i am forever
stuck
in a flurry of words
while you hurry out
of my
book

and i realize
you
are not
a protagonist
i've made up
in my head and heart

i can only do so much
as to write about you
and make believe
that you were once
beside me
that i'm trying to read
a book that's incomplete

i lost my words
when
i
lost
you

[2:05a.m.]

reality hits you. no, it kisses you a good night. but you can not forget it.

it can not leave your head-- the way he held your hand, or rather the way you grasped onto his;

the way you tried to speak but panicked, or rather the way your mind figured out a thousand ways to freeze that moment in time;

the way he looked at you, or rather, the way his look was just like any other look he gave to the previous and to the next.

it was inevitable. you knew this day would come. you would thank him with no words but just that grasp on his hand, that he made you realize that you have learned to love and can love a person this much. you know you will continue to love him, but not in the same way, and he definitely won't be the person you will love as much as right now.

and the time has finally concluded: he isn't the one for you.

today my friend's best friend died
and i really empathized with her

Her best friend was
Charming
       brave
Affectionate
       smart
Lively
       gigantic
Versatile
       playful
Innocent
       silly
Noisy

And he was one of the best, someone whom she could lean on, someone who would cheer her up with a cuddle.

It hurts to lose a dog. A big, furry cream colored friend, with a big loving heart.

It's true that a dog loves you much more than himself. And you could see it in their eyes when you give them food or stroke their bellies.

This fuzzy feeling of friendship will never be forgotten.

(My) Dear(est) Romeo,
I pray that hopefully, right now, you’re living peacefully and doing your best in everything. Truthfully, I wish that we could meet sooner, maybe around this week or on my birthday, or perhaps on a memorable date like Christmas or New Year’s Day. I can’t wait to see you and spend time with you, going on cheesy dates where we exchange lame puns, go on food and road trips, play sports and camp under the stars. I beg of you not to kiss any girl before we meet because I am saving myself for you, besides the fact that I am an envious and possessive person, so please be careful unless you want to end up in my collection of bitter poems. Right now and in the future, you must know that you and our future are the inspiration to why I do my best in everything I do, and I hope it goes the same for you. Please understand when it comes to the time that my career in the future will consume most of my attention, and I’ll understand your priorities as well, so don’t get mad when we ignore each other for a while—it will be good because the distance will remind us how much we miss each other. I hope you seek God the way I seek Him and believe that He would connect our threads one day, in His time. I know there are so many questions you ask and answers you want to know, but please remember to live one day at a time and at its fullest. Enjoy what’s around you at this moment—when the time comes that we meet, I promise to cherish every moment we’ll have together. But for now, let us live well and follow God’s will for us, so I’ll be seeing you soon.
Yours truly,
(Your) Juliet

Tell me, are you a library, full of stories?
Are you a collection of fiction and fact that no arms could contain or no minds that could grasp?
I look into your eyes and I get a glimpse of the catalogs and genres which you keep within you.
You must have had your fair share of history; that is one textbook I want to study and memorize by heart.
Do you think I can be the one to take care of you?
I want to keep you a classic and as a monument in this era of advancing technology.
I will clear the dusty parts of your heart and wipe the slippery surface of your crying face.
I will caress every page you own and help restore the words you've been trying to preserve.
I may not be the one who found you first but I will be the one to stay by your side, until the day either of us crumbles.
So let me check your books out and let me return to you so very often.
Let me call you my favorite place and my second home.

howling at the moon,
in the deep cold of the night.
the lone wolf lurks around,
expressing its only fright.

it cries out for company,
but all he gets
is the wind.

blood runs cold,
fur collects frost,
a hush falls onto his lips

this is the lone wolf's silencing,
and silence he shall keep.

to rendezvous, has finally come
she stares ahead, he softly hums
discreetly awaiting the moment
their eyes lock upon each other
the same goes for their hands
he reaches out to her again,
but this time in the flesh
she responds to him
and their heartbeats match
now two separate dreams
have merged into
one fulfilled reality
what used to be him and her,
is now them

Scatter the glitters
onto the velvet sky;
I'll pull it over me
like a blanket,
Kiss in patterns
of a soft good night;
Willingly,
I'll embrace it.
Knowing your hands
made it to keep me
warm and safe;
Dreaming of you,
the Night-Quilt Maker,
to whom, my love I gave.

