#filipino writers

i don’t want to write about love anymore.
not after you.

i don’t want thousands of words
scribbled on paper
spitting on my face
mocking me.

i don’t want to be reminded
of the love
and of the hurt
and of the begging
that were only as fleeting
as you were.

our forever was supposed to be longer.

enough.

it hurts enough to physically manifest itself in the throbbing corners of my chest

enough to let gravity get a hold of my eyes

enough to force me out of a stable state of mind

enough to push me into the corners of the bed, shaking

enough to revive all the thoughts i have long fought to forget

enough to make me feel like i wasn’t, i was never, i will never be

enough.

i only spoke of you to the sun
i told him of your smile
the way they can get away with anything
it was like the glow of his rays, i suppose
beautiful, but blinding

sometimes i spoke to the ocean
i told her of your mind
the way your thoughts never cease to amaze me
just like the profundity of her waters, i guess
deep, but sometimes dark

and on rare occasions, i spoke to the stars
i told them of my desires
and they always remind me of the distance
of beautiful things only meant to be seen from so far away

and so i just don’t talk about you at all
not to the sun, not to the ocean, not to the goddamn stars
i just think. about you. a lot.
a whole fucking lot.

forward. step. back.
forward. step. back.
i take a step forward,
and you take a step back.
dancing to the same rhythm
for years now.
your hand on my hips;
touching, but not feeling.
my fingers on your shoulders;
grazing, but not gripping.
never quite holding on,
never quite letting go.
just…dancing.
in perfect sync.

i did everythingi could
but just like gravity, honey
it was inevitable: the fall.
just like apples falling
from the helpless tree,
like planets revolving
around the sun;
there was no resistance
no tension, no force
that could keep me
from drawing myself to you.
baby, i am attracted to you.

when the day had come,
i had all the strength
of the days you pushed me away.

and when the clock struck ten,
i had all the strength
of the nights i cried
of the times you lied
of the kisses more dead than alive
of the scars on both our skins
of the bruises that we covered
of the voices turned to screams
and the melody we sung together,
broken as it seems.

so when the day had come,
i had all the strength
of the days you pushed me away.

and when the clock struck ten,
i had all the strength
to let you know i’m walking away.

I want to list every bad thing about you. Every mistake, every imperfection, every regret. I want to caress your scars and rip them open. I want to hold your heart and pick out the parts that are wicked and evil and broken.

Because that would make it easier.

It would be easier to just say you hurt me, that’s why I’m walking away. Easier to think I had no choice, that’s why I’m refusing to stay. Easier to make it seem like we did this to ourselves, you and I. Easier than the truth. Easier than reality. Easier than breaking your heart when I tell you things didn’t fell apart.

I did.

I fell out.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

my skin used to melt at your touch.
you used to touch me all over
with the eyes of a lover
now you’re touching me with eyes wide open.
you touch me with detachment
you touch me with restraint
i used to shiver at the static running through our veins
now i shiver at the coldness of your fingertips
you touch me with death
you touch me with decay
now i’m left with all bones and no flesh.
my skin disintegrates at your touch.

when art was supposed to mean freedom,
you wore it on your wrist like shackles.
writing with the burden of metal weighing you down;
making a bloody mess out of a clean slate.

when art was supposed to be spontaneous,
you chained your legs on time-ticking bombs.
forcing emotions out of your hollow chest;
breaking your insides, but defusing the blow.

when art was supposed to make you feel alive,
you drained yourself of chasing after endless lines.
exceeding limits, cracking bones, straining souls.
enslaving your body to your own work of art;
master it! and turn it into a glaring masterpiece.

it’s not right for you to be just fallen in love with. i will take the whole damn gravity out of the equation if it means i can love you without ever falling out. without limits. without spaces. without ever reaching the ground.

it’s not right to just say i love you in words. i will spell it in constellations. i will carve it in gold. i will drip it in blood. i will sing it even if my lungs give out. and i will never tire of telling you the depth of my love for you, even if it’s the last of my breath. i promise.

it’s not right for you to settle less than what you deserve. i can’t give you the world but i can give you my life. i can give you other people’s lives. i will die in a heartbeat for you. i will kill for you. i’m a slave at your disposal. make me a criminal. make me yours. i will do everything and i will follow you to the edge of the earth or to the bottom of it; to hell, fuck it. i’ll follow you still. if you will have me.

how have revolutions
been merely reduced
from strongly taking a stand
to suddenly standing on our own graves?

how have we been silenced
by the very set of people
whose only duties were supposed to be
making the voices of the masses heard?

how are we to fight back
as a patronizing nation
if our very own opressor
is the one seated in power?

how are we to turn this around?
if in breaking the wheel of the tyrants,
the power must lie within the people.

but the people doesn’t know;
and the people refuses to see
that every revolution has begun
with the people’s plea.

it’s getting harder for me to only touch the tip of your fingers when all i want is to hold your hand and to pull you in closer to my skin. it’s harder especially when you’re this close, moving towards me, at a pace a little too fast for my breath to catch up on. my thoughts, that are forbidden to ever even reach the tip of my tongue, are getting harder to supress. especially when you speak first, about art and the future, with a gentleness in your voice that sounds a little too sweet for my ears to stifle.

you’re making it harder for me not to fall for you love, because how am i to do that when you’re this close? when i can see you this close, in macro lenses, in all of your imperfect glory. how am i to ever get enough of you when i could just reach you if i tried? and lord knows how much i’m clenching my fists to stop myself from ever even trying.

must blood water the streets first
before you draw open the curtains
to the roaring commotion of the people
beneath the tall glass windows?

must the sky ooze red
from the loss of so much innocence
and must the thunders howl
the painful screams of the slain poor
before the cold harsh winds of truth
force its way into the tall glass windows
of you, privileged few?

need a hurricane shatter your fragile ideals
so you can smell the reek of death and utter decay?
need a storm flood your sheltered morals
so you can feel entrapped in the jaws of your own cruelty?

for although you can run, you cannot outrun
the blood that has been left dry on your tender hands
the night you closed your gates and went to sleep
while the streets fought to keep its eyes open.

it’s walking the city streets
with my face blending into
a blur of a million passing faces.

it’s being lost in a sea
of art and talent
and never reaching the surface.

it’s looking up and realizing
i’m too far below the summit
of the highest skyscraper.

it’s being unremarkable,
and not being bad,
that i fear most in this life. 

