Wednesday, October 6, 2010

SixWords.

Altruistic.
Neutral.
Guiltless.
Expressive.
Lonely.
Optimist.
What do these individual words mean?
They describe me.
A-N-G-E-L-O
Me.
Who is me?
Who am I?
I am nothing.
At the same time, I am everything.
No, I do not mean everything like the gods you serve.
No.
I mean everything as in I can be anything.
I am altruistic.
Altruistic.
Comes from the word altruism.
An unselfish regard for or devotion to the welfare of others.
Since I was born, I have never been too selfish.
All I want is appreciation and love.
Is that too much to ask?
I accept those who come to me for help.
Be it advice on how to get away with cheating, how to get away with stealing or how to access certain illegal drugs, I have been there to help.
From simple school homework, to boyfriend problems to family drama, I have been there.
And I cannot say that I am completely selfless because I am human.
I crave attention like everyone else.
I need love like everyone else.
Though everyone else is better at handling not having that attention and appreciation.
But I rarely get any.
I never hear the encouraging words of I'm proud of you from my parents.
I rarely see the appreciation from my peers.
I hardly see the love and affection from the girl I adore.
But I still stand.
To put others before me.
My greatest weakness.
Putting others before me eases the pain of knowing that there are none who is willing to give back the same amount of devotion I give out.
Altruistic.
Neutral.
A position of disengagement.
This is the bliss I try to attain.
Because I am not ignorant.
I chose to not pick sides.
Comes from this need to please those around me.
Equipped with charisma and good manners, I try to get along with everyone.
Getting close but not letting anyone know the real chaos that is my mind.
Staying distant so that I cannot be hurt.
But every relationship is like a hill.
And we know what happens to vehicles parked in neutral on a slope.
Gravity pulls them to their downfall.
Neutral.
Guiltless.
Innocent.
One wihtout guilt.
How I wish this was true.
But it applies to me because I do not carry guilt.
I have learned that guilt is a concept invented to degrade our existance and to severly punish those who has wronged us.
If mankind is so focused in moving forward, why do people carry guilt, a thing of the past, everywhere?
Everyone does it, except for those who cannot feel guilt.
I believe society calls those individuals sociopaths.
I guess I am one too.
I do not feel guilt because I know what I have done.
I am aware if it is right or wrong.
But there is no merit in letting it hinder me from the future I want to achieve.
Guiltless.
Expressive.
Means to make known what one thinks or feels.
I am very expressive.
I will say what's on my mind with little or no regard with how anyone will react.
But only when I am pushed to the edge of my tolerance.
I am usually indifferent and tolerant to the world.
Because in my experience, no one gives a fuck about what a free mind thinks.
Because indifference is the only way I can tolerate selfish bastards who cannot spend more than a second thinking of someone else.
And I am sick and tired of selfish people walking all over me.
But my altruistic nature won't let me learn my lesson.
So I'm stuck in this infinite, never ending cycle of being everyone's movator, like the ones in airports.
I help them move forward faster without a single glance of appreciation.
Expressive.
Lonely.
Being without company.
Cut off from others.
I can never get rid of this feeling of loneliness.
It's a virus from the neutralness that I try to feel, the altruistic nature my grandparents inspired me to be, my uncontrollable expressiveness and my guiltless conscience.
I keep my distance though I try to help everyone.
My expressiveness pushes others away.
And my guiltless conscience hurts those around me.
I am a collection of opposites.
A bipolar disorder that comes in contact with each other.
I am torn between the need to help others and the desire to feed my own needs.
I am a human that I can't even understand.
I am a monster.
And I fear that society will run me out of town.
Furthering my isolation.
Lonely.
Optimist.
To anticipate the best possible outcome.
I am this.
And no one can disprove this.
I've been through a lot.
Even worse because of how I am.
And yet, it has not stopped me from being who I am.
The hurtful experiences I've lived through has not prevented me from lending a helping hand.
It has not made me more selfish.
Although it has placed a little bit of bitterness in me.
I am still me.
And though my glass heart has been shattered time and time again, I still carry it.
Willing to share it with anyone who might be interested.
Except now, I have more pieces to give out.
I am still broken, but I'm okay with that.
After all, anything that is broken was once complete.
Optimist.
These words describe my existance perfectly.
But I still do not know who I really am.
I guess that's the beauty of being human.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Love is like a cellphone.

Love is like a cellphone.
When you get a brand new one, you’re all excited. Eager to figure out everything about it. The different apps, games, take pictures with it, and figure out what else it has under it’s sleeves. You might even brag to all your friends about your new phone. Anyone who fucks with it will die.
Then a couple of months later, it’s still fairly new. You’ve dropped it here and there, but you’re still taking quite good care of it. It’s not something you’ll randomly tell your friends, as they’ve heard more than enough. The shine and gloss of your cellphone is still there, but you can tell that it’s beginning to fade. Your cellphone is more than enough.

A couple of months more, scratches became quite visible. People ask the stories behind each one. You tell a lie, saying, my friend dropped it or my baby cousin was playing with it outside or my dog found it in my bag. Hiding the fact that it was most likely a cause and effect of your doing. Still, regardless of these flaws, you accept it and move on. After all, it still is your cellphone.

Months pass, the battery starts to lose its life span. The life of your cellphone isn’t as strong as it use to be. Text messages don’t appear right away when a friend sends it through, or maybe it doesn’t even show up at all. The keypad is worn out, losing the letters that each number portray. It’s still useable, but it’s not as appealing as it once was.

A year ago, you were so proud to have that cellphone. Now, it’s just paperweight. A paperweight that can text, and make phonecalls and hold your music for you. It’s not the latest, most hi-tech one around, since you did get it a year ago, but you bear with it. You’ve been with it so much, why stop now? But you can’t lie to yourself. That new cellphone, with it’s touch screen capabilities, sleek shape and brand new useful apps seem a million times more appealing than what you have.

A week later, you walk into the store, staring at that new phone that you’ve been eye-ing for weeks. Inquiring about the kind of details that one would consider when looking for a new phone. Your old one, still by your side, can only watch in fear and trust that you won’t abandon it so easily. It knows it’s end is coming up, but if cellphones had feelings, I’m sure they’d fight to stay with you.

A few months after, you’re opening the box of your new phone.

What happens to your old one?

