gazing into a wall,
like staring into oblivion, forgetting how it feels to see,
beyind this wall

Sleep has always been a part of me
I sleep even in my dreams,
Though sometimes sleep is hard to do
when responsibilities affect sleep
Regardless I dream to sleep and close my eyes
I simply want to just sleep day and night.

Too often too soon
I swam towards the deepest part of the sea
But I retreated like a boat
beign pushed back into the shores
by the same tides
that once pushed me towards you

I threw letters at a sheet of paper
as if they were darts
aiming towards the center of the readers heart
But I never had a good aim

All the letters targeted my heart.

Too thin to break
Too thin to be
Like a piece of paper
I wanted to be

With lines on me
With lines on me

So I could speak without having to think
So I could speak as if someone wrote phrases in me

But I'm too thin, too thin to break
That when i speak without having to think
Like a piece of paper, I'm blown away
And soon, I find me blank
With nothing written on my mind.
And I start to think, I start to think
Until I am too thin, too thin to break

And I break, oh I break

into little pieces... And that's my end.

I came to be nothing but a shell
swayed by ocean waves
to and fro, to and fro,
landing on a shore, close to palms, and the sun

Dec 1, 2015

If by chance the hands of time
has shaken my hands with blessings,
I would greet anyone
with a handshake

But if by chance the hands of time
have embraced me with compassion
I would embrace anyone
who needs of that compassion

Yet if by chance the hands of time
has touched me with love
I would love everyone
But I would not touch all


Of that I'm sure

Be you but not the you
Everyone wants you to be
Rather the you
that makes you feel at peace
The one that pushes you to climb towards mountains of progress
And never towards a cliff of failure,
where you could find yourself on the edge of madness,
losing your head, and while at it, your sanity,
But hey,
be mindful that while you climb towards success, your foot may slipped with the rocks that get on your way, that isn't failure, it's just a slip and nothing else...

Remember be yourself

May be the stars were out of my reach,
exactly how you used to preach
But their light guided my dreams

in fields of roses sweet, I swirl
the petals soft, caress me so
yet often times, i bleed

i bleed.

the thorns are thick, my skin is thin

i faint.

the sun awakes me nonetheless
the rain hydrates me, I could care less
these clouds opaque my view, it seems

in fields of roses sweet, i swirl

i bleed.

I dreamt I was a bench
where people sat to see:
the sun afar the road
the trees that grew so tall
the sprinkles turning on
the grasses going green
and overall,
dear nature moving them
as I remained unmoved
just standing there
with all their weight
rested only on me.

Love,

Call me today, tomorrow, or the next one
Call me in a week, a month, or a year
I'll wait,
But call me.

I'll be a telephone line, a wire to your voice, a speaker in your cellphone,

I'll be.

I'll be just waiting for a dial. Then  if I find it. I'll be just waiting for you to dial: the numbers in my heart, the combinations that makes this connections connects us both, so I may listen to your voice without you saying a single word....

But call me

Love.

While walking for a long time, I saw a field with roses,
All sort of roses,
Colorful, whites and pinks,
And reds,
And all sort of roses,
With and without thorns,
And I, mesmerized by their beauty, stopped my walked

Right into the garden of roses,
To meet love,
To meet the love that'll inspire me to live
To meet the love that'll be the fuel to help me keep walking.

poetry
You pull out of me Wisdom
As if I were a wisdom tooth.
And you?
the dentist who pulls me out
to become
Who I'm truly meant to be

Not another cavity in the mouth of earth that causes pain

The old though wrinkled
are far more flexible in thought
than the young,
they may not stretch physically,
But mentally,
They stretch, slash,
exercise their mind, as the days go on.

This doesn't apply to everyone,
But just a few or some,
And to those, that this apply to,
Maybe old yet wiser than the young.

All I know is that when depression slaps me,
It slaps me hard.
Yet I just turn the other cheek around,
Until it slaps me one more time,
Then I slap it back,
Twice as hard, just to knock it out.
To Leave it unconscious for a while.

