A Scavenger’s Tale

I have a closet filled up to the brim
with things I have collected from the world
outside.

Tainted trinkets
card board boxes
pleated skirts that reek
of sunflowers and summer sun.
Lipsticks and lip glosses
soft as the pastel skies as they
carry the aftertaste of all the
faces I have come across in life,
whose names are tangled in my tongue
like ancient languages.
And finally, a broken mirror where
I could see only half of my
reflection, bent before my fading
eyes, the images of the ones I
barely know and the ones I
shall never forget.

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My Youth Hero

The nimbus clouds hover soundlessly on the horizon, as if to mimic a sinister bug creeping steadily to seize for blood. The birds by the window flap their wings furiously and chirp in the tone of both rage and madness, almost as if to warn us humans about a thief on the loose. The wind howls in reprieve: this is how nature says sorry for what a tragedy humiliation has fallen over the country today.

November 18 marks the day of the clandestine burial of the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos at the Libingan ng mga Bayani, much to the rage of anti-Marcos protesters, human rights advocates, student activists, and concerned citizens.

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8 (CIRCLE) by Bon Iver

bon-iver-22-a-million

Bon Iver is a spell whose force draws itself from the powerful play of music and words.
Justin Vernon is a poet whose his lyrics make up his madness, his art.

To that person I once knew in college who first let me hear about Bon Iver,
I hope you are happy wherever you are and I hope you have forgotten about her.

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Heartbreakers

My heart still
breaks a little
at the sound of
your name.

I wonder where
you are, or how
you have been
or how many nights like
these passed by without
you noticing or
remembering that
once, on an August night
we were together
and you were mine.

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Child of the Cosmos

Have you ever looked at people
and told yourself that
one day you are going to
write about them?
about how her lips pursed as she
uttered every syllable like a
prayer before a God
that is not there;
about how the sound of her strange
pronunciation floated like mist
over the fading of consciousness;
about the silver tongue you wish
you could erase
if only to break the barrier
that is language.

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To You Who Knew

I.

Perhaps we were wrong
to test our hearts of their limits
thinking they can withstand
the wickedness of this game
And when I tell you love
perhaps it was a mistake
on my part
to wait for an answer

From where I stand you are
only a thousand light-years away
I count the distance like
I would count the years
And I realize if you multiply
ten by itself, then by a hundred
then by a thousand, by a million
What we would have at the end of the equation
is the product of our lost and wasted time
when we once believed, fooled ourselves
that we were right for each other,
or when we thought we knew
how to love when
the truth is we were
incapable

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Alter Ego

What if I am just an idea formed in the
mind of another loner like myself?
Halfway across the globe, face pressed
against the windowpane, staring into the
pouring rain outside, wishing she had
somebody to call on—somebody to discuss
anything with, from what happened last
night up to the parts of a person they would
never let us love
Frozen lips blue with asphyxiation pressed
up against the warm lips of the coffee cup
possibly the only lips she will ever get to
press up against in this lifetime of solitude
and peace and silence she had built for herself

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Dear Scott

I was 19 when I met you
in the summer of ’44
along the streets of Edinburgh
and right away
I named myself after
the gentle breeze of the morning air
the gleaming yellow of the sun
In my mind was a picture
of a dandelion I never had
Your footsteps left me with nothing
but a song

I spent the summer next
listening to some Scottish indie band
I happen to stumble upon
in my desperate search
across the flower fields
for traces of your arrival
People laugh thinking
“What a fool!”
But then again who are they
to blame us when we dream
We seekers of nothing
Continue reading “Dear Scott”