It might as well have never existed.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Jason&Jane

“Jason.” Her voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
“Jane.” I replied in the same monotonic voice she gave me.
“What’re you doing?” This question always irked me, just a little bit. We talk on the phone for hours and a lot of our conversation has to be rerouted to this same question. It’s like the thread on some forum has died and this is the only way to spark a new one, to start a completely new topic. Why can’t she just randomly start the conversation, instead of using this method as a means of transition to something else?
“Why does it matter to you?” Answering a question with a question is redundant, but I felt no need to comply with her question.
“Well, we are talking on the phone, stupid.” Her semi-witty reply brought a deafening smile. I could imagine her smiling on the other side of the phone. Her reply isn’t really that witty, but I let her have that moment of pride.
“Ah, good point. I’m just thinking.” An answer so vague, anyone can predict the upcoming follow up question.
“What about?” And there it is.
“You.” I wasn’t being completely honest with this answer; although I wasn’t completely lying as well. My train of thoughts did include her, but I dared not share it with her, even if we are the closest of friends.
“Don’t be stupid.” Could she be any colder?
“I’m being serious.” She never did take me seriously in affairs regarding feelings.
“What about me?” Debating whether or not to share particular information with someone is quite tricky. It’s even trickier when it has to do with them. I sometimes wonder how KGB or CIA agents handle interrogation questions like these. Playing dumb certainly won’t help, because you’ve been caught. But comparing my conundrum with KGB and CIA interrogation extraction methods is clearly over exaggerating the entire situation.
“Nothing in particular.” You got to love vague answers.
“Stop being cryptic, will you?” Life is never fun without puzzles, or maybe that’s just me.
“Did you know that cynic rhymes with cryptic?” This is true.
“And so does you’re being a dick.” And so was her reply.
“Good one.” That answer deserved a moment of pride, but I could tell she was becoming sick of my cryptic messages.
“Are you going to tell me or not, Jason?” She wasn’t even asking a question at this point. She was merely stating, tell me or I’ll kill you when I see you, but in a subtler way.
“How long have we known each other?” Stalling was my forte, but she knows that as well.
“Seven years, is this relevant?” If patience is a virtue, then Jane is the exact opposite. Brutal honesty is her specialty and detours are her biggest pet peeve. I’m the complete opposite.
“How well do you know me?” See? Complete opposite.
“Well enough to know that you’re stalling, which means you’re deciding whether you should reveal your secret. You might as well though, what difference is one secret from the millions you’ve confided in me.” What’re best friends for, except to extort your deepest darkest secret out of the hiding place you call your mind.
“Prove it.” I’m running out of tactics.
“You’ve told me about how you’ve broken many young and naive girls because of your cynicism and lack of anything better to do. It’s something you take pride in, being a sweet talker and all. Although, in reality, you’re just being insecure and refuse to let any of these victims of yours get close enough to see you for who you really are. The lame dork I talk to every day.” Ouch, that’s below the belt.
“That’s not proving it.” I’m backed against a wall. I’m starting to debate whether she’s gained some sort of resentment over me after telling her my life adventures. Granted, I’m not the best human being, and I know I’ve done many unforgiving deeds, but I always assumed that Jane either didn’t care much for my antics or approved of it.
“Agatha, Sophia, Diane, Fiona, Gina, Helen, Kagome, Lisa, Patricia, Olivia, Yumi, Tina, Rita, Erika, Alicia, Alice, Vivian, Stephanie, Sandy, Nikki, Michelle, Michelle C, Michelle E, Carol, Anne, Gabby, Eileen, and your latest victim, Caroline.” Every last one of them, this is what I get for befriending someone with a memory span that would outlast my computer hard drive.
“You’re still not proving anything.” If I ever wanted to commit suicide, angering Jane would be the quickest way to get there.
“You’ve lost, Jason. You might as well tell me. You know you have no other question to circle around to. Just tell me. Will it really change how I see you? My best friend is a heartbreaking, cynical, heartless, spawn from hell asshole, and no secret you say will change that.” I smiled at her compliment. What she said was true, and if it was anyone else except Jane, I might’ve been a little bit insulted.
“I love you, Jane.” She’s not going to believe me.
“I know you do.” Typical Jane answer.
“No, I mean it. I love you.” I’m trying to win a losing war.
“And those other girls?” And there drops the Fat Man.
“I’ve got nothing that can possibly change how this situation seems right now.” Honesty and vagueness was my only hope. I was certain that being together with Jane was hopeless. I felt like I’ve been in the friend zone for seven long years and was going to be stuck there until death tears us apart. I tried to get over Jane with the means of using harmless flirting to keep my mind of it. But it never worked. No matter who it was, all I could think about was Jane. Like a KGB being brainwashed into perfection. I felt like I had to brainwash myself into a robotic state around Jane. It was the only logical way of getting out of the friend zone intact.
“Falling in love is a dangerous commitment.” Jane’s favourite motto, but it spoke nothing less than the truth.
“I know. I’ve been in love with you for seven years.” Seven years of trying to get over her.
“When did you fall in love with me?” I might as well be truthful.
“The minute I saw you.” I never thought I’d be admitting this.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I didn’t want to lose you.
“You told me you didn’t believe in love at first sight.”
“My opinion changed when I saw you.”

Friday, May 7, 2010

Boxed In.

Your entire life can be summed up in one word.
Your life circles around boxes.
You get up from your bed, which is in a shape of a box.
You do your morning routine of washing up and taking a shower in a room that’s a shape of a box.
After that you walk downstairs, open your box fridge, find something to cook on top of your box stove.
Or possibly a quick meal like cereal, which comes from boxes.
Then after breakfast, you head out your box-shaped door, and sit in a car.
Which is basically a box with wheels.
Or maybe you commute, but that’s still a box with wheels.
You pay fare and drop your coins in a box.
You arrive at the station and hope to find a seat in the moving box train called a subway.
You get off, and walk or take the streetcar to your work place.
By the way, the streetcar is still a box.
Then you get to work, and take an elevator.
Which is a box.
Then when you get off your floor, you sit inside a cubicle. Which is still a box.
You sit in front of a box screen, pressing little boxes on your keyboard that makes letters magically appear in the screen before you.
Then, after a long day’s work, you leave.
Take that same elevator back down.
Take the subway back home.
Ride your box with wheels to your garage.
Open your door.
And your home.
You’ll probably spend three hours on your own personal box computer, doing your little hobbies.
Or maybe do some rest and relaxation watching television.
That is in the form of a what?
Yes, box.
Good, you’re catching on.
Then after all is done, you wash up in your box washroom.
Lie down on your box shaped bed.
Only to wake up to the same routine, the same boxed life the next day.
Now, I restate my first statement.
Your life circles around boxes.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Broken