Do you find the light too bright?
Even though, it's midnight?
Can you see how brigh it shines?
Up above in the starry sky?

I have seen the road to Mars
As I sat upon a car
I could see how far away
those stars led the way

There are planets like some trees
that grow, and grow, so green!
And that make the universe
look youthful and serene.

There are other planets too
that become like a bomb
that tick and tock
like time often does

As if time was
trapped inside a clock
- just tick and tock --
Hammering with rhythm
Non-stop.
To break the lock
To free Himself,
with no apparent luck.

But every tick
And every tock
It can be heard by People
Who stick
their ears
to the clock
Just following the rhythm
Not knowing how free
Their time
Without making it explode!

In a room, a girl read the bible
eagerly, so eagerly to learn the truth

curtains opened up
the sun shone through
the night fell

the girl continued reading, reading
non stop
non stop

until the truth was found not in the verses
not in the prose

but in her soul.

it happens ever so often,
I stop writing for a day
and it feels like it has been a month
that I haven't written at all,

so when I try to write again,

nothing creative seems to come out of me.

I become an introvert,
an introvert who introspects
about life and death,
who likes to think about thoughts
and the rarity of those thoughts
who would love to know about isaac netwon
and the way,
he communicated with God

ah... religion.

I never truly knew about religion
every man seem the same

I was naive,
I'm naive

I ve been told you are genuine
but
hey

i write about what I comes to mind
to heart
to soul

and that's that

okay.

I may have forgotten why I wrote
But it was something related to
Spiritual growth

The more I typed my thoughts
the more I learnt about life
And the more I realized
that thoughts are not necessarily
what define us

It is the actions we take
Independent of our thoughts
That define who we are

Thoughts can be simulations
of reality
That allow us to see into the future

but they can also be
memories that help us Relive
the pass

.......

I was hiding in a pen,
held by a hand,
And as the hand used me,
I was the words
that the hand wrote:

Fresh,
Then dried,

But Still, I was me,

the ink.

I must say,
A part of my soul was left behind,
in the many places where the hand wrote.
And as the hand wrote, in many places,
my lifespan shorten more and more.

Until all that was left of me
Was my vessel, the pen,
the body, that the hand held,

With so much love,

And the parts of me that were left behind,

That weren't tossed into the trash.

Walking upon these sidewalks,
Surrounded by pines and by a road
where cars pass by,
I wonder if you were here,
Would you walk upon these sidewalks,
Or would you drive that road
where cars pass by...
As if there was no time for a walk?

Love, love, love.
You see...
It's a bird flying and flying,
landing then flying
just flying then landing
this bird of love.
It spreads its wings,
It soars.
It flies.
This bird of love.

It's free to come and go,
And goes and comes,
But it never leaves
the skies it soars.

Oh This bird of love,
it soars and soars,
And lands, and flies,
in the skies and grounds,
of this earth
that is my home.

Oh yes, this bird of love
It loves this earth
That is my home.
With no condition
It flies and soars,
Whether warm or cold,
Regardless of the weather
This bird of love
Just loves
This earth
That is my home.

Whether I'll write or not,
it's not the question
for I wish to write today
tomorrow,
and the day that follows

The question is
whether I'll have time
today, or tomorrow,
or if I'll be here to write
the day that follows

No one knows.

Everyday before dusk turns to dawn,
I read a couple of poems in my bed time,
I also write a couple of poems before I close my eyes,
and I arrived to a possible conclusion that...

It is the silence of the night:
the muse that speaks in lullabies,
and seduces me to write,
even when the contents of the poems have nothing to do with my life.
I feel posses. In a trance.
As if am dancing in a dream
where words are the waltz:
the music that moves me into his arms.
that makes me gaze into his eyes.
as if we were in a ballroom.
Dressed in metaphors.
Highlighted by the moon.
Gyrating with our thoughts.
Having the night of our lives,

just dancing him and I
Just dancing our way out

into the world where poetry is alive.

