A.C

In the streets of the city, 

We talk as if we know what we are made of.

We end our days with the thought of

Not wanting to go home;

We have our differences,

But that's one thing we have in common.

We have passed different sidewalks,

Barely minded other people's businesses,

Couldn't search for anymore faces 

Because I have yours to gaze at,

And that's more than I could ask for.

We walk in the streets of the city,

Barely hearing the noise around me.

We'd go back and forth;

The walking will make us feel like

We're in New York.

But, we're just here in the city.

Dirt is a common denominator,

But you could call it neat

Since there's this ma

The things I wrote to forget you, #3

The places I've been

used to be the places

I was going to go back to when

you're finally here.

But, now the least they have become

are places where I've wished

you could witness just as I have,

or places where I learned that

I could walk on my feet alone.

Maybe those places never really cared

if you were coming home or not;

that even though I have made excuses

for your delay,

they're not as interested as

I make them seem to be.

Maybe what they are is

where you're not supposed to feel

like home,

Or maybe I'm just babbling.

See, this poem

is not entirely me.

I am not usually like this.

I drew maps on your palm,

when I realized I could trace

treasures in them,

just in case you forget directions,

just in case you lose sight of paths.

I should've had them tattooed

since drawings could easily be erased.

(But, I do remember how much you

loved to draw on your skin;

that other people found it weird,

but I found it rather amusing.

I thought, How could art still find

itself in need of renditions?)

I am not usually like this.

See, I am being silly again.

See, I miss you tonight;

but, not tonight I could hold you tight.

See, I used to know how to articulate

how I feel but now, I'm all out.

See, I don't know if I'm still

worth of anything,

or if all of this is still

worth of something,

or if you're still

worth of everything.

I don't see things coming back

to how they used to be,

But, that's okay.

Just come back where you used to be.

Or, maybe not.

Maybe you could stay there.

Maybe I wouldn't mind.

See, I don't know where

I'm going with this.

But, here's one thing I know for sure:

for every moment you're gone,

that's every word of an unfinished poem

I fail to write down.

Because what I do have now

is nothing worth a penny

to bring you back.

See, maybe this is what I actually am now;

indecisive,

Irrational,

Ridiculous,

and all those other stuff

you could hate me for.

But,

This is who I am.

And I could only think of

those places as places

that knew what I wanted to tell you.

And in those places I have left

every fragment of my

"I wish you were here,"

and "I hope you knew."

Just in case you'll come back

I'd have my rib cage

tattooed of your name

or something that says,

"I'll be waiting in vain."

Yet

This is for someone who I'm not completely sure about.

No offense but you kinda suck most times.

Especially when I ask you to talk to me,

And by talk I mean

Really talk

Deep thoughts

And sappy, cheesy shit.

I badly want you to ask me what I wanted to be

When I was a little kid

But, instead,

You ask me:

"Ba't ka galit? PMS?"

Because I always seem to be so cold,

And so irritated,

And so sad,

And so-so shutting people out,

But the truth is that

I'm just really bummed about how

You can never tell me how much you think of me.

Or do you really?

Because, as far as I know

You already told me that you like me,

But hell you don't seem to be so interestingly into me

And my boring personality.

Take note:

I am boring as hell.

But, you're still here
So, that has got to be a good thing.

But then again

You're not really making me feel like I could
 Rest my body into your arms for days

Because you keep on holding back.
You keep on looking away.

You keep on making me figure you out.

Just stop making me figure you out

But, instead

Tell me what your mom used to call you when you were 5.

Tell me about the first time you really cried.

Tell me about that film that have made a huge impact in your life.

(And I'm not talking about The Vow, I've seen it.
You're a chick-flick kinda guy.)

Tell me about your vices,

The things you love the most,

The things you loath the most,

The things that annoy you.

Tell me about the things you want to change,

The things you want to stay.

And then, tell me why.

Tell me how.

Tell me when and I'll tell you

That someday you will find out somehow.

Because then, you will not be alone.

By the time you let courage win you over,

I will let you embrace me tight and never let me go.

