Ipinapakita ang mga post na may etiketa na sadness. Ipakita ang lahat ng mga post
Ipinapakita ang mga post na may etiketa na sadness. Ipakita ang lahat ng mga post

Lunes, Setyembre 8, 2014

Whispers on the 7th



Life is 
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andtoofuckingconfusingtounderstandreally.


So lie to me.

Lie to me as I lie to myself.
Say something wrong. Say something right.
Pour out words as bittersweet as these precious moments.

Lie to me.

Lie to me as you lie next to me,
As you hold me close, let me embrace you more.
As you gently caress, let me touch your soul.

Lie to me.
Lie to me this once as I hold you in my hands
and drink in your presence, your scent,
the softness of your shirt, the beating of your heart.

Lie.
Lie as oft as this clock 
whose time is right 
twice a day.

Lie.
I've got nothing to lose
but the nonexistence of us
anyway.


“Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.” 
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Huwebes, Hunyo 13, 2013

Blue and white

They're two ordinary colors, really.

One comes in different shades:
cerulean and cobalt, denim and duke,
maya and majorelle, periwinkle and powder
sapphire and sky and ultramarine.

One with none but its purity
(unless you count ghost white and anti-flash white,
magnolia and old lace, seashell and eggshell,
and ivory and lace).

Two ordinary colors, truly,

Bringing a glimpse of heaven, and the sky, and the sea,
loyalty and purity, and freedom and light,
sincerity and innocence, and faith and spirituality,
and possibility, and inspiration, and perfection.

Bringing a glance of you to me
(together with those happy days and endless nights,
meaningful conversations and unusual anecdotes,
truthful insights and real and true and honest-to-goodness friendship).

Two colors on something named after some fruit,

Just there, on standby...simply there,
simply staring,
simply waiting,
simply wishing.

Just here, in the palm of my hand...actually here
(unlike you who's a thousand miles away,
in your glory and success,
your reality, your truth,
my demise, my pain.)

Two colors I wish I'd see.

To light up my world.
Like a few years ago.
Again.
Again.

Two colors again.

Huwebes, Abril 18, 2013

Relapse No. 6

Like a faucet
Turned on
Very similar to the facet of this fact
That needs exploration,
Explanation,
Action.
Did it matter then that it happened
Once upon a time, 
Upon some slithering snakes
Dancing to see who
The real charmer is?

Like a disease
Spreading
Almost the same as a pair of limbs
Accepting and praying
Quickly closing,
Now running.
Does it matter now that a pair ponders
Over bones set into play,
Whilst roaring in delight, disgust
Fighting to see who
The real winner is?

Like a home
Haunted
As her eyes, his touch, their faces
Look confused,
Bruised,
Used.
Will it matter that they have set
The rules, perchance to break,
The stage where a poor soul stands
Waiting to see who
The real man is?

***



Martes, Nobyembre 6, 2012

______'s block

So you stare at that cursor
that continuously blinks.
Blink. Blink.
Blink.
Blink.

Your eyes blink with it in unison.
Or maybe your brain, too,
as it tries to think.
But comes up with nothing.

Your fists unclench as well.
And maybe your fingers twitch
as they grasp for the words you want to say.
But frustratingly ends up with nothing.

Your feet tap to the beat.
Or they might go against it
as you try to digest what that song means.
But you hear nothing.

Funny, isn't it, how
while your legs shake to the beat (or not)
and your digits remain uncooperative
and your mind.
Is.
Blank,

as the screen in front of you,

Your heart is so full and heavy, you can
Actually just bleed and bleed and bleed 
All over your page
Or your blog-slash-account
Or hers, or his, or theirs
And let them know everything
you've masked and protected and saved for nobody
but yourself.


So you stare at that corner
as you continuously blink.
Blink. Blink.
Blink.
Blink.

But don't let the first one fall.



Martes, Oktubre 30, 2012

Amor Fati




"What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide."
-William Shakespeare




“Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it: it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be required to bear.” 
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

Biyernes, Oktubre 12, 2012

Almost Dawn



Cool breeze on your face and a veil of midnight blue
Mix with smoke from the cigarettes, your only companion true.
Caught by this intrigue and your own brand of curiosity,
You dig deeper and squint and look even more closely.

