Epiphany

Epiphany

I learned to write poetry from scratch words
of what used to be broken shards,
broken pieces of a heart.

I was told that it tried to mend itself
from tormenting memories;
from unfulfilled promises;
from false hopes.

I remember how the skies sang to me.
“Hope wasn’t and was meant for the faint-hearted.”
That poetry was a song about melodies unsung.
That poetry was his lullaby for nightmares of old.
That poetry was my beloved young for new dreams.

I dreamed that he would let me embrace his broken pieces
to bring back hope in his eyes. But the skies kept singing
to me the same tune. That all that I have hoped for will
never be unless they come in words and flesh.

By and by, day after day.
The night would come moonless or with rainclouds.
Even in the pitter-patter of the raindrops on my bare shoulder
the song sounded familiar until it all made perfect sense.
I saw him bare with wounds from the war,
I saw the black circles in his eyes from sleepless nights,
I saw the alcohol stained tears I dried with my very own sleeves,
I saw the callouses in his hands and his knees;
I saw the universe that he filled with
the mountains that he moved,
the comets he engulfed in flames,
the planets he shook and the world he built.

They hailed from the earth and blessed by the sky.
His words fell like raindrops. His world felt like ashfalls.
I picked them up one by one like the bones we love
to break and build every single day.

I learned to write poetry from scratch.
Words that appear to come bare flesh and blood.
Emotions that grace from shadows and souls.
Not from broken pieces.
But eyes that sees itself as whole.
A whole that rose from the hope
that it solely hoped for.

 

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Guardian

Guardian

My angels mourn for what ails my heart.
On my behalf, they carry the weight of the world.
My heart; they shoot arrows and play percussion.
Reminding me of what’s left of it.
An imperfect specimen I can’t even name.
The remains could be given a pseudonym.
Permission to carve a pseudonym with your name.
On it went down and up and loose; I lose
You from the chains I devoured.
I told my angels to cease movement. It’s over.

Timelines

Timelines

The waves coming after my feet
Chasing what’s left of the heat
They come running after me
Even when it asked to be free

The arms spin like clockwork spears
Shredding time each passing year
Love came and left at dawn
I see it back; I see it gone

The fearless yell to me a warcry
The meek say to heal, you’d cry
Time and time, I watch it again
I don’t care how not even when

Angels and demons keep coming back
Like the rainfall and sunlight I lack
Wisdom yearning for the night to fall
Come sleep and come the curious call

Goodbye, I said to your big little pieces
Burn the rest of my hopeful wishes
Stay the night, the timelines say
Aboard your dreams, come sail away

 

There is no such thing as a safe place

There is no such thing as a safe place

There is no such thing as a safe place
Under the screaming whispers of the rain
Cold daylight sets under my lids
The murmurs of the dead
They come crashing
Begging to be resurrected
Like ashes, like lego blocks
Begging to be picked up
Like shards of glass
Waiting
I dreamed I was safe
Under those arms that said love
That begged patience
Making me thirsty in broad daylight
The sky was clear and blue
But the sun basked in flames.
What a pretty picture
Like a beautiful day
A warm kiss of coffee in the morning
Waking up still
With an open hand
For another cup of caffeine
Wake me up and up still
Here to be awakened
To a safe place which was not
Even close to a bed of sheets
Cool and clean against the heat
But the rain echoes in my ears
Whispering loud and clear why
Are you still here?

Ode to a ghost

Ode to a ghost

You know I cannot help but think about you
But I do not think highly of you
For some reason you never cease to end up
in my head like my brain is some sort of dump
The stench of wanted and unwanted things

Linger altogether. I smell them, breathe them.
I remember waiting and walking to and fro along
that long alley of lights and machines and coffee
Abundant with strangers walking and pacing like I do
I wondered a little how come they don’t seem
to look like me. And low, I beheld you from afar.

I remember your challenged length and reach.
Nearly leveled were our eyes which didn’t make
watching you so difficult not even meeting your lips
and your eyes; which in fact, were dreamy
at the time; at that very little time

That we, my dear, had
Nights. We had a few weeks of only nights
Spent walking through different streets lit
Only by moon and lampposts and trains.
I remember thinking about you as if it ran on a clock.
A clock with countless arms that seemed to run
around both clock and counterclockwise
And I remember the need to swim in the words
we uttered on those nights because I was a fragile
heart, you said. You were a stopwatch taking your
pace and space and your mind in your own head.

I was confused because you held me like you
Wanted me to be a part of you and yet you shun me
and my advances to the dust. “Take our time,”
You said. A hundred days slowly passed which was mine.
Because you told me to take them anyway. I took
My time like I should and as it was mine like
My heart was and still is too, I took all of them with me.
And it’s funny how after another hundred more days
You asked me me to welcome you back in a place
I no longer live in or even visit. Funny, right? Funny, yes.

You know I cannot help but think about you
But I do not think highly of you
For some reason you never cease to end up
in my head
Like my brain is some sort of dump
The stench of wanted and unwanted things

Linger altogether. I smell them, breathe them.
I remember waiting and walking to and fro along
that long alley of lights and machines and coffee
Abundant with strangers walking and pacing like I do
I wondered a little how come they don’t seem
to look like me. And low, I beheld you from afar.

I remember your challenged length and reach.
Nearly leveled were our eyes which didn’t make
watching you so difficult not even meeting your lips
and your eyes; which in fact, are now just a mere
stench of the past. A neglected scent of a ghost.

I don’t know what to write.

I don’t know what to write.

I don’t know what to write.
But I know that I love you.
I know that you are waiting.
For so many things.
To board the plane.
To return to school.
To graduate.
To learn.
To wait.
To return.
To me.
For me.

I don’t know what to write.
But I know that I will miss you.
I know that you are longing.
As much as I am.
As much as I do.
To hold you.
Touch you.
Feel you.
Kiss you.
You.
You.
Us.

I don’t know what to write.
I know nothing much but I’m here.
And I don’t know how else to say things.
I’m throwing up words while I eat them.
Taste them
Know them.
Chew them.
Swallow.
Digest.
And out.

I don’t know what to write.
Though I know sort of wrote about
you.

You may think you are a dragon but you’re a lizard to me.

You may think you are a dragon but you’re a lizard to me.

Annoys and annoys me.
You’re presence is toxic.
The way you extend out your tongue
Exudes with fumes
And I fuel it until I become fire

Fire fuels me as I fuel the fire
I now am the fire.
Don’t crossover.
I will burn you.
And you will burn.
To the ground with grit;
To pieces. To ashes.
To particles of fuck
Like the fuck you are.