Once upon a time,
in a land faraway,
lived an Oreo biscuit.

Everyone judged him--
he was black on the outside,
and white on the in.
He thought he would
never ever fit in.

Now in that land of biscuits,
where most were brown,
they all thought Oreo's
the strangest in town.

But little did they know
he was the favorite of the lot.
For in the human world,
his kind was the most bought.

Everyone learned to love him,
even the Fita guy.
But he told Oreo,
"Don't trust humans;
you won't want to know why."

But the Oreo boy,
he was a curious one.
He thought he needed to enjoy,
go out and have fun.

Later that night,
someone grabbed him, behold--
fear glazed over Oreo's eyes
over what he was told.

He was twisted and dunked
in milk till he drowned.
Then broken forever
and his life was summed.

For whatever Fita said,
it became so true.
Whatever happened to Oreo
Hopefully, won't happen to you.

A little grin peeks out almost unnoticeable; an introduction, as the letters wax and take shape. Slippery from the thoughts, dripping and solidifying on paper. The wonderland of words has been entered.

2. A silver half of a plate, a yellow half of the nocturnal sun, an inked half of the paper. Imbalanced but semi-complete, words written halfway were still wholely thought of.

3. Midnight's peak is the best time to write. The full moon rises as the keyword is written. Clear as a mirror to reflect the emotion desired.

4. The ink is now running out, with the poem waning. It's coming to a close, growing into farewell's small smile. The process may be ending but the life of the product has just begun.

5. With the final curtain call of clouded skies and emptied minds, the poem is finished. The new moon take its place in the lives of people, invisible to the eye but fully felt with their hearts.

Her writings overflowed with emotion,
But she herself was an empty shell.
She took it as a precaution,
That true love is never felt.

She killed everyone with her words,
But she herself is immortal.
And so this she hated herself for it,
Even if she earns the poet label.

Then she suddenly met him,
To which her poems were given life.
But to still feel helpless and cold,
She just wanted to die.

But he never let her go,
Her leaving as much as she tried to,
He sought to bring back life into her arms,
To bring me back to you.

i. We are lost stars,
A thousand of us falling freely
From and into the sky.
Seeking to disperse and find
Ourselves in the orbits of love;
Looking for a place to settle down:
Is it on this planet of blues?--
Still an aimless pursuit of home?
We are the nomads of the empyrean;
The stars of the earth.

ii. For us to chance upon them,
Those called quasars,
We are drawn in by their light.
Making us touched by the lunar,
Kissed by the solar,
And struck by the stellar;
We're ****** into the vortex of their eyes,
Where a thousand other burst stars loom.
This is it, this is the final big bang;
This is where galaxies form and live anew,
With them, the meaning of space--
The quasars of the ether.

iii. On some days,
In our states of cosmic haze and daydreams,
We sit on Saturn's rings
With our legs dangling on the edge for the thrill of it,
And we watch the universe pass us by like clouds.
Although we are light years away
From such unfathomable quasars,
Their pull is strong enough to tug
At our fragile little hearts.
And although at times it may hurt,
We let our hearts ignite like supernovas,
We let our tears flow like space dust,
So that our love breaks into pieces
Of comets and shooting stars
That fall into our hands like petals,
For every existing matter to see.
And we hold these things of space,
Of celestial bodies falling into place:
To give them to the quasars of the ether,
From us, the stars of the earth

You can run
But you can never hide
From all the tears
And fears you hold inside

Now who is lost
No longer can be found
You made your way down
Three-sixty degress around

Save yourself
It's unreachable
That string of hope
You won't be pulled

What to do
Why are you here
The reluctant hero
It's you, you fear

People label me as one of those very observant ones they have ever met in their lives. Whatever I think about others, is close enough to ninety percent of the truth (not to judge, of course).

