as i walk with nothing but the feeling of my heart
grasped achingly by my ribcages,
i grieve for my future self;
this is a habit i cannot break.
like a sacred ritual
i commence a solemn ceremony
to mourn for the unknown half and
to mourn for myself, a loveless poet.
     will i spare someone all the love
     that i tend in my backyard?
     the garden of all my poems,
     the garden of all my words.
but, what kind of poet am i
if all the love i write is mused by utter loneliness,
soiled underneath the pretty field?
resting in peace in a worm casted ground.
oh, i cannot wait to see
how my garden will bloom
once you enter it.
how your presence will soften the soil
and i will welcome you fondly as you earthen close.
     but please know that rain
     did not water every thing here,
     this love grew because my heart has yearned
     a lifetime to be understood.to be known.
     you were once a figment of all my hurt,
     a muse shaped like a blur that i begged to seek me.
i guess our hearts naturally just ache to be loved
that we yearn for beautiful things
right after killing them with our very own hands.
still, i remain as gentle as i am now
because i mourned,
    and mourned,
      and mourned...
       for someone like you.
a flicker that was absent for god knows
how many lightyears away we were to each other,
that we couldn't hold hands no matter how
interlocked our hearts were at recognizing everything we feel.
so forgive me if i mourn for you by and by
—your beauty is closest to the moon after all,
tell me, how can i not long for you forever?

i crave for loneliness to brush my hair,
mother me tenderly to sleep
as you did when i had carvings
on my left wrist at twelve years old
—a braille i fondled with every day,
                   i. don't want. to be. here.

somehow, my nightly hiccups
never drove me to my end.
i am still gentle because
you follow me wherever i go;
visiting me at the right moments
especially when i am accompanied
by my own ***** and the cold bathroom floor—
          and then you stay quiet the whole hour
          to give me some time to grieve.

i wear you like a protective charm now,
for you are the only love i've ever known.

in your absence
i immersed myself in sadness,
for there was nothing left to love
in the remaining pieces of you
that was too blurry for me
to comprehend in the first place.
    was it really you?
because i felt too many heartaches
trying to filter your name in my palms
—you made me figure out
so many things on my own
as if this kind of mystery
will compel me to draw closer to you.

but i, too, am human
i grow weary of repetitive things
that remain obscure,
just like how your name
sounded sweet every time—
     only for it to mean nothing to me.

like ***** laundry, my sadness
pile on top of one another,
and now i am grieving
because your name sounds like a metal
being dragged on the ground
—a heaviness that keeps
tugging my heart wide open.

there is no more room for you here,
my love for you has finally died.

i think i exist only to love
but never experience,
a pretentious bag of bones like me
will only stir your feelings
     —you will wallow in it for some time
     and then you will forget about me
like a cup of coffee that has gone cold.

but if i must admit,
it's because i do stunt my own growth:
in life, in love, but strangely enough,
                                           not in death.
an odd number of reasons
aid my tendencies;
they get glued together to form
a paper-maché of well-composed farewells
—a craft i have mastered in my years of longing.

i think i exist only to love,
but never experience—
yet here i am, still longing
until i get a hand to hold.

i like the way i make you go soft,
when i touch you like a friend
and your hands start to sweat
as if my fingers brushed your lips.
when your eyes hold my gaze
and you look at me lovingly,
even if our faces
never met each other's warmth.
            not even once.
tell me, how do i make you go hard?
because it seems that you only kiss people
who makes your body quiver.
     you only want to love
      when they give you a certain pulse
—but didn't i make your heart beat more faster
when i poured the gravity of my heart
to satisfy yours?

Recently “minutes” or recently “hours”?
Recently, minutes were reasonably ours.
Like how I “recently” saw him at the grocery store,
And “recently” went back, hoping I might again.

Sure, we spoke…
Recently.

So I logged on, recently,
Just to see what’s up.
That’s how it always is,
And the status is always the same:
“Recently”

slather my lips more with your salivated
ecstasy.
pry my mouth open
and speak to me in french—kiss and make me
remember that these illusions are safe. perhaps
alter my two realities,
tell me that i am real—you are real. this trip has no
end, i know. but i've never been loved like this.

      i would end it if it means i'd get to live again,
      but then i'll leave you here
      —all alone with no one to hold.

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