I'm broken.
And at the same time, I'm not.
I'm lonely.
All the while, I'm fine.
I'm sane.
But I'm pretty sure I'm derranged.
I'm miserable,
But I know damn well that I'm content.
Is it heaven sent ?
All these damn misfortunes that befall me ?
Honestly, I fail to see
How walking through life in my shoes is best for me.
Unless it's these
Very same obstacles that will make me better.
But I have a feeling I'll die young or grow old bitter.
All I know is that life is a big cycle of lies.
And no matter how hard I try,
I
End up on the short end of the stick.
And I
Either react too quick, or come off as a big dick.
Use to be a nice guy, but innocence is quick to die.
And a heart breaks and aches and that creates
An asshole with a beating heart that's become subzero cold.
An asshole who lost control over the redemption of his soul.
I fold, because these cards I hold are subpar.
Not even worthy for anyone to test me.
Or trust me.
I forgot how to socialize.
If misery loves company, then we have moved past intimacy.
Because she does not even cheat on me, I am the only one she needs.
Sadly, I don't believe in divorces, so I'm stuck with her for eternity.
And she's made me believe that misery is the only company I ever need.
I've learned to dislike being around anyone.
Secretly, I long to be alone with my thoughts.
Where I am judge free, because everyone just leaves me.
For someone else.
I've learned to deal with that misfortune and lived with it.
And because of this,
I've begun to think that the world is like a great black pit
And the vermin of the world inhabit it
And its morals aren't worth what a pig can spit
And I wouldn't give a shit if the world was lit.
Ablaze.
I feel like how I first came to this country in the third grade.
Except now, I have to face my fears and they all weild blades.
And every swing hits me, one hundred percent accuracy.
Instead of blood, I bleed out insercurity and sanity.
And these puncture wounds and battle scars
Will never heal, no matter how far
You are.
I'm miserable because of this.
The reason why I try to live in ignorance and bliss.
I could be mentally insane.
But that's what happens when your work ends in vein.
I'm better off being lonely.
Because everyone is scared of the monster that is me.
I'm broken on the inside.
A reminder of how my innocence died, drowning in your lies.
I'm broken.
But I still try.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Thunderous Sounds

Replay that one day, early monday.
On my way to work, somethin' mundane.
The rain came down, with thunderous sounds
A girl walks by, with no umbrella around.
She took cover under the bus shelter.
I felt her shiver from this natural shower.
She sighed and indicated a goodbye.
I asked her to wait, at least till the rain grew light.
We talked for a while, but it came to a close.
As we looked on the horizon, and saw my bus came close.
The rain begain pourning much stronger now.
And she still had no umbrella around.
So I offered her mine, payment in smiles
A name to a face, and a number to dial.
She was grateful and walked on.
Turned the curb with my hand on my phone.
The light conversation that we spent.
Stayed in my mind till the day's end.
Then that evening, I called her then.
"The number you have dialed does not exist, please try again."

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Bitter BreakUps

I wonder if any girl looks at a guy and says to herself:
“Wow. I broke his heart once.”
Tore him apart once. After a handful of months.
Regrets that she took his faith in relationships.
Tied it with bricks and threw it off a Pacific Oceanliner ship.
Watched his glass heart sink.
As she pushed his faith to the very brink.
Of insanity. Willingly. Purposely.
So that from the shackles of commitment she'd be free.
Only to watch his fragile beating heart cease to beat.
She took the deadbeat heart for hers to keep.
Like a trophy. So that she'll never be lonely.
Because hearts are rarely given away willingly.
Deceptively, that's one way to steal a heart.
Viciously, the alternative to rip them apart.
But do they look back on it and apologize?
Say sorry for the bullshit, drama and lies?
Tell themselves, he was better off not meeting me.
Because of me, he could've been living happily.
Cancer free, from a disease called heartache.
A result of carelessly letting your heart break.
Symptoms include never healing scars and painful memories.
Building thick walls and treating everyone as enemies.
There's no immidiate cure, it's a slow recovery.
But you'll never be the same as you use to be.
Treat everything coldly, and nothing seriously.
It's the price to pay for a little bit of maturity.
I wonder if any girl has looked at a guy and said to herself,
"Wow, I broke his heart once."
Said hi to him after thousands of unspoken months.
I can only imagine his response to the reason why his scars won't heal.
"Fuck you, cunt."

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Judge Me.

My closest friends are inanimate objects.
I’ll just name a few.
Her name is PS3.
Now, before you judge me, let me explain myself.
She helps me reach the depths of creativity.
Allowing me to travel into worlds that only exists virtually.
Lets me shoot an M16, or drive faster than laws allow me to.
Get into a car crash and walk away without missing a single tooth.
PS3 lets me live in a world where I am not bound by mortality.
Where I can snipe a civilian without worrying if the police will catch me.
It helps me indulge in my wildest fantasies without leaving my chair.
Experience a world where you can save and load, now that’s a life fair.
My next best friend is my lighter.
Which helps me breathe in the toxic smoke of cigarettes.
Something that I know I’ll live to regret.
This occasional opportunity helps me run free from the shackles of stress.
Living smoke free was impossible ever since the Philippines.
And I know using it as a means to run from stress isn’t best.
But it works, with a side effect of nostalgic feelings of Philippines.
My notebook is my other close friend.
Holding in stories that I write out.
The bridge between who I am and what I doubt.
A link between what I think and what I show.
It’s a tradition that’s begun since I was one.
But back then, I was writing scribbles no one could understand.
My camera is my most intimate friend.
We share the same views about life and the world.
I know for a fact I treat her better than I have any other girl.
We’ve only known each other for a year.
But she’s been with me through the tough times of this year.
And these four walls are the friend that knows me best.
Unlike the people of this world, these walls don’t think of me less.
No mistake can ever change the fact that they’ll be with me.
To lend an open ear and their silent response is all I ever need.
These four walls have provided me shelter when my world tore apart.
Helped me realize the pros and cons of having a hiding heart.
Never judged me when I had a session of addiction with human beings.
And they’ve never told a soul to the events that they experienced seeing.
Someone to keep me company while I struggle to sleep soundly.
A friend who’s never complained at how often they’re around me.
These are my closest friends, are you curious to why they’re inanimate?
Because they don’t fucking judge me.

Insomnia.