I will let you brush my hair and make fun of my voice.

I will let you in,

And I will take you home.

You and the world beyond me

When the question of "why?" claims to always be unanswered; when hearts begin to falter in the fault of their own expectations, of their own theory that if they ever get an answer then all the love songs in this world would vanish. When eyes become way too weary from all the sight of defeat and loss. When mouths are left longing for the same taste that they want over and over again as if a child in thirst screaming for iced cold water that he can't have because his throat has been scratched and way too tired from too much talking, too much explaining of things that will never seem to be explicable for those who can't even understand themselves, who is he to even get in the way of their way too chaotic minds? 

When hands beg for more alms in the hopes of getting through the day with their stomach finally filled and no longer angry and their body fueled up even a little bit to just wake up in the morning to do some more begging that they don't even want to do, that deep in their minds they are convinced that they were not born to sit along the street and get neglected every single day, that, convinced, 

they do not live up to get rejected always. 

When the sun begins to fade and the dusk begins to take over, when everyone is obliged to go home and just leave things be for the grace of another morning, when two different people find themselves in love and walking alone and looking up the sky but seeing no stars above them, when they tell each other not to worry because they've got all the light and sparkle they want in each other's eyes anyway, when it's in the middle of dawn and you hear a little girl cry in the midst of her parents' never ending fight, when you decide to go to bed and decide to close your eyes and when everything around you starts to blackout as if you're blind for the rest of the night, when the only sound you could hear is your own heavy breathing as a sign of succeeding the entire day. 

Darling, when you're on your own peaceful and alone, I will be here thinking about all these things, wondering if you think the same, feeling everything through my hands, feeling through my hands that something is wrong; 

that you are not here. 

I will be here when your eyes close and when your eyes finally open in the light of the Sun. Darling, I will be here. But you will not know, because you're nowhere to see that I will be here just waiting for you to be near me. When everything else just seems to be stuck in clockwise, I will repeat what I do when I remember you. I will be here searching for you in crowded places I've brought you to, I will be here sitting alone on high cafe chairs picturing you in front of me drinking a different kind of tea, I will be here hearing the song we loved to dance to even when it's silent around me, I will be here wishing to feel the same warmth that you feel right now, out there in the cold breeze from where you are. But you will be there and I will be here not knowing if you still care or if you could still remember how it felt when I lingered through your hair. But darling, 

I will be here and I swear I will be waiting.

Sa paglakbay

Sino nga ba ang nag-sabi sa ating

baligtarin ang damit sa paglakbay

upang hindi mawalay sa paroroonan?

Ang kalupaan ba talaga'y hindi

nabibigatan sa pagkarga at pagpasan

sa mga hakbang nating nambubulabog

ng katahimikan nito?

Aba'y, heto na naman ako;

parating nagbabakasakali. 

Parating naghihintay ng senyales

mula sa Diyos ng pagasa at pangako.

Nga pala, hindi ba'y nangako ka na

tayo'y magkikita sa dulo?

Kaya heto akong nanghihingalo,

kumakapit sa kung ano mang makakapitan,

nakikinig na lamang sa mga direksyon

ng mga estrangharo na tila hindi

matanaw kung saan ako patungo.

Malapit na ba?

Malayo pa ba?

Naasaan ka na?

Makakarating ka kaya?

- - - - - - - - - -

My second attempt on Filipino Poetry. My first one, entitled "Pagod Na 'Ko" is too embarrassing to post. Please bear with me. 

consistency

In a sea of a loud crowd

in which I walk through,

I hear the boring footsteps 

from the slouching ones;

gasping heavily for air.

And then, there are groups 

of school girls gossiping,

as they make an insufferable noise

still, they hear everything from everyone.

And a bunch of peculiar words

spoken to be unspoken.

On the other hand are words

fathomed into something to be heard.

Some girls look at me as I walk by,

as they whisper through

their lipglossed lips

and sharp tongues.

Some girls say they stop caring

but, secretly still and 

secretly wanting themselves to be healed.

And then, I think of you

but, they wouldn't know;

they wouldn't know because

I wouldn't show.

