Poetry

not welcome

It’s in that moment
when our eyes locked
and your gaze
doesn’t feel the same
anymore
that I felt shame
for entering
a maze
with no end.
But then again,
I wasn’t welcomed
in the first place.

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Poetry

conceal no more

The invisible cloak 
doesn’t work on me 
anymore. 

I was revealed. 

He doesn’t just pass by; 
now he looks at me in the eye. 

And in that fleeting moment, 
I always make sure 
his gaze will catch mine.

Daily Post’s Fleeting and Conceal

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Strange

I’m Brave (Not?)

Not friends, not enemies, just some strangers with some memories.

Every time I cut, color, or change the style of my hair, this particular man comes out of his house right when I’m about to pass the way. That particular man is my friend, or rather, was my friend. Coz now, we’re strangers. And I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not. What I’m sure of, however, is that it’s really brave of me to share and publish this now. The first time I talked about someone so obviously (yes, it’s already obvious for me) that he would know it’s him. If only he reads this. Which I hope not.

Speaking of brave, I think it’s fair enough for girls to say that donating 8 inches of our hair for the benefit of children with cancer is a brave (and kind) thing to do. Which I did earlier, which prompt me to write this post. Now my hair falls right exactly at my collar bone. And I have to deal with it.

Like how I have to deal with what’s going on in my life right now, and all the drama hidden behind my eyes. I have to iron it out and at least straighten some of the curls. But there will be days when you just want to leave them be and be free. From all the heat and chemicals surrounding it. I hope the time comes when I have to worry less, if not anymore, and live life the way I want it to be.

Writing 101’s Task: Hook ’em with a quote.

P.S. Sorry I didn’t elaborate on the quote and my story. It just hurts so bad. Of course, I’m kidding. Also, the last paragraph speaks true for both my hair and my life. Maybe it also rings true to you. ☼

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Poetry

If We’re Together

couple cafe sad ifs coffee girl boy

If we were having
coffee right now,
you’d ask me what
this poem is about.

I’d make up a story on
how I saw the shoes
of my dreams taken
away by some lady
who has more cash
in her hands.

You’d tell me that
there are a lot of
shoes in the world
and I would find
something that is
more special.

I’d smile at you
and you’d ask me why.
I’ll then say that
this poem is for us.

You left me for some
girl who had more
curves in her bod.

I looked for a man
who is far more than
special than you are.

If we were having
coffee right now,
I won’t be captivated
by his radiant eyes.

Writing 101’s Task: Over a Cup of Coffee. [Photo]

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Bitter

Demand for Authenticity

Illustrations-Diego-Fernandez-11I’m tired of looking at something I can’t have. I constantly block my senses from working—my eyes from seeing, the thought from coming, and the feelings(!)—almost hating them for functioning properly. But the itch on my heart just keeps growing, gently and then suddenly.

I’m tired of living in the back of my mind instead of walking with reality. My body is hungry and it’s craving for something definite, something real. But the world I made for myself is bewitching.

I’m tired of wanting prohibited dreams. People. And things. But my ears stubbornly listen to my articulate brain talking its way through things by teaming up with my very desires.

We’re tired of liking something we can’t have. But we do it anyway. Because the thought of it is thrilling, our eyes spark for it’s fireworks that we see, and the feelings(!), unlike any that we know of. We’re tired, but we keep on thinking anyway. For it deceives our minds and makes us happy for a moment; happy because of an imagination and even though happiness is a myth. We’re tired but we keep on wanting, on yearning the prohibited. Because no matter how much we try to fool ourselves that everything will be better if we follow the right track, the impalpable forces will pull us back to show us what we truly love.

[Photo]

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Poetry

Drowning

sea-man-person-ocean-large-drowning

She was not the first
girl to come over me
and then buy us a drink.
But you see, I liked her
right away.

She was a smart woman
with an enchanting beauty
unlike most girls I meet.
You know, we were in love
way, way back.

But then behind her lovely eyes,
a wicked mind and a greedy heart
reside.

I dived deep into her wilderness
trying to bring her soul back to the
surface.

But little did I know she was a great
swimmer and before I realized, I was
drowning.

She was the only person
who treated me like a cat
when I was actually a tiger.
But you see, I will remember
her, forever.

Daily Post’s writing prompt Brilliant Disguise.

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Poetry

Amnesia

Illustrations-Diego-Fernandez-5

There’s a problem with my eyes.
When the left one is close,
I could barely see the memories
we had.

There’s a problem with my eyes.
When the left one is open,
I could clearly see the future
we lost.

There’s a problem with my eyes.

But there’s also a problem with yours.

It doesn’t matter when your eyes
are open or close, for either way
you wouldn’t recognize the lady
you loved.

This is in response to the Daily Post’s writing prompt Don’t You Forget About Me. [Photo]

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