It’s two o’clock, and I’m stuck in a zone where insomnia kicks in.
The thing is, I’ve been battling this inability to sleep since I was six.
Kicks in whenever my thoughts wander farther than the counting of sheeps.
Thoughts seep through the walls I placed whenever I’m trying to catch sleep.
Conversations partake inside my skull between yesterday’s reflection and todays.
Arguements take place because I reminisce of what was in the good old days.
One name is constantly thrown into the mix, but why does it have to be yours?
Looking back to these memories have begun a chore, I thought these were closed doors.
What more could you possibly want? Haunting me in my thoughts late at night.
And I might just throw the memories of you to a place where there is no light.
In plain sight, it seems like my insomnia is a result of a nocturnal sleeping habit.
But in the limelight, it’s the result of pondering what if we never did split.
We both quit a little bit too quick, if only deleting memories was done in clicks.
It’s 2:01, and I’m still stuck in a state of insomnia.
Paranoia has crept up on me, ever since we unhooked your bra.
Ever since then, I felt like that’s when the problems would start.
Ever since then, I felt like that’s when I would wish to restart.
But life’s not a game system that you could turn off at any given moment.
It’s more like a volcano erupting after millions of decades being dormant.
I wish I had a list of things to say that might’ve changed your mind.
Instead of not even figthing and leaving what we had started behind.
And I remember when I use to call you mine, that was so long ago.
A lot has changed since we last talked. My heart’s gone cold.
2:02, the life of an insomniac, left to think about you.
Do you still think about me? Did I mean as much as I you?
Cupid, you have a sick sense of humour, plauging my heart.
Shot me with a dozen arrows, none of them missed their mark.
I’ve been forgotten, like pharoahs once they’ve lost to mortality.
I just wish to ask you one question. Just one question.
Do you remember me?
2:03 AM. Zero, Two, Zero, Three
The former date of our anniversary.
Now I’m left thinking of how we use to be.
I know now that trying would’ve been the key.
We broke it off in order to preserve what we had.
Fuck it, we should’ve tried, we lost what we had.
Regrets will only kill me, so I pretend to not care.
Forget about you and me, it’s a story I dare not share.
Fuck insomnia! Fuck Cupid! I just want to sleep!

Saturday, March 20, 2010

I am Tired.

I am tired.
Of open ended relationships going nowhere.
Chasing a girl to simply see if she's the right one.
Hiding my past because I know it can't be undone.
I am tired.
Of being the ventilation system that helps air out your life.
Placing a girl before my priorites because I am her friend.
Doing so much for an individual because my time, I always lend.
I am tired.
Of trying to please every single person in the world.
Making sure that my life fits accordingly with their plans.
Speaking out my mind but they can never understand.
I am tired.
Of repeating myself over and over to a crowd not even listening.
Trying to improve on myself as a human being in general
Attempting to make life worth it, before my final burial.
I am tired.
I am tired.
Of living my life so cautiously, every step matters now.
Life has a cruel sense of humour and I am his test subject.
And I fear that being happy is something that I will never perfect.
Of hearing the break up stories every other month.
Bending over backwards to try and find the common ground.
Because my life is on a train with no conducter around.
I am tired.
Of listening to people talk about how my life is worthless.
Knowing that other people are out nurturing their education.
While I am still here, sitting down, waiting at a station.
I am tired.
Of seeing my friends grow up, while I am left behind.
Envying the happiness of those who were once mine.
While I am still here, waiting patiently in line.
I am tired.
Of getting addicted to seeing the smile of those around me.
Watching my life slip right through these hands God provided.
While I am just watching as my dreams and reality colided.
I am tired.
Of having to rely on the adrenaline I feel around friends.
Building up anger as I wait by the sidelines while life goes on.
While I am just dreaming, hoping that this nightmare moves on.
I am tired.
Let me sleep.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Uh...

So lately, I've been writing more and more things about my ex. I never did deal with that break up thoroughly. But I won't go into details. I suppose these poems are my way of officially getting over whatsherface. Okay, let's just get to it.

Heartaches&Heartbreaks.

I have issues.
A lot of them.
I’m an asshole.
Plain and simple.
But that’s not my fault.
It’s an unresolved issue that made me this way.
This unresolved issue I’m talking about… is an ex.
Ever since she CHEATED on me, I think I broke.
And it’s no joke, I look at relationships bitterly.
Always thinking, how could this possibly benefit me?
I don’t look at every girl like an object.
But I see them as the farthest thing from perfect.
Another species, brought by aliens from another planet on their flying ships.
My insecurities towards these beings spawn from a previous relationship.
It was good at the start.
Thought it was real, that Cupid hit the mark.
But months later, things changed drastically.
I didn’t get texts back, or phone calls.
Not a single good morning, goodnight, sweet dreams, nothing at all.
When ever I’d call, she’d say someone’s on the other line.
Can’t talk tonight, too tired because she was up all night.
Maybe I was being paranoid.
Clingy.
I’ve tried resolving this issue.
Placed together words that turned into sentences.
Sentences turned into paragraphs.
Paragraphs into letters.
Letters into essays.
And essays into an entire novel, of emotions, in it’s rawest form.
The first piece I wrote after me and her were through, is filled with chicken scratch and sentences I can barely understand.
All I can make out of it is bitch, slut, whore.
And another piece only says how I wish we could’ve been more.
But in all of them, I asked myself the same question, what were those seven months for?
I want to think that I learned something more than how much she hates being flattered.
Something more than, in her mind, family is the only thing that mattered.
A little bit more than her birthday’s on the twenty-seventh day of june.
A lot more than knowing that she buries herself in anime when her family’s not in tune.
Or like how she and her mom are like best friends, she knew what we did when we were home alone.
Or how her exboyfriend took advatange of her, and she still has his number on her phone.
I want to think that I learned more than her favourite songs are ones to deal with Cupid.
But she hates the words forever, never and always, because she think infinity is stupid.
I want to think that I learned something, more than how fragile you are when your heart breaks.
And when a heart aches, it’s evidence that what you felt was not fake.
So the issue at hand is after the hell she put me through,
After I did all that I could possibly do,
Only proves that love’s existance is not true.
Because all that I love you that came out of her mouth,
Really meant we could never work out.
It really meant that she’ll always leave when someone better comes along.
Because she felt that staying with one guy forever was too long.
So the issue at hand is, why have we not changed the definition of L-O-V-E.
Because when we’re looking for love, we’re really sayin’ F-U-C-K me.
Because we could substitute the word love for lust.
Because we think in every relationship, sex is a must.
Because I’ve started to feel that love isn’t worth my time anymore.
And I'm starting to think, that’s what those seven months were for.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Silence

