Posts tagged: felt like writing
i would have
danced
with someone but
i was too shy so i
went straight to the
food
instead.
what did you get?
a salad,
fish fillet, or
toasted bread?
oh,
you knew what i got;
you looked over
my plate
and you just went on
without saying hi.
but that seemed to be
the norm.
you didn’t dance.
you barely even
talked
to anyone.
you were just
idle
most of the time.
bored,
maybe.
i
couldn’t get myself to
get near you.
but of course i wanted
to.
it’s just that i was too
shy.
.
my apologies.
you are the summer sky
and i
the tree
whose branches reach out
to a season,
a vastness that
stings—
burns—
to the
untouch.
.
you are the summer sky
and oh, how i hope for the
fall not to come by any time soon,
because that would mean a falling of
temperatures,
a falling of
leaves,
a falling of
hearts,
a falling…
.
you are the summer sky;
you are the summer sky
and everything that makes it up:
the glorious sunrise,
the seaside sunset;
you are the sun,
a star so
near—
the nearest—
yet
still
so
distant,
so out of
reach—
seemingly wedged between my
leaves, leaving me
contented,
happy,
relieved,
only to find that my measurements are
92,960,000 miles off, leaving me,
leaving me,
leaving me.
.
you are a
chilly summer night—
cold,
cold,
and cold—
sharp,
stinging,
berating,
mocking
cold.
so much so that
all i could do is
die
in the night.
.
you are
the moon,
a shapeshifter,
an entity with so many faces,
but with only a singular side
seen.
i rotate the space where you
seem to perch, the one
on my branches,
hoping it
helps.
.
you are the
clouds,
shrouding,
glistening,
condensed.
a mystery,
one with not much rain.
but it does rain.
a rarity.
rare rain.
summer rain.
beautiful,
but never to last so long.
.
you are the summer sky,
worthy of flying lanterns to,
high up,
in constant view.
near and far
but ultimately
out of reach.
.
and i
am but
a tree.
grounded,
unheavenly,
passive and
silent,
reaching,
but apparently not reaching
hard enough.
reaching,
reaching,
reaching,
wreaking,
wretched,
wreck.
.
but,
being
a pansy,
all of a sudden, i
wither up,
shy away;
rotting, stinking
dead.
mostly all time
spent,
mostly all effort
expended;
.
everything
in the end
left
unfelt.
i wrote something for you
but ended up not being able to post it
(for you will not be able to read it,
anyway)
frank,
written with a voice i’ve always
wanted you to hear,
it patiently waits for its content
to be known.
i give it a polite
hush,
“not now,
not yet,”
and it listens,
but with each passing second
bursts
with a silent
longing.
to help ease its relentless
yet uncontrolled
clamor,
i have decided to reveal
its first
line—
an introduction to something rather
personal
though
perhaps,
unimportant
to you.
a deep breath:
i’ve always
liked you
and i
still do;
there is
nothing
to worry about.
Isa sa mga ito ay ang mga
Kaibigan ko— pamilya man o hindi— dumadaan sa isip ko
Ang kanilang katauhan, mga problema’t hiling na iniisip na
Walang tunay na makakaalam— ni ako, kaya heto’t iniisip ko nag mga posibilidad.
Iba pa rito ang mga mismong akin: mga
Karanasang kailangang umulit-ulit upang may matutunan,
Ang mali ko’t mga tama, ang mismong rason kung bakit ako nabubuhay, kung
Wasto nga ba ang pamumuhay ko o hindi, kung sino ba talaga ako.
Iilan pa rito ay ang pag-aaral— saan nga ba ang patutunguhan ko
Kung ubod pa ng dami ang kailangan at gusto kong matutunan
At malaman na, siguro nga,
Wala namang gamit sa “totoong buhay” ang iba ritong interes ko.
Isip, isip, isip.
Kay rami namang iniisip. Ano nga ba ang madudulot nito kung wala naman itong
Aksyong naidudulot? Nakaka-
Windang ang lahat.
she told me to tell you something
if ever i do get the chance of bumping into you—
and, well,
here i am,
and there you are,
and, um,
wait—
let me try to get this right,
for her sake:
she says she’s sorry
if she seems to praise everyone else
more than she praises you—
she’s sorry that she seems not to praise you at all.
she says that the words
meant
for your eyes
and your ears
are the ones left
unfinished
and unspoken—
but for reasons she claims are
‘good’.
pardon me if i do inject a bit of
subjectivity
into her message but
i guess what she means to say is:
she’s sorry that she has not let
what she thinks—
and what she has always thought of you—
come across
quite properly.
she is also sorry
that this message must be sent
through me—
making her apologies
look
all the more
insincere.
she is sorry—
she truly is—
that she cannot reveal her identity
to you—
that she cannot have me
reveal
her identity
to you.
she cannot
because she is stubborn.
because her pride gets in the way,
from time to time.
because she does not want to feel
as though her
emotions
are being
toyed with.
because she thrives in what is
natural and
spontaneous.
because she wants only the
simplest
of things,
though,
quite ironically,
the simplest of things make her
think up
the most
complex
of thoughts.
being the good friend that i am,
i cannot
and will not
tell you who she is,
and for that,
i, too,
am sorry;
she seems to enjoy
revelling
in her anonymity,
and so i must respect her wishes.
we,
but most importantly,
she
hopes you understand.
do know that she thinks highly of you—
that all the probable compliments
and nice words that you’re waiting for
or not waiting for,
that you’re anticipating
or not anticipating,
that you’re expecting
or not expecting—
exist,
and have existed.
— hopefully what i just said
has covered everything she’s been meaning to tell you—
the ones, at least,
that are relevant to what she finds important
for you to know
at the present.
hopefully
next time,
she won’t need me
to tell you everything
she thinks is
essential
for you to know.
I apologize—
the air,
at the time,
was not
paper,
and my words,
at the time,
could not be
written down—
could not be
erased or jumbled up
to help me find a more appropriate
structure and
semantic
that would have expressed a more
exact
picture of
what I hold in my mind——
though,
I must say
that you were the one who
insisted
on asking me in that manner,
hiding behind a game,
all reason replaced with
bluntness.
so
don’t blame me
for getting an answer
suited for such;
nothing suited the time
and you know it,
but
I suppose
you had to feed your hungry mind
(or worse,
your gluttonous ego);
all is forgiven.
.
this was my first
so I hope you all enjoyed the spectacle;
it would be a shame if you didn’t.
.
annoyances aside,
my reasons have yet to be
touched,
and I’d like to keep them that way
until things seem fit.
as for now,
I fear for what I might tend to be,
knowing this.
only slightly,
though.
because I’ll be the one
winning
the next match.
A curse
residing
in my left ventricle,
one that has grown
to like
the trouble
it brings me.
It clings on my walls—
an ache—
resonating a name
in every chamber of the muscle it is housed in,
letting it
echo,
throughout my entire body,
throughout everything my flesh
envelopes—
simply having the name
echo
until an image slowly
fades
into my mind’s view,
halting all thought,
severing what little focus I have left,
torturing,
until,
finally,
after all the little devil’s efforts,
every single word I can ever say at the moment simply
escapes me,
blown away,
gone.
.
Such is the curse I keep.
i initially intended for this to be
poetry
but now i realize how
horrid
my current state of mind
is;
therefore i don’t think i can
conjure
the proper words to describe—
as i squint with my mind’s eye—
the passing of
every
bright
blur,
lost in the sea of the night.
