Your emotions are
like huge capacity of
water, cascading rapidly
from your heart.
You tell me things that
make other people look bad.
But I am not an easy believer.
Your mindset is not like mine.
When will you stop?
You’re pouring too much.
Drowning us with your power
To make every thought captive.
2020
we molest
the soft hues of
the orange dawn.
we stop to
enter a dream of
crude, of hell.
we start to
treat ourselves like
kings and queens.
2018/2020
I may be unfair.
I may have not heard the other side
of the story.
But I am not convinced at all.
How you turn yourself to
a different person when you
know you can’t really hurt
anyone else.
Then, you already hurt
those people around you.
If peace has served you truthfully,
then I pray that you’ve learned
your lesson well.
2020
I’ve never heard you before
cry like a wolf. But no,
I won’t listen to you anymore.
You don’t need my ear, you
don’t honestly need me as a friend.
It started quite smooth.
We slowly build our bridge.
Our unison is rigged.
I didn’t know how it happen.
You just changed something that is there.
Something that is special.
You ruined everything.
Now, you’re saying a lot of things.
Assuming you can win me back with all
your deception coated in cheese.
But I’m a lactose intolerant,
uncomfortably throwing away what
you are feeding me.
Please, don’t
feed me anymore with your stupid lies.
And stop crying like a wolf.
And stop being plastic.
2020
Hear myself in the dark.
Hear myself crying behind your back.
I’ve starved of love, of affection.
Days can be cruel, nights can be bluer.
I’m haunted by this piece of the million pain.
I’m abandoned in this field of your hurricane.
2020
Anxious lover, anxious fate.
Of all the rumors I’ve heard,
are your atypical behavior, your
fickle-minded ways.
You’ve written your story
with symbols, without grace.
Your hidden meanings are
disguised as irrevocable
beginnings.
You may wear a mask,
but underneath the veil
is the face of a flesh whose
devils are really weak.
Anxious lover, anxious fate.
I should’ve rejected you
in my younger days.
2020
Floating, crossing the river that’s Amburayan*.
I’ve submerged all my miseries underneath.
This pair of hands touched the cold waters,
Intoxicating myself and refreshing.
What pleasure to kiss.
What daytime to miss.
The other island is dry.
I’m not going back to my old,
Haunted version of a child.
On the raft, I go with the flow,
Leaving a place of blunders and blows.
*Amburayan River is a river in the northeastern portion of island of Luzon in the Philippines. It originates from the Cordillera mountains and traverses the provinces of Benguet, La Union, and Ilocos Sur, where it empties into the South China Sea (Wikipedia).
2020
Slumber is not my lover
when I shut my eyes later
at the strike of the night’s
10:30.
I exhaust, I deplete,
I use my feet to run
more distance that
I can run.
But slumber isn’t my lover.
Music fades, weaker
than the strum of thoughts
in appearance of Bigfoot
and dragons.
I force to throw myself on bed,
to close my eyes and feast
the dark, but slumber is not
a good lover. My enemy is
my own anxiety.
2020
Shifting,
transferring from one
major field to another.
The
details of your exit,
details of entering
to
the newly accepted
endeavor, leads to
either
you questioning how
to start again,
asking
yourself if
you can do more.
These
are normal thoughts
to ponder.
2020
you walk.
you keep on walking.
you escape.
you escape from home.
you think.
you keep on thinking.
you want to write.
to eagerly write.
but there are no words.
there are no words to write.
your mind is blank.
you keep on walking.
until you are back at home.
2020