And it is also truth that those who laugh the most, cry the most. I guess this also applies to those very positive people, who are the most negative in their heads or they've also been through the most negative incidents.

There is a certain boy, a young man, who just entered the twenties stage of life. I observe and read him, and I have been doing this for the past eight months.

He is quiet, he is kind, he is a very bright person who looks out for others, probably too much. He is smart and has attended top schools and won several competitions in the martial arts, as well as performing and fine arts. A very artistic soul, quite opposed to his rather playful countenance; though beauty is displayed in all his capabilities and striking features. Even the way he speaks is soothing and gentle, and I admit I would sleep to it and regret how his voice is too nice to be literally slept on.

I know a part of his painful past with the spinal tuberculosis accident or the fact when he couldn't enter his dream art school. And perhaps, a darker part of his history that is unknown except by him and his close ones.

But I can see it, I can see it on his face, in his actions and some of his words: sometimes he tries to get attention by doing unnecessary or silly things; says the weirdest of phrases; he gets tired and there's this certain feeling lurking in his gaze. He always looks like he's looking for something, for someone. He always looks like he is wondering about everything and anything. He even looks lost or frustrated on some occasions.

Honestly, a Sadness Collector knows when another is nearby or in sight. I am one, and I know he is another. He always wants people to depend on him or for them to think that he is alright. It's not so bad, but I wish he would rest his little fragile heart that can only take so much of others' sadness. He still has his own sadness to keep under all of that. I want him to give some of it to me that the burden and tears may be shared between us, and he can live a little lighter.

But I love him, because he is a different Sadness Collector. He always cheers others up and tries to help. He always compliments others. He is always willing to learn the right way, to go out and do his best. This Sadness Collector doesn't deserve to be one; he deserves to collect happiness instead.

Although there are times when his friends say that he is quieter that usual, and a bit less active. He says he usually sleeps it off and feels better when he awakes after. He says he rarely gets stressed but when he does, it's a whole different thing and only he knows how his own mind can destruct his built-up facade of confidence. Maybe he gets too quiet at times because he thinks he might make a mistake again. He may appear very vain and very confident, but I'm afraid it might all just be an image that he's painted of himself for everyone around him to see.

His music taste is very much like mine. He shared some alternative music, but as soon as I heard the melody and read the lyrics, it doubled as a small cry of distress.

I’m actually very beautiful when the world is pitch-black
The most I’ll get is being consumed when I try to love
The trouble is irrelevant
It doesn’t matter what’s wrong

If only I can be flattered just like you do
Then the torment around me will perhaps die out
I’m not concerned about how many chances I get
As fearless as a giant; indulging myself; however I’m no match

Ugly, don’t turn the lights on
The love I want is haunted on the pitch-black stage
Ugly, in this ambiguous time
My existence is like an accident

Some look beautiful after a drop of tear
Some just throw away their name
As long as you are hypocritical enough you won’t be afraid of anything, right?
If the script is written well, who will be more dignified?
I can only silently face the beautiful innocence
There are many chances for desire to become drowning in alcohol
Like the fearlessness of dust
Becoming ash, who will remember who
Who cares if he’s a match

Ugly, you won’t blame them if you get used to it
Get high and stomp on it with strength
Ugly, this is our time
It would actually be a shock if I don’t exist

Oh, how I want to embrace him every time I think of him listening to that song. As emotional human beings, we pay attention to such lyrics more often than not, that reflect the listener's or our emotions. Maybe he thinks he lacks in many, many ways. It is normal for him to think so. But I hope he doesn't dwell on it. He likes this anime show that I watch, too. That show, though, is a sad one which shows the masks of society and the gore of the past behind every flawless present.

He is a very trustworthy friend; a funny guy who is "in love" with himself; a talented individual who loves people and language; an artist of most arts, as well as an art himself. And as much as I say that I want to be the one who collects his sadness or whom he shares his load of sadness with, sometimes I doubt he will ever let me.

I feel like I can no longer do anything anymore for him because he is the one who has already collected mine.