Cool breeze on your face and a veil of midnight blue
Stretch bleakly from above, eyes are simply on you.
Try to win that staring game, be the warrior that you are.
Try to fight for your right, try to be that shining star.

Cool breeze on your face and a veil of midnight blue
Suffocate you -- oh, horror! -- by showing you what's true.
Thin orange strings of light around his neck are wrapped,
Still you don't avert your eyes for you are simply trapped.

Cool breeze on your face and a veil of midnight blue
Mix with smoke from your cigarette and from hundred others, too.
Stars that shone once brightly bleakly admit defeat.
And yes, you too, are lost; the good morning you must meet.

Miyerkules, Oktubre 3, 2012

BUT.

[You know,] my brother once told me that nothing someone says before the word "but" really counts. 
- Benjen Stark, Lord Snow, Game of Thrones Season 1 Episode 3

I want to smoke,
let all the steam out,
blow these thoughts out of my system.
But 

I rarely smoke alone
and I don't really want 
to be alone right now.

I want to paint and draw, 
put some color back
in my dreary life.
But 

I'm missing my muse
and I don't really want to be reminded
that I am alone right now.

I want to dance,
put on my ballet shoes and
let my toes point me to the right direction.
But

I don't hear the music anymore
and I don't want to listen to songs
that tell me I am alone right now.

I want to leave,
run free wherever I want
without looking back.
But

I'm stuck where I am
and I don't want to admit
that I'd be alone if I leave, anyway.

I want to know the truth,
get it out in the open and 
just move on.
But

I'd rather lie to myself
'cause I don't want to forget
that you made me feel like I'm not alone



even for just a short while.



Biyernes, Agosto 10, 2012

Cold Coffee in the Morning

Note: Okay. So it's an Ed Sheeran song. I suggest you listen to the song first. Or read the lyrics. Then, read.

We had cold coffee that morning. I remember the disappointment we felt when we found out they didn't have hot brewed coffee. Or maybe it was just me. You were never one to betray your feelings anyway.

I remember feeling tired earlier that day. I have cried my eyes out and my heart was broken. I was so unsure of what would -- could -- happen so I did something I haven't done in a while now: I had a really good cry. My other friends tried to comfort me. Some offered advice that didn't really make sense. One knew how I really felt, had experienced what I was going through first hand. She understood perfectly why I couldn't stop crying (or why I started in the first place). She understood why I had to put on make-up, why I had to paint a mask of poise and bravery. She was amazing.

But you were even more.

I'd like to think that you understood what was going on in my head, what I was feeling in the depths of my soul. I'd like to think that you saw through the mask I painstakingly painted when you said I looked like sh*t. I'd like to think that you knew my strength was almost gone, my courage almost depleted, when you asked me why I was so scared. I'd like to think that it was sympathy that made you say that you hated my father. I'd like to think that it was concern that made you stay the night.

And, boy, was I ever thankful that you were there. It made me feel safe for a couple of hours, made me feel a normal girl just hanging out with someone her age. We didn't get a wink of sleep but I felt relaxed. I looked like I had been ran over by a ten-wheeler truck but I didn't care: we were talking at last, like friends should. We talked about some random topics. We talked about people. We talked about you. We talked about me. It was wonderful because I knew at some particular level you trusted me. You were there because you did. I think I can be pretty sure of that.

Can I?

We had cold coffee that morning. It wasn't much but it was good enough. I would've loved a steaming hot mug but I didn't mind the cold can. It was sort of what we needed. It has served its purpose: you shared a bit of your feelings and I shared a bit of my thoughts. It's stunning how a little bit of this and that can add up to something so grand and, suddenly, it's five in the morning and you (or I? We?) have no choice than to leave it as it is.

That's how we end up with cold coffee in the first place. We try to savor its warmth while it's there and it disappears ever so quickly. We try to drink it all up as fast as we could and we end up not appreciating what it is and what it has or, worse, burn our tongues. A fleeting moment and the warmth is gone. We have no choice than to leave it as it is.

Our coffee was cold but were we able to warm it -- even just a tiny bit -- with our hands? Were we able to at least pretend that we had something genuinely warm, something pleasant, to hold on to during those wee hours? Did the cigarettes help? Did the conversation, when we agreed that it never happened?