And so, I stop walking

and start waiting

for a prize

for waiting so long.

Finally, someone said that

something becomes a habit

because of consistency.

And so, I thought that

I've been consistently 

thinking about you lately.

Even through such noise,

my thought of you is louder.

Love doesn't fade (Dogmatic)

Love doesn't actually fade, it just changes. It changes over time that you can no longer recognize it but, if it's true enough, it will always be there. Loving someone doesn't necessarily mean loving him romantically still. You can love a person with the way he is now and not the way he was before. You can always love someone because of such small reasons; you can say you love him because he's great, or he made you happy, or because he remembered you when your favorite song played on the radio. You can always love a person because he taught you how to love in the first place, or maybe you two had a great time when you were together. You can always love someone in a way that you're just truly thankful to have met him or you're glad that he exists. You can always love someone because he was there when you needed someone the most.

You can always show appreciation with such affection as love. Love doesn't have to be heavy in your heart. Love doesn't have to be a burden. Say you love someone because he loves the same music as you. Say you love someone because he knows you in every little thing you do. Or, say you love someone because he taught you how to be brave, he taught you that you can eventually let go and accept the love that he can only offer you now--the love that says, "thank you for everything." The love that says, "thank you for letting me know you, but I am letting you go now. So, thank you. I love you."

home

I could build you a home if you let me.

I will shelter your heart in the seams of you and I,

Along the sea of my hopes that we will somehow collide.

And, while we're at it I will draw my lips on sand

So that the shore will wash them away and you'll love 

Hearing the waves because they're calling out your name.

And, even though I always wonder what must have been like

To not sleep underneath the blanket of my dreams of us,

I still believe that in my arms is where you truly belong.

Even though I'm always just a muse 

Wishing to be the prize you'll take home with pride;

Shouting to your ma that you have just won in life

While wrapping your arms around me,

Telling me I am the sun that shines in your morning,

The stars that glimmer for you every night,

The sunset and the sunrise you're always

Longing to witness in sight.

Maybe I am what you've always been looking for

And maybe you just don't know.

Maybe you have to figure it out on your own.

Maybe what you need is someone like me

Who'll trace the dots on your backbone

Without causing any damage in your skin.

But, if you want to know,

If you want to see,

Then, just let me in.

Beginnings

If you don't know where to begin, then it's okay.

We could begin talking about our exes

And how we thought they were the one.

We could talk about that person

You were attracted to the other day.

We could begin

Stories

We were made of stories 

we wouldn't tell anybody else.

The history books didn't have 

Our names written in them.

But we were hoping 

to be remembered by people 

that don't even know we exist.

But, we do exist.

We are a breathing story line 

with an unlikely plot twist;

we've given up the moment

we knew we were going well.

We were getting too strong

that nobody could break us,

but us.

So, we did.

We had plenty of chances

as if they were just dust

in our shelves 

of books that were just waiting

to be read, to be held,

to be loved again.

We had an open ending.

One which everybody else

keeps on determining

how it should go,

how it should turn out to be

the best story ever told.

But, no.

And don't tell me that I didn't try.

Because, I've been up for it

every single time. 

And I still don't know why

we've never spoken our apologies.

Or maybe we did 

and I just didn't care.

Because I saw the look in your eyes

and, I swear

they were seeing me but

were seeking something else.

And I never said I'd give up.

I'd never risk losing us. 

But, isn't it that some promises

were made to be broken?

No, it's not just that.

Some things were made to be broken.

Some people were made to be broken,

even the ones we thought would make it.

Let's go back to the beginning,

how I said that we were made of

stories we wouldn't tell anybody else.

But, since I'm telling the truth,

we were made of stories

we were afraid they'd find out.

And, no, the history books didn't

have our names written in them

because we didn't make it.

Isn't it they only sell the 

ones who've succeeded?

Let's go back to our ending,

how I realized that we are no longer

made of untold stories.

We are now made of memories

kept on boxes,

of poems we can no longer 

tell each other

and the rest,

I guess,

that I 

no longer want to remember.