2015

Okay, I won't say what my eyes saw
I won't say what my ears heard
But I would say what my heart felt
And I would speak what my soul feels today
---

A road, again, walked on and on
This road leads to a world
Where thoughts stream seamlessly
Towards the radiance of the sun

And I walk, step by step,
Often distracted by the signs,
I encounter as I walk

But many times, I keep on going on
without caring about
the signs I encountered,
I ignored them through
And I just see ahead upon the road
The scenery itself that I leave behind
And i keep walk onwards

This road is endless
It seems it has no end

But I walk and walk on it
I walk it with my words
Sometimes I feel breathless
And take a break
Upon the sidewalk,
Until I start to walk again
Towards a journey I cannot explain

But my souls feels like an explorer
Like I have discovered the greatest lands
Where pastures abound, greens everywhere!
Waterfalls falling, rivers flowing,
Eagles flying up up above in the sky
So much beauty,
That I can only feel but not write.

The waters of the seas I wandered in,
seemed calm, the shores sounded peaceful,
I yearned to walk in their sands.

But I floated between waves that lulled me into sleep,
And I floated between waves that moved me into tears,

But now, I know I have deviated from my path
I must searched for a northern star
I need to be guided
onto the right path

And for that,
I mustn't walk on the sands of the shores I once yearned to walk.

Are you a thorn or are you not?
You sting my stress away with just a touch,
But also make my head to bleed a thought
that you and I belong as such...

as if we were some kind of rose.

Not long ago you said I was the stem,
the one from whom you fed and grew to show
that you and I belong as such....
as if we were some kind of rose





the one who feeds then grows and shows
The two of us ....

In progress..

I feel as lonely as the stool in the kitchen
no one speaks, there are no lights,
Everyone sits on the sofa including the kitten
Not even the dog barks.

And if I had known
that like lighting you would strike my home
I would have flee into another land
just to secure the lives of those
whom I love

but if I had known
that like rain you would flood my love
I would have gone to the highest peak
this planet of ours has

yet if I had known
that like a river in a desert
you would evaporate from my life
I would have been a desert
all along

a lamp on a room-
with a switch, turns the lights on,
now on the kitchen

Dear God,

Through my guardian angel
Send to me the knowledge
Send to me the cure
That I may hear within its whispers
How to achieve peace

I was like a wheel rolling,
Just rolling
Moving
Your feelings
My feelings
Till we got upset stomachs
No more butterflies
fluttering in our hearts,
just sick
from all this rolling
Just sick
from all the moving

So i stop rolling
So I stop moving you

And that was it

Creativity is nothing out of the ordinary
It's like drinking water
A couple of liters throughout the day
Working,
Exercising,
Going for a walk
Feeling the wind against our skin;
Sweating
Then arriving home.
Preparing a hot meal. Cleaning.
Showering.
Then off to bed
That's how creativity is

Tiring ourselves with the routine,
Until while relaxed
The ideas start to flow
As if they were a dream

Two cents in pockets,
a cell, some cigarettes,
I was walking my way.

It was two a.m. in my dreams.
The boulevards where covered by dusk
and dust,
plus a scent of lust
perfumed
my skin

I kept walking,
head held high towards the moon,
Stepping the streets to the rhythm
of a peculiar tune,
Well known,
It was a Christmas carol,
the jingles and Bells,

"Where is santa Clause?"

Arrived soon at home.
To awake,

I cry! Oh cry on arms so warm
on limbs that pull me up but also
push me down
I cry! Oh cry on eyes so blind
on ears so deaf
on lips so mute
to me
to me

I breathe in. I breathe out.
I don't seem to understand life.
I'm sleepier than ever.
I crave a place to rest.
But I'm young. Younger than most.
Yet I feel old. Tired.
Rusty of living. But I'm happy.
I'm content with what I have.
I have Nothing yet everything I need.

Though sometimes I crave more
of what I don't need,
For instance, more sleep.
But I had enough, I should awake
And live my life

For out there, there is a place to enjoy.
And I have everything I need,
Yet nothing to lose.

What am I waiting for?