lips and roaches

Poetry, Strange

Your lips
are the rim of an aqua coffee mug
crawled on by roaches
I would never dare let mine touch again.

Yet your voice
is the sound of an expensive violin
stroked by a fine bow
I loathe how it could still disrupt my ground.

Advertisements

puppet or partner

Strange

Did it ever occur to you that the same letters from the word listen make up that of the word silent? And how much I freeze when the thorns coming out of your mouth as harsh as the wind touch my skin?

Have you ever considered looking up the dictionary for the difference between a puppet and a partner? And how much of a mannequin I become whenever you place your hand on my shoulder?

Did it ever occur to you that you were in a relationship?

Have you ever considered I was part of it?

Did you ever even think about me?

And how your unwillingness to concede would make me leave?

unnamed emotions

Poetry, Strange

I believe there are more emotions out there we don’t even know the name of. We try to associate them to a certain feeling so other people could understand, but they couldn’t; not even you could understand it, let alone people who don’t really care.

I believe love is all the emotions out there we don’t even know the name of. We try to associate it to a certain feeling so other people could understand, and they do; because everyone understands it, let alone people who haven’t loved at all.

P.S. A (stupid) theory I wrote October of last year. But seriously I was just waiting for a prompt to publish this, which I know isn’t how prompts work. Lol oh well

perhaps love

Poetry, Strange

Coincidence is the start of something funny, perhaps love. It’s the first curl on someone’s lips after finding out you watch the same kind of movies. It’s the plans running in your head as you talk about this quaint coffee shop most people haven’t heard of. It’s a song slowly fading in on cue when you both laugh at an old stupid joke your neighbor used to tell. It’s when you share the same opinion about politics and then decide to talk about conspiracy theories instead. It’s the excuse hopeless romantics use to meet again on this upcoming event. Coincidence stops when they finally meet on the event and went for beer after. It stops when they arrange to go out the next weekend to watch a new horror movie. It stops when they check out the quaint coffee shop and realized it wasn’t so empty like they expected it to be. It stops when they both start making time for each other just to talk about aliens and the moon landing, to listen to corny jokes and cheesy songs, to decide to officially see each other and meet again and again and again. Coincidence stops when something funny finally happens, perhaps love. And probably commitment.

Faraway Heart

Strange

I dreamt of flying to a faraway heart of which the distance is just one step apart.

So close in touching the sky and yet so far in holding your hand, so easy to step on the ground and yet so hard for our lips to land.

I dreamt of flying to a faraway heart. But I never imagined dreams could be this short.

I dream of flying from a faraway heart. Your incessant indifference will be my passport.

Inks and Pain

Strange

It has become unusually harder for me to create bittersweet stories which evoke a bit of melancholia ever since pain stopped knocking on my heart.

I am questioning myself if I could still feel something, anything—anger, bitterness, frustration, shame, love, sadness—towards some certain people in my life and how important that emotion is in our relationship, but I’m afraid at times I feel empty because there is nothing to feel.

I oppose being empty, my mind resists engaging at the very thought of it, my heart stubbornly refuses to believe it is real, that it could happen, especially to me.

I who have joined the bandwagon of cold people claiming they have empty hearts when they are really just lonely. I who turned sadness into art whenever tears reach the tip of my tongue, or even when tears haven’t come. I who became overly familiarized with pain that I recognize it in other people’s eyes and understand it with my heart. I who thinks of welcoming pain again in my life, just so I could divert my attention in feeling nothing when there could be everything, or even just a thing.

The rain used to make my ink bleed with pain, now I’m asking pain to make my ink bleed when it rains.

I know what you did last December

Strange

To the one who liked me,

I know what you did last December. You hugged me, we were sleeping next to each other. I let you, I was trying to feel if my heart will waver.

But your hand on my stomach didn’t even make the butterflies come out, your breath on my head didn’t even bring any shiver down.

Swallowing for air, both of us are aware. Awake and aware. Pretending to sleep, we decided not to care.

In case you’re reading, I apologize for having written this down to paper. It’s just hard to ignore the words once they appear in front of you and make you remember. But I guess it’s not hard to ignore this particular letter, just like how we ignored what you did last December.

From the girl who liked another man

P.S. Some details are tweaked for privacy purposes. 

fade and vanish

Strange

Flee—it has become the word that her heart has been pumping. To run away, fade, and vanish.

Ambitions turn into demons controlling the mind, dreams are screaming where are we going with this life?

Fade and vanish. Away from this free world prisoning her to live the way she likes. 

And maybe die.