In this deafening silence, I can hear your voice, ever so clearly.
It’s like you’re standing right beside me.
Whispering in my ears, telling me that you miss me.
And though I try to drive the thought out of my mind.
I can’t unhear it.
You’ve spoken the words that I’ve yearned to hear.
Because it proves that you made a mistake breaking my heart.
It proves that I was unjustly torn apart.
It proves that YOU were wrong and I was right.
Because when you TEXTED me that we were through,
A part of me could not believe that it was true.
Though a bigger part of me knew the truth.
That our happily ever after would never come true.
But your voice is just a whisper in the winds.
A creation of my own imagination.
I want to think that you do miss me, ever so dearly.
I tell myself, of course she misses me, why wouldn’t she?
But I know.
I know that I am lying between my teeth.
Why would she miss me.
I am undeserving of an intimacy of that caliber.
I had not done anything to prove myself worthy of such a relationship.
My insecurities conflict with what I tell myself, everyday.
I tell myself that I am okay.
That I am content.
That I am proud of who I am.
That I am over you.
But I know.
I know the truth underneath every sentence I speak.
Everytime I say I’m okay, I’m admitting defeat.
Everytime I say I am content, I’m admitting disatisfaction.
Everytime I say I am proud, I’m admitting disappointment.
And when I say I am over you, I’m admitting that you still haunt my mind.
I’m admitting that you still have ownership on my heart.
I’m admitting that I am still in love, though we are apart.
This is the longest time I have spent trying to get over someone.
A little over a year has passed since I last heard your voice.
How I yearn to speak with you once again.
But all I hear is silence.
And in this deafening silence, I can only hear my own voice.
I miss you.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Karma Gets to You

I use to think that putting the past in the past is the best way to make a relationship last.
And when I passed a certain point, it was okay to stop being so cheesy.
But see, I'm branded as flirty, when I'm really being friendly.
And I catch the jealous type, so they're secretly mad at me.
Doesn't bug them that they're losing phone time.
Until its too late to say why aren't I in your limelight?
And I always reply, I'm busy babe, school and all.
When in reality, I'm thinking, I have another call.
They hangs up, a little bit mad at me.
No guilt cause I know they're a little bit in love with me.
I switch phone lines, now I'm hearing low cries.
Now I'm living more lies.
It's this girl I chopped earlier
I can't believe she called my cellular.
She talks and talks, I wasn't really listening.
All I heard was something, something, boyfriend broke up with me.
Then I paid attention attentively.
About how she cheated on him constatly.
I became her shoulder to lean on.
It was the kind of love only seen on - tv.
She said, I'm happy that you're my boyfriend now.
I'm really thinkin', don't get too comfortable now.
I have something to tell you, she whispered to me.
My exboyfriend broke up with me, because I let his heart bleed.
I cheated on him, though I would tell him otherwise.
I love you, I don't want our foundation to be filled with lies.
I smiled and she smiled right back.
This girl couldn't see how karma already got her back.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Valentine's

I use to dream about falling down. Nothing detailed, I would be just watching myself fall down an endless hole.

It always started off as if I had just woken up in the middle of the night. I would blink a couple of times, but my vision would only see this shade of black. I’d walk around, struggling to navigate around this dark area. As I continued to walk slowly, on my fifteenth step, the floor would vanish. My body fell but my soul seemed to linger just right behind my body. I would see myself sweating, screaming, reaching out, trying to find something to grab onto. My stomach would be in a flutter and my heart pounding with adrenalin. Normally, right before I wake up, I would feel my body hit something, what I assumed is the floor to this damnable hole. But tonight, I stayed asleep. Instead of waking up, I was staring at myself, lying, breathless on the cold floor. There was a woman standing above my body’s left hand, smoking a cigarette. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were lifeless. Her nails were black and her lips bright red. Her black hair was complimented by her eye shadow. She looked down on me and shook her head. She took her eyes off me and looked at where I fell from. She whispered I love you, and my dream ended more mysteriously than it had ever before.

-

“Edgar! You’re going to be late!”

“I know, grandpa, I know!” Edgar rushed out his front door, speeding past his neighbour, who was struggling to open her front door.

“Late again, mister?” He didn’t bother turning around at the sound of the lovely voice that had spoken random words towards him.

“I know, I know!” She sighed at her failed attempt to get him to notice her. She sighed, and opened the door easily.

-

“You’re not our real daughter, you can never be her!” The abuse in Anastasia’s foster home was getting more severe than anyone knows. She’s never been physically abused but the words that came out of their mouths were too much for her fragile self to bear. She’s grown to accept the fact that she’s always second place to her late step-sister, and though she tries to best her, her efforts seem futile. She’s learned to cope with this domestic problem with the help of cancer sticks. After the daily lecture of how she’s not her step-sister, she goes outside and shortens her lifespan. As she took her jacket, she noticed that she only had one left. She took her wallet today, deciding to go to the convenience store to buy some. She slammed the door shut to notify her drunken foster parents that she had left the house. Placing her headphones, she tuned out the world around her. She didn’t notice the boy next door, curiously staring at her, as she walked away from their front porch.

-

Edgar’s coping mechanism is completely different from his neighbour. He releases it in more productive ways, like writing or the remedial, primal screams that he does, when words can’t express what he’s feeling. Today was Valentine’s Day. The worst holiday to be ever invented, Edgar thought. He would always keep to himself on this day, even though he’s been asked by friends to come out to watch the latest love-themed movie. Today, writing out his thoughts was near impossible, as his page had been blank for over two hours. He grabs his coat and quietly walks out. He closes the door behind him, closes his eyes, takes a few step forward, and let out a primal scream that, hopefully, no one heard. This was his most effective way of coping with the troubles of life.

“So, you’re the one making the screaming sound I hear at this time.” To Edgar’s surprise, someone had heard him today. And it was none other than his neighbour. Edgar looked down, embarrassed at his behaviour.

“Sorry,” he muttered. She laughed and he looked up at her. Her black hair played with the chilly winds. She was holding a cigarette close to her mouth. The weather made her skin seem pale, although her lips were bright red. She took a puff from her cancer giving remedy, and exhaled it. She seemed different, compared to when she had tried to start conversation with him before. She seemed...colder, less friendly.