We had cold coffee that morning, and then it was time to leave. I should've known better than to think that a singular can of coffee would change things. A fleeting moment and the warmth is gone, and my hands are not enough to warm a can of cold coffee unless I stay too close to the fire and burn my hands first.

I had no choice than to leave it as it is. 




Did that make any sense to you at all? 


Lunes, Hulyo 30, 2012

Delubyo

Paisa-isa
kung bumagsak
ang mga patak.

Parami sila ng parami,
tulad ng mga naiwang alaalang
magulo, masaya, magulo, masaya, magulo, masaya.

At tila palakas pa nga ng palakas
ang taghoy ng pighating pilit itinago sa sarili
at sa kanila, at sa mundo, at sa iyo.

Sadya ngang bumabagyo na at malakas na'ng hampas ng hangin.
Boses ko ay mistulang kulog na maingay ma'y walang naiparating.
Hanggang kailan ko ikukubli at hanggang kailan mo ipagwawalang-bahala?
Ang mensahe'y naisigaw na nguni't di ka pa rin naniniwala.

Ngayon ikaw ay lumipad patungo sa bisig ng iba.
Kapalit mo'y si Gener na para sa aki'y lumuluha
'pagkat mata ko'y tuyo, puso ma'y sugatan.


Tila nakikiayon ang lamig ng panahon
Sa delubyong dala na nga
Ng paglisan mo dito.


Makikita kang muli.
Mensahe'y tandaan:
Mahal...


(c) 2012

Linggo, Hulyo 22, 2012

Rainy Days and Sundays


I said I’ll be blogging more often but I end up breaking that promise I made to myself. Ha. It’s so me, it’s…annoying.

So, here I am two months after my first post. With nothing but one (one!) write-up on…writing. Amazing. As in, amazingly lazy. I have been amazingly lazy. :))

I asked my younger sister what I should write about today. She said I should write about the weather, about the rain. And so, I shall.

You know how the story goes. Clouds absorb water vapor, condense this vapor and, when they forget that they’re made of water, too, and feel like they’ve had too much, they – well – spit them back to the ground (sort of like when you drink too many orange-flavored cocktails…but, that’s a different story). 

We’re all like clouds sometimes. We absorb these bits and pieces of problems other people have around us. We analyze them and we think of what to do with them. We try to help them because we love them or we care for them or we have no choice…whatever, we have our reasons. At times, we forget that we, too, have problems. We feel like we are carrying too much load on our shoulders and so we cry. Or mope. Others do their own version of spitting and spit nails, shouting their anger out.

It’s not fair to be angry with the world but you can’t help it sometimes. You feel injustice, yet there is no one to blame. You feel injustice because there is no one to blame. You know that, in a way, everyone is just a victim of his or her own cruel fate. Yet, for some weird twisted reason, you blame the world. You shout and are angry because of the small things when you want to be angry for the bigger, more complex things. You are angry because your dreams didn’t come true, because you don’t have enough money or because he didn’t love you enough to stay. You’re angry because you screwed up. You’re angry because you didn’t want to screw up, but you did. You’re angry because you’ve never felt this angry before and it just keeps on flowing out – you keep on spitting it out – like there’s no tomorrow.   

And, when you have finally spit it all out, people will react differently. Some will marvel at the beauty of how intense you can feel and draw inspiration from it. They will write, paint, burst out singing because of it. But these are people who probably see things from afar; people who are protected by their roofs during the thunderstorm, wrapped in thick blankets and looking out their windows, observing how much more water the rain can produce. Some, the ones in the same situation as those who felt inspired by your ranting, will yawn and sleep. Some will get really shocked then really mad; those who, without umbrellas or raincoats, got wet and inconvenienced because they didn’t expect that such downpour could happen without much notice. Of course, there will always be those who would shrug, get their umbrellas from their bags, open them and walk away.

I think you should walk away, too. We should walk away, too. Walk away from all the pain and the anger and the hurt, especially if the rain is gone. Instead, look for your rainbow (if there is one. They’re very rare nowadays, rainbows) and be thankful. You’ve survived the storm.

On this day of your life, [we believe] God wants you to know that faith in yourself will see you through. You are strong and can deal with anything that life throws at you. Take a deep breath and be filled with the knowledge that you can deal with all things.