World Poetry Day

21 March is World Poetry Day, and today's poem is you driving two hours, us sitting in your car, me never going to get used to your eyes -- those eyes, your hands, that voice that sounds like music and feels like home -- and I've only been with you for five minutes but already my week has been made.

my favorite memory

is of the baristas cleaning up the coffee shop, 1 in the morning, you singing along to an Adam Levine song I usually hate, but this time I'll make an exception, me acting coy when I catch you staring but good god do I love it, watch me melt into a puddle of nothing and everything, nothing spoken but everything said, I just hope my eyes don't give me away because yours sure as hell do (not that it's a bad thing) and how badly I want to tell you that after years of worshipping John Lennon, I might just have found a new favorite Beatle.

24th of January

Today is the 24th of January. I am laying in bed listening to my roommate play songs on her ukulele. It is twelve noon and I lay here thinking how I managed to get drunk for the third time in four days, last night. I have laundry and paperwork waiting for me, and I lay here swimming in my thoughts of you, thinking of how I'd much rather be resting my head on your shoulder and how I had the best sleep I've had in years when sleep meant passing out on the sofa and waking up to the sight of you playing video games next to me, and how my thoughts are of you and of no one or nothing else.

Ceres

since I have met you
there have been a dozen
drafts
on my dashboard
letters i can't finish
thoughts i can't put into words
words i can't ever speak

Premature

Over the years I realized that I have a propensity for falling in love in dramatic ways -- swiftly, recklessly, in impossible circumstances -- this last one being no exception. I warned you against this, you know, but when I did, it was too late for me as well. My heart had climbed out of my ribcage, through bone, muscle, and skin, and it had sunken to the ground, through layers of concrete and dirt, into the earth's mantle and core, to sit comfortably next to you, where you are -- where I wish I were.

5 am thoughts

i can't remember the last time
a boy has looked at me like that --
you, grinning like a weirdo
me, wishing i were there with you
us, oceans apart
you, 5920 miles away
me, awake at 5 fucking am

My Heart is an Old Place

Upkeep is getting quite expensive
I read yesterday's paper
and look for rooms for rent.

For almost half a year
My clothes have been in boxes by the door
But they never seem make it out.

You

I like you better when you're broken
and I am left with the job
of piecing you back together
(barely)
Assembling the puzzle of a broken shell
Cutting my fingers along the way
just to see my favorite shade of red
creep into the crevices
of an old piece of china
(you)

it's not you i love.

but the thought of love
but the thought of being in love
the thought of giving
of getting

it's not you i love.

Trains

Today I took a train towards south,
but to nowhere in particular.
With each station I passed,
and the blur of people that went with each,
I got nowhere nearer where I was going


only farther from where I had been.
 

Only in hunger will you know what satisfaction is.

Some Long-due Imagery

From the west windows, it looked like the sky was in flames. The storm clouds that came with the rain hung ominously over the fiery sky, gigantic cotton candy mushroom clouds. Through the windows at the far end of the train, the orange sky turned softly purple, interspersed with wisps of smoke-gray. But turn your head just a little east-ward, and the whole view was of blue, a deluge worth oceans in volume. 

May 23 '11, 6 pm

  

Profile

I see your face, and I only see the hollows of your cheeks--
where my kisses once had been.
 

Hunger

It's not just artists who starve--
Poets, lovers, dreamers, too.
Because dreams, passion, fire, vision--they don't feed you--

they only make you hungrier.
 

I Just Thought You'd Like to Know

i just thought you’d like to know

because i too, would like to know

if your thoughts are of me

as frequently as mine are of you

i would like to know,

when you are in the arms of sleep,

am i in yours?

i would like you to know

how i can’t wait until i am yours

(and yet i wait)

whoever you are

i just thought you’d like to know

  

Defending the Caveman: Lazy Review

(I just realized that I failed to write any kind of introduction, or synopsis to my previous Lazy Reviews, haha; I apologize)

Last Saturday, I watched Defending the Caveman with my classmates and my friend, Star, at the RCBC building in Makati. It's a one-hour comedy show, starring Joel Trinidad, and him alone, about the differences between the sexes. The main premise is that men are 'hunters,' and women, 'gatherers;' this is used throughout the performance to explain most every disparity between man and woman.

Acting - excellent. I wouldn't even call it acting.
Script - excellent. Funny, witty, with just the right amount of obscenity. Haha.
Production design - good. Every piece onstage served a purpose and fit the story (?) well.
Lights and sounds - good. Though most of the time it's really just Mr Trinidad onstage delivering his piece.
Director - excellent.

Rating: 10/10
This was pure win. I would even call it enlightening. Go and watch this!
You can still catch Defending the Caveman at RCBC Makati this week. Check out this LINK for details.

My Heart is a Big Place

Deep, and cavernous.

Some light manages to enter through the doorway, but it can only do so much. The farther in you tread, the less and less you see. At around dusk, I leave the door open to watch the water turn pink and orange. By night-time, the whole place is pitch-black. I run my fingers on the cold stone walls to find my way in.

I live far away from the city, where the sound of the ocean muffles the noise of cars and worry. Take a boat in the morning, arrive mid-day, and leave before it gets dark. My heart is a big place. The ceilings are high, and they echo your voice, long after you have gone.

(Read My Heart is a Small Place)
 

Scent of a Woman

you only get a whiff
when she has already passed you by
  

Windmills

I've never seen the sea in so pure a shade of blue. Beyond the shore, the horizon was simply a blurred line, where the sky seemed to melt into the ocean. The wind would make ripples on the water's surface, and with each ripple, tiny diamonds on the ocean floor would send out their lights, dancing around the sun's reflection on the sea. A narrow road coiled around the mountain, twisting, gently rising and falling until it crept nearer and nearer the water. From where I was seated, it felt like we were driving straight into the ocean.

I knew how you loved the sea, so I thought I'd take a picture to show you back home. (Heck, I even took a video.) But when I watched the playback, the blues were closer to slate, and the white sand shore looked like a dusty dirt road.
  

The proof of gold is fire...

but the proof of the rising sun at dawn
is the setting sun at dusk.