“No need to apologize. That’s one mystery solved. Here’s another mystery, what’s your name?” Edgar introduced himself and walked up to her for a handshake. She was confused by the gesture, but extended her arms slowly, cautiously. As they shook hands, Edgar winced at the coldness of her skin. He got a closer look of her. She was wearing black eye shadow, with black nail polish. Her lips were red from what Edgar assumed was lipstick.

“I’m Anastasia. You can call me Ana though.” The two had talked until the sun had begun to rise.

“Well, Ana,” Edgar seemed more comfortable with her now, “I’m going back inside.”

“Sure, sure,” she replied. Her eyes seemed to have had more life after talking to him.

Edgar got up and turned away from Ana. As he began walking away, he paused, “You shouldn’t smoke by the way. It hinders your beauty.”

Ana looked at her cigarette and realized that the fire had gone out a long time ago. She replaced her coping mechanism with talking to the boy she’s been trying to get to know ever since she was placed here eleven years ago. She didn’t even crave the habit anymore. Edgar was looking away, so he did not notice Ana throw away the pack of smokes. He also didn’t see the woman with skin as pale as the moon, nails as black as blood, eyes shadowed with dark mascara, lips red like cherries whisper I love you.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Preview.

I use to think that putting the past in the past is the best way to make a relationship last.
And when I passed a certain point, it was okay to stop being so cheesy.
But see, I'm branded as flirty, when I'm really being friendly.
And my girlfriend's the jealous type, use to be the teasin' type, so she's secretly mad at me.
Doesn't bug her that she's losing phone time, down time, chill time.
Until its too late to say why aren't I in your limelight?
And I always reply, I'm busy babe, school and all.
When in reality, I'm thinking, I have another call.
Then they say, I miss your voice, I called you earlier.
You did? Oh, my cellular? Yeah, it went to voicemail everytime.
So can we talk now? Sorry babe, someone's on the other line.
She hangs up, a little bit mad at me.
No guilt cause I know she's a little bit in love with me.
Back to the other call, and it's another chick.
You're probably thinking that I'm such a dick.
I know, I'm kinda proud of it.
Because being nice didn't do shit.
Always got me stuck in that friend zone.
Only got phone calls when drama hits close to home.
The phone girl asked who was that?
Don't worry girl, what matters is that I'm back.
She talks more, but I didn't pay attention attentively
All I heard was something, something, boyfriend broke up with me.
Green light, flow of conversation switched quick.
Green light, she flirtin' back, lust is lit.
Feed that fire with temptation and desire.
You're single too, right? Obviously, said the liar.
Break up with the girlfriend for this one night stand.
Cut off all ties with jealousy, so lust should understand.
I'll tell her, I broke up with her for you.
Why did you lie to me, Because you wouldn't want me to.
What matters is that I didn't picked her over you.
Would you want me to stay with her instead of you?
She shook her head, and hugged me real tight.
Said I'm happy that you're my boyfriend now.
I'm thinking in my head, don't get too comfortable now.
I have to tell you something, she whispered to me.
My exboyfriend broke up with me, because I let his heart bleed.
I cheated on him, though I would tell him otherwise.
I love you, I don't want our foundation to be filled with lies.
I smiled and she smiled right back.
This girl couldn't see how karma already got her back.

-
I think it's finished, but I kinda feel like it's not. Anyways, it's something different and I'll prolly tweak it when I get back from bowling.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

What it do?

So, I've been loafting on this here site. Because I haven't written anything in a while. Too focused on my 365 project thing (flickr.com/photos/sinematic). There's suppose to be a snowstorm tommorow. YES. A legit reason to not go out of my house. I figure, my house is my sanctuary. Nothing bad ever happens to me. Geeez, I hope I don't become like those people that are afraid to leave their house. Okay, well, if you're so intersted in my life, follow me on tumblr. I usually post nonesesne and random things there. This right here, is for my serious things, like poetry and other fictional works of the sort. Tryin' to keep this site hella professional.

lateryears.tumblr.com

Friday, February 5, 2010

365 Days Project

Two weeks down. Fifty more to go.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

M.I.A.

It's not like anyone checks my site, regardless. But I have been MIA for a while. All for good reason. I've been hard at work, (obviously, it's a joke). But I've been building up my photo collection with my a picture a day project. I was giving up on it, because of lack of inspiration. Until this.
A good friend of mine said to me:
"So what I like about it is that, or no scratch that. What I find interesting is that in an ordinary day these objects, people, etc; are what you choose to take a photo of. So they must have somehow impacted your day - out of the 24 hours, that one photo is the one you choose to represent that day- and I find that interesting."
Totally inspired me to see this through !

Friday, January 22, 2010

Mortal Superhero

“Michael, where are you taking me!”

“Just keep your eyes closed. It’s something that you said we’d go to when we first started going out.”

“I’ve kept my eyes closed for the past hour or so!”

“You’re so impatient, April. I had to get everything fixed. Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

April opened her eyes and her mouth dropped. She smiled and turned her head.

“Seriously? A bowling alley? For our first year anniversary? You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all, you use to bowl, and so did I. You keep telling me that you’d kick my ass in it, so here we are. For our first year anniversary, we’re going to compete against each other.”

“That’s sentimental, different and odd, but why THIS bowling alley?”

“Why not?”

“This is an exclusive bowling alley, a hangout for gangsters, drug dealers and thugs.”

“And it’s also the spot for professional bowlers, and it has a lot of publicity. Tonnes of people come here just to watch people play.”

“So, you want to embarrass me by playing here?”

“You hit 200s! I’m the one that should be worried, I haven’t played in years!”

“Neither have I! We should go...”

April’s eyes looked at the floor where her bowling equipment was lying. Michael went through all of this, staying here is the least I could do, right? She looked up and saw Michael’s hurt eyes. Even though he didn’t want to tell her, he worked hard on finding her bowling alley that her late grandfather took her too when she was young, digging through her attic for her equipment and checking with the locals if anything serious has been happening in that area. It’s true what she pointed out, the local thugs like to hang around here. But they don’t shoot off bullets like what the media portrays them as. It’s more like a gathering of young teens whose families aren’t the best places to be at. Thugs in this particular area are victims of abuse, drug-hooked parents and accidental pregnancies. Michael, of course, understood their point of view, as his birth wasn’t planned either.

“Michael, how much does it cost here?” Michael’s face lit up.

-

“This is going to be our fifth game, are you sure you’re still up? I mean, a tie is a horrible way to end, but you can forfeit you know?”

“You’re so competitive, April.”