The early morning rises and my mind is still awake, my body is pumped, and my heart is still beating fast from the three cups of coffee it took me to keep my eyes open throughout the night. I waited just in case you wake up. It was just in case you call me in the middle of the night again; or maybe at the crack of dawn, when the world is still half asleep and the only two people conscious of everything that is real are you and I. It was just in case you needed a break from the truth. I was willing to be your refuge. I could rest among the darkness when I am with you, no matter if you’ll be gone when the sun comes up. 

you loved me like it was routine
the kisses felt like chores
you held me out of necessity
and you touched me in familar steps

the i love yous were repetitive
and the good nights felt compelled
your eyes no longer looked at me whenever we collided
and your skin no longer electrified at my touch
the smiles you’ve been giving me were calculated
and the days when you loved me were on schedule

the only real thing that was out of the plan
and the only real thing that broke our little pattern
was the only real thing that i never thought twice on
it was deciding that i had to leave right then and there

if love letters were now literary proses sent out into the open for all the world to see but for your eyes to never lay on, then yes, this is a love letter.

and if love letters were written with raw spontaneous bursts of emotion that only craves to be heard by the world but never to be known by you, then yes, this is a love letter.

dear you,

i’ve been catching myself thinking about you quite a lot lately. dark hair, expressive eyes, cold voice. it could be desire, or maybe infatuation. but i personally think it’s more complex than that. it’s not love, obviously. i don’t believe in the pretentious love-at-first-sight.

i think it might be because of the way you see the world in rose-colored lenses; like i do, and there’s only one of me. it’s the way your mind works on scenes that are too magnificent to be physically understood by the rest of the world, but ones that i can imagine. it’s the way you get things done the way i like it, almost as if you can translate the insides of my brain into glaring perfection. it’s the way i could trust you and your decisions; and i don’t trust very easily but shit, you’ve won me over. it’s because you meet my standards; you meet the goddamn top.

it’s your talent. it’s your passion. it’s the burning fire inside of you that i can’t get enough of. it’s the soul behind your eyes. it’s the way you try so hard to make yourself invisible, when all i am is visibly aware of you. it’s your voice on record that i keep hearing at random times of the day. it’s your presence that i feel so conscious of.  it’s the way i care about what you think, what you want, what you think you want. it’s because of you, as you are; and because of me, as i am. it’s because i have never found someone i could connect to on an artistic level as deeply as i could connect with you.

and i never will…ever again; because your heart’s already been taken. this is the first and last time i’ll ever write about you—cathartically, it seems. from now on, i’m letting you go. i promise, i’m letting this feeling go.

love(,) me

tonight i saw you
with my eyes closed
in a vague sense of reality
far from my own

tonight i held you
with my hands gripping the sides of the bed
you sent lightning through my system
even across a world away

tonight i felt you
when i wasn’t reaching
tonight i knew you
when i was still out of my head
and tonight i heard you
when everything else fell silent

you were lovely
you had an impeccable sense of humor
my parents loved you
you were godly
you treated me with respect
i loved your laugh
your smile was strangely addictive.
it’s a pity i don’t remember your face;
or your name

i remember meeting you at a coffee shop, though
i was reading and you were reading
we were sitting across each other
never really minding each other’s business
until you looked up, and you saw me
and i looked up, and i saw you
and you smiled
that strangely addictive smile

and so every morning from now on
i’ll be hanging out at coffee shops
reading some book
waiting
for you
until you come
and smile at me
wih that strangely addictive smile

i think i might just fall in love with you
soon.

damn, i blame the smile.

when busy streets are silenced
and colored lights flicker to grey
when the city sleeps
and we look at each other

our differences
glare at us
wide-eyed; blinding.

I’d like to give you a piece of myself. Pieces, if you will. For safekeeping? Yes, you could say that; but mostly because I can no longer keep them safe.

Take my hands first. Keep them in your pockets. Bring them out whenever you need to sprawl out words and string them together into a beautiful coherence. Like magic, you say? Yes, quite.

Now take my throatnext. Always keep it within reach. Always. You’ll need it to voice out the thoughts you’d rather keep hidden if it were only up to you; but it’s not. The world needs to hear those words spoken out loud. Your thoughts are too magnificent to be silenced. Always demand to be heard.

Then, take my legs. It’ll take you places. Places you might be too afraid to venture out on your own; but don’t be scared. They will guide you. They will take you to far distances and then they will take you home. They will keep you safe, if you promise me you’ll use them to set foot into your own journey. Is that a deal? Good.

Finally, take my heart. Remember Pandora? The one with the large storage jar that she must never open under any circumstances? Yes, that’s it, that’s the one. I’d like you to take my heart and keep it inside a sacred box like hers. I’ll warn you now: my heart has been poisoned with anger, hatred, and greed. But it is also still full of hope. I want you to open the box only when the madness and the chaos consumes you. I want you to navigate my heart and look for the parts that are still good. It’s less of a punishment and more of a gift, if you know where to look. I want you to take better care of it, because I no longer can. Can you do that?