I suppose
I feel
that it is possible for soulmates
to feel each other's sadness
if so
then I want to cut the thread between us
so my soulmate won't feel mine
but I don't want to cut it either
because I would want to feel theirs
and lighten it with them

But I guess that
there is always certain sacrifice
we have to make
to find our other halves
to complete ourselves

"I think it is entirely possible to find solace and joy in the smallest of things," she says.
He narrows his already-****** eyes at her out of curiosity."What makes you say so?"
She takes a deep breath and he lies his head on her lap, both knowing that this would be another long conversation, no, a retelling of the story of how she fell in love with him.
"Just to see you wake up, you're alive. How your eyes smile, conveying more emotions than your mouth. Your hands, I know they talk comfort when you grasp mine. Don't even get me started on your talents, they're what make you you. And your heart, in its simplest form, is pure with sincerity when you do what you love." She stops there and he looks up to her, waiting for more. But she knows she can't blurt it all at one go. It would be too much for her to say, and too much for him to comprehend.
"So is that our story?" He continues to stare up at her. She could sense a hint of discontent. It was equal to reading a book that's unfinished, that nervous anticipation for the author to release the sequel.
But instead of feeling guilty for making him feel that way, she laughed and tugged at his hair. "Why would you want me to tell you the ending? We're still a story incomplete, even if we're complete with just each other. And I don't think we'll ever have an ending."

i try to find
those things that
hold me close to you

they hold our memories
and they make me feel
like you're holding me

i'm holding onto you
but i still feel like falling
just like my tears
that i can't hold back much longer
and they fall onto the things
in a paint-splattered manner

we started a painting
when we met.
i was the artist,
and you weren't,
but i was okay with that.
you painted carelessly,
and i cleared up all your mistakes.
it was a beautiful portrait,
and i was beyond ecstasy.
but one day,
i guess you became tired.
holding brushes
and painting in blotches and strokes,
you decided to stop,
you quit and left me there.
i watched you walk out of the painting,
i watched you walk out of my life.
so then, very slowly
i grew more tired on my own.
from colors, to monochromatic.
from rainbow to black and white.
our painting turned dull.
one day, i ended it all,
never touching a single brush.
i never finished the painting.
how would i,
when inspiration is gone?
and only you,
were my inspiration.

In the vision of your eyes
I want to know what you see
Because every time i stare into them
It's not the reflection of me

But the widest of universes
Where stars are born
And gas clouds swirl
Suns and moons shine

All i see are worlds
Where in every one
You are mine

And just like a picture frame
that holds a precious memory,
I looked at you through my car window,
Hoping you'll remember me.

That's what happens in photographs—
You're frozen in time.
And the next thing I knew,
I was saying goodbye.

Do I know
Who I am on my own
Before I've met
Any other I have known?

I wonder why
I lived from the moment I knew you.
When you become more of you,
I become more of me
Since we are a part of each other,
Even if we were born separated.
You may be there
And I may be here;
But if you weren't there
I wouldn't be able to define where I would be.
I will never stop longing for you;
How can I, with this string between us
Feeling so short
That you've pulled me closer
With just your little finger?
Yet it is never enough
As the void widens every time night falls alone;
Still, along with my heart.
We will touch,
No matter how far or long it takes:
When the moon completes;
When the clock hands meet;
When the rain freezes in heat.
Do you understand?
Maybe you don't,
But you do in a parallel world.
It is that I can only exist
When I know that you do.

The most tragic story isn't the one written by Shakespeare
or Hans Christian Andersen

It is not about Romeo, Juliet and their forbidden love, dying together

Nor a man, a mermaid and their impossibility to live for each other

It is about a writer and a reader:
Where the writer has written down, in every language, every realistic & imaginable word & emotion for the world
But the reader doesn't even have a chance to read them

The most tragic story is about the reader who can not read, and in the end, the writer who will not write

The most tragic happily ever after is where the reader and writer end each other

The little Toblerone bar,
a sweet one he is,
with his heart all a flutter.
He wanted to be mighty,
with as much strength
as he could muster.

Powerful as the pyramids!
Cool as the Swiss Alps!
Majestic as the Everest!
He dreamed of it all;
to become
greater than China's Wall.