“Great game, you guys.” A new voice spoke from behind them. But random compliments happened daily at this location. They didn’t notice the crowd that grew behind them. No other lanes were being used except theirs. All eyes were on them. April and Michael both blushed at the realisation of this audience.

“Sorry, let me introduce myself. I’m Aaron, regular here.” He was sitting on the seats instead of watching from the semi circle the crowd had formed. Something about him made Michael feel uneasy, but he just shook it off.

“Name’s Michael. This is April.”

“Nice to meet you, Aaron.”

“Likewise. Just pretend the audience isn’t here. You won’t even know they’re here. They cheer like it’s a golf tournament, so don’t worry.”

“Uhm, excuse me,” a group of young girls came out of the crowd, probably in their late teen years, “did you say that you’re Aaron?”

“That depends on who is asking.” His answer seemed so cold. He didn’t even glance at the four girls acting like elementary children professing their childish crush.

“I’m Jenny, and these are my friends, Christine, Jackie and Carrie. Uhm,” she seemed to be getting more nervous by the minute, “my friend Christine thinks you’re cute and wanted to ask for your number.”

“No I do not!” Christine protested too quickly. She gave away the truth in the sound of her protest and the blush of her skin, “Jackie did!” The entire conversation transformed into the four young girls playing the blame game.

“Why don’t we all talk somewhere, more secluded?” The four of them blushed instantly and followed Aaron as he disappeared into the crowd. The spectators seemed un-phased by that little fiasco. Michael laughed at the thought of the girls being turned down by Aaron. He’s way too uninterested in them. The crowd silently urged the two competitors to continue playing.

-

“I’m glad it ended as a tie, April.”

“Why? A tie’s the worst thing to end a competition on.”

“But at least we’re not mad at each other, right?”

“Yeah. I wonder what happened to Aaron.” The alley owner picked up the conversation.

“He said something about going out for drinks with them. He took my car keys too, that damned brat.”

“Wait, I assumed he was like sixteen,”

“No, ma’am. I think he’s seventeen.”

“How’d he get his license so early?” Michael was a bit jealous. His cousins taught him how to drive but his parents forbade him to get his license until he’s in college.

“He doesn’t have one. That seventeen year old hoodlum’s always getting into trouble. I don’t know how he gets away with it. Being the leader of the local Hunters gang. Sometimes, I think that the cops are watching over that gang more than trying to take it down.”

Michael and April both dropped their bowling ball bags. Their jaws almost dropped at the thought that the biggest gang leader was sitting right in front of them.

“Hunter? As in the gang that’s chalked up more dead bodies than the cops can count?”

“Must mean you’re from uptown, huh? Well, the media spins that tale the wrong way. See, we live in the worst part of the neighbourhood. Our area is right in the middle of the Pirates Clan and War Hawks. And those two gangs are always playing monopoly with these neighbourhoods. These parts here are the biggest drug users this city’s ever seen. So the Pirates and War Hawks are always claiming property. And sometimes, we get in the crossfire because we get mistaken for members of the other gang. Both gangs think they’re tough so they pick on the kids in the middle. Then, at night, they stand on the corners of their territory and sell drugs to the parents of those children. And sometimes, the gangs have a shoot out in a neighbourhood with kids playing in the street for no apparent reason or warning. Aaron, a former drug dealer and former member of War Hawks, saw the wrong and did something about it. He made his own gang, where everyone is accepted. I guess it’s thanks to the media that the Hunters have a higher body count than both rival gangs. I think it’s just because it happens more often in the Hunters streets. But the cops know in their heart, these kids just want protection, and a way out of this hard life. I’ve seen the mayor secretly thank Aaron for keeping as many kids safe. Look at that, I’m rambling on again. Sorry about that.”

The old man seemed to speak highly of Aaron, like he was proud of him. It brought a smile to Michael knowing that someone is actually trying to make a difference.

“Why are they called Hunters, old man?” April always asked the most irrelevant questions.

“It was given by the media as well. One of the local boys, probably nine or ten, got shot. It was straight execution, one bullet to the child’s head. Aaron hunted the people responsible. Needless to say, he got what he deserved. Aaron turned himself in, but the judge let him walk on substantial evidence. The media claims that he was paid off and the judge lost his job for letting Aaron go for what he thought was right. I even hear that Aaron’s trying to bring the two gangs to peace by putting together an organized drug market. I know, it sounds bad, but that’s what the two gangs fight for. Market distribution, and trust me, it’s still nothing compared to the competition that the big business companies fight. But around here, we’ll take whatever peace we can get, even if it means basically locally legalizing the drug merchandise. Aaron’s a good guy, and I believe that not even God will deny that.”
As April and Michael headed for their car, April looked up at the moving clouds and smiled.

“What do you think of that Aaron character, babe?”

“He’s exactly what this world needs. A mortal superhero.”

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

DayTripper

I thought I dreamt it all.
Because I don't normally remember events.
Or anything else for that matter.
I thought it was all a dream.
I was only fifteen.
Eager to take on a challenge.
I was ready...
To get a girlfriend.
But I was too shy.
Too unconfident.
Not exactly the slickest with words,
Or the sharpest of tongue.
My mouth would seal shut,
When in the presence of the opposite gender.
Face, staring at the ground,
Palms, dripping with sweat,
The most words I've said to a girl.
Was honestly, I like your socks.
Because I would always look down.
Never in direct contact with her eyes.
As if, the minute I looked at her eyes,
I would be petrified like she was medusa.
Or my eyes would combust to flames
Like staring face to face with the sun's flares.
But somehow, we still ended up alone... at her house.
She laughed a little, and told me to look up.
I told her that I can't.
She took her hand and lifted my chin.
And the minute her eyes matched mine...
I noticed that her eyes were hazel brown.
And the more I stared into her eyes...
The more I felt like I was being lured into some sort of trap.
Like how fishes use bright colours to attract prey.
I tried to look away but I couldn't.
As her hands were still on my face, she motioned her face closer.
I got a little nervous.
I've never been THIS close to a girl before.
She closed her eyes and puckered her lips.
I... backed down.
She smiled and apologized.
I said, that's okay.
When in truth, I should've been the one apologizing.
I could've had my first kiss with a girl that I've been admiring for so long.
The girl who's beauty I've adored for so long.
The woman that's surpassed every other girl out there.
The person that I could never give a rating of one to ten.
Because she was above that, and not just because of her looks.
The way she walked brought jealousy to her competition.
The way she flirts brought every guy to his knees.
And I was determined to be the one person she truly desires.
I told her that I liked her.
That I've never kissed anyone before.
And she told me, it's okay.
She'd take care of me.
So, I agreed.
She was on top of me, faster than I'd have imagined.
I thought it was like, those cute disney kisses.
Where it'd be a quick puck, and they both shy away.
But it evolved into something more than that.
Next thing I knew, her clothes were coming off.
And so were mine.
It was like instinct.
My first time going so far and I knew what to do?
What is this madness?
I felt like my whole body went on auto pilot.
Like I knew what came next.
I was scared.
And excited at this new adventure.
This passion was intense.
I couldn't not enjoy it.
I've never felt a sensation before.
Then she pulled out a condom.
And I said...
WHOA THERE.
We're only fifteen.
I admire you and all,
But I want to get to know you first.
This was great and all,
But I want our first time to be special.
Then she spoke words that I never imagined her saying.
This isn't my first time...
Then it hit me.
The reason she brought jealousy to her competition.
The reason she brought every guy to his knees.
I found out.
I found out.
It took me so long to find out.
But I found out.
She's a one way ticket.
She only played one night stands.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Unrequited Love.

