Diskargo

Pasensya na kung lahat ng sinusulat ko sa kasalukuyan ay patungkol sayo.

Alam kong hindi mo ginustong gawin sakin ito, ngunit heto ako;

hindi nga basang-basa sa ulan pero lunod naman sa tanong na,

"saan nga ba kasi nagkulang?"

Mali bang maghangad ng isang bagay na alam kong akin naman nang una pa?

Pero, sabihin mo lang kung kinakapalan ko lang pala ang mukha ko.

Baka kasi iba ang rinig ko sa mga salitang binitawan mo.

Sa bawat ungol ng 'yong bibig ay namumulaklak ng hindi ko maintindihan;

ang bunga ba ay magiging tayong dalawa sa huli,

o hanggang ugat lang pala ang mga pangako mong sinambit?

Mga munting sala-salabid at nakabaon sa ilalim.

Masalimuot at hindi na mapapalabong pa ang uri.

Hanggang dun na lang sa kung saan ko sila natagpuan, at kung saan mo sila pinabayaan.

Sa tuwing yakap ko naman sa iyong bisig tila nalilimutan ang pangalan.

Tila nalilimutan kung saan ang pinagmulan,
tila nalilimutan ang emosyong pilit pinahihintulutan.

Nalilimutan rin kung paano tayo umabot sa puntong ayoko na
subalit patuloy pa rin ang paglingon sayo.

Sa iyo na pilit ko nang lumalayo.

Kasi, hanggang dito lang naman ang kaya ko.

Kasi, pilit mo lang din akong pinapahinto.

Ikinahihiya ko na ngang magsalita nang ganito.

Baka maisip mo, "heto na naman siya,

kailan niya ba matatanggap na wala naman akong maiaaro sakanya?

Na, kung sa akin lang ay wala naman siyang mapapala?"

Hindi ka nagkakamali.

Pero, hilig ko lang kasing humawak ng babasagin,

saka mambitaw nang ganung kadali.

Katapos ay hahagulgol sa sugat na dinulot ng bubog na kaunti.

Hilig ko lang kasing halikan ang mga labi mong pansamantala,

namamagasang magbago ang mga isipan nila.

Na manatili ka pa nang saglit, kahit hanggang sa pumanaw lang ang dilim.

Kahit ang mga tala lang ang aabutin. Huwag na ang buwan,
alam ko namang hindi mo kakayanin
kahit pa at lalo na kung para sa akin.

Hindi mo nga ginustong iparamdam sa akin ang pait,
at hindi ko rin naman ginustong maakit sa pantasyang
tayong dalawa ang magkatabi.

Hindi mo nga ginustong iparamdam sa akin ito, kaya pasensya na.
Pasensya na kung nagigipit na ang pagtingin mo sa 'king mga mata
kasi baka mahulog lang ako nang 'di ko sinasadya.

Pasensya na kung lahat ng ito ay sumasagwil
sa natural mong pakikisama sa akin.
Kasi kaunting galaw mo lang ay nabibigyan ko na ng ibang pagtingin.

Pasensya na kung ayaw mo na lang magsalita,
kasi lahat ng binibigkas mo ay
napagkakamalan kong mabigat sa aking pagunawa.

Pasensya na kung mahirap na akong suyuin
kasi mahirap na rin akong intindihin.
Pasensya na, mahal.

At pasensya na rin dahil mahal kita.

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.