But what he never realized
Through his chocolate brown eyes
Was his pride before his own fall.

Like the Everest, Swiss Alps,
Even the mysteious Pyramids,
Humans have stripped them
of their treasure.
Because Toblerone was broken down
to be eaten just for pleasure.

He was sleeping so soundly,
I couldn't help but stare
At his figure lying on the bed,
No barriers surround him there.
I leaned in closer for a look,
His hands resting near his face.
The feeling of my arms around him,
The feeling of his strong embrace.
I yearned to relive that moment,
But this time he's asleep.
All memories of him conscious and not,
All these I want keep.
So I stared too long at his lips,
I stared too long at his cheeks.
And when i got to his eyes,
He was staring back at me.

Trace the scars at her back.
You'll find a constellation.
Trace her tears when it streaks down her cheeks.
You'll find a lonely river.
Trace her hair strands.
You'll find an aromatic flowerbed.
Trace her fingertips.
You'll find hurricanes and tornadoes.
Trace her soul.
You'll find yourself.

I just want you
to be happy
but sometimes
and selfishly
I want to be
your happiness

But
'happiness is a choice'
you say
and you didn't choose me

I clung onto the idea
since you made me happy
it would be the same for you

What is happiness now?
where has it gone to?
In time, society has robbed us
the real meaning of happiness

Go on your own way
and pursue your happiness
for your smile, is my smile
your laugh, is my laugh

and I'll be happy
when you find your happiness
because I love you
always have, always will

"Keep your friends close,
and your enemies closer,"
Is what they say.

But nothing hurts more than
Keeping the ones you love close,
But the one you couldn't love, closer.

Mahal na mahal kita
kahit ilang tula na naisulat ko
o ilang tala nasa langit
di sila papantay
sa pagmamahal ko sayo

*eng trans:
i love you so much
even with the number of poems i've written
or with the number of stars in heaven
they can never equate
to the love i have for you

Two shooting stars.
Two wishes.
Two chances.

I saw two shooting stars tonight.
First, as usual, I wished for you,
for me, for us to become true.

Then, I wished for me to stop
wishing for the impossible--
that I'd stop wishing for you.

"It's Monday tomorrow."
My mother reminds me again.
Deadlines for assignments. night classes and spending money for transportation and meals happen again, in a ravenous cycle of time, growth and worry.
It's Monday tomorrow.
I'm turning twenty. And so is my birthday another cycle to be showered upon with special greetings, after all, people give all they can to one person mostly just on their special day. The twentieth year. A cycle of time, growth and worry.
In my family, we never entertained the ideas of birthdays.
It's Monday tomorrow.
Just another ordinary day for me.
Spending money on transportation and meals, night classes and deadlines for assignments.
Oh, and the deadline of my nineteenth.

Crushed pieces
Of two glass hearts
Didn't find their missing parts

But instead
Found each other
And fit perfectly in place

The first molded with the second
In the heat of the moment
Held from head to toe

A perfect masterpiece
From sand to art
A love so high from low

I borrowed the book you have been yearning to read, for you, on your birthday. I never returned it in the end, just to give it to you, that you may read it forever.

I bet you have been wanting to hear the lines of that famous book being said to you out loud, by the person you love.

Little did you know that everything in that same book, are the ones which I wanted to read out and say to you.

I dont trust people
as much as i used to
Knowing i'd get stabbed
In the back anyway

And now i dont even trust myself
Because i know i'd stab myself
Through my heart
To numb all these lonely feelings

And as i readied myself to reply to your message, i felt the familiar warmth in my hands when i tapped away on my keyboard-- the warmth from years ago when i last saw you and held your hand

with every push from them
i move closer to the edge
not ready to fall
not ready to break
not ready to heal myself
and put things back in place

with every pull they give
i can't seem to gain balance
not holding onto anything
so i stumble back
not watching where my legs are going
where my feet are going at

someone, let me stand good
someone, take my hand
i'm weakening every step of the way
my spirit's off the land

someone, save me from them
someone, save me from myself
someone, don't leave me all alone
sitting on life's shelf