Precipitation waters the earth, like how a good sleep refreshes the mind.
But the rain turns to snow, like how I'm still frozen, waiting for a sign.
Covers the earth in a white blanket, making the world seem so pure.
If only life was so simple, but the weather's always unsure.
Changes frequently, and so does the mind of those living here.
Troubled by needs and desires, we lose sight of what's dear.
We hand over our life in order to obtain what we lust.
Like how the weather of our country defines who is us.
But you're still so distant like the clouds that float by.
Holding you is impossible cause you're a cloud in the sky.
Always following wherever the wind may take you to.
And I'm on the ground, hoping you'll notice me too.
The Beatles say that love is all we really need.
And that it'll grow, as long as that seed feeds.
But it can't grow without water, air and sunshine.
How can it gain light when I'm never on your mind?
I'm always beneath your shadow, you don't feel the same.
It's your fault that I love you, so you're the one to blame.
If you were not as beautiful as the sun setting on the horizon,
If you were not as lovely as the rising of the sun,
If you were not as caring as the gentle summer breeze,
If you were not as calming as the sounds of crickets and bees,
If your voice was not as warming as the sun in the morning of spring,
Then I would have never felt Cupid's arrow's sting.
I crave your acceptance like a desert for precipitation.
Your importance crept on to me like a thunder storm's invasion.
It was subtle at first, the calm before a storm.
The small hi's and hello's, that's how my feelings were born.
We became close, and it lit sunshine on my heart.
I was going to confess to you that you've stolen my heart.
But I learned that you had feelings for another guy.
You were like water particles that evaporated to the sky.
I had you in my arms, but nature took its course.
There's no point in complain, because it's my fault, of course.
I took too long, took our time for granted.
Being with you was all I ever wanted.
The time we spent use to be like watching the sun set.
Now it's like a tsunami disaster, and I'm trying to forget.
I was swept up, and brought to a distant place.
I hear it's called the friend zone, what a terrifying place.
It's constantly raging of twisters from your words.
Telling me things like, "to me, you mean the world."
In a matter of short words, a thyphoon drowned my smile.
But I hold on, in hopes that everything will be worthwhile.
Earthquakes break apart the land I've nurtured for us.
Volcanos erupt in anger because I can see his eyes filled with lust.
But I cannot break that gentle smile on your face.
So I bear with it, and live in this friend zone place.
Afraid that you would not see what I see in front of me.
Because you could never see you and me as an us and we.
You never saw me like that, I'm trying to steal my heart back from you
And when that happens, I'll make sure to steal your heart too

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Ready Or Not

It’s been a while since I flowed straight fire.
I come from a place where we all breathe higher.
Bunch of dudes standing on the block.
Hella people sayin they got their glock cocked.
But I don’t believe them, I try to keep clean.
But I aint inexperienced, the shit that I’ve seen?
You gotta watch your back because up in tdot
They’ll come after you, whether you’re ready or not.
One block, I see a man standin on the corner.
One pop, I see his face in the coroner.
Next day, someone else took his spot.
All day, it’s like a mall parking lot.
See now, the problem that we got.
And we, always hide from the cops.
But we, blame the problem on the cops.
Instead, our doors are always locked
Down, trying to avoid bein’ a snitch.
You know what they say, snitches get stitches.
You know how they play, bitches get wishes.
But it’s a deadly routine, a short lived career.
I pretend not to see, because I’ve lived my life here.
This is the life of a struggling young teen.
So don’t underestimate the scenes teens see.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Nothing to Fear

She felt alone
I felt her pain
Always home
Dealt with pain
I reached out
Ease her pain
She hid herself
To mask the pain

So I let it go,
If she wants to feign
That she's okay,
That she's really sane
I told her that
I'm always here
And that she has
None to fear

But yesterday,
I heard the news
She lost herself,
To her own blues
Her white walls
Dripped with blood

Stopped her mind
From bringing up
All that pain
That lonliness
She was scared
Of being alone
Though she never
Called my phone
And now her life
Has quickly stopped

She'll never see
Tommorow's sun
Never feel
Tommorow's light
Never hear
Tommorow's songs
Never shed
Another tear
But at least now,
She has nothing to fear.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

...

After all this time, that wound has never healed.

Friday, January 8, 2010

On Hold.

I'm so confused. I'm trying to make a tumblr but I suppose it'll take a few days for me to get use to it. But it's not like I'm abandoning my blogspot. Nope, this blogspot has helped me express what I'm thinking. Leaving it would be the inhumane thing to do, as ridiculous as that sounds. Feels like a new adventure. I suppose I should open a tumblr, not like I'm doing anything productive.

But I'll be working dilligently (I hope) on my stories. I'd like to finish them before the new year.

lateryears.tumblr.com

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Sneak Preview/Reminder

Just a sneak peek for what's coming up with my writing.
I'm working on a written project, for myself of course.
And for those who care to read it.
I'm almost through.
I'll give you the titles of the stories that I'm working on at the moment.
And you may ask yourself, why so many.
A tribute to how much I love writing.
Plus a chance to try different things with each story.
And they are titled...

One Night

Waking Up (This one is already up on my blog, under Midnight Stories.)

Aaron's Story

Sleepless Nights

Seven Day Cruise

From The Start

And as a bonus, here's a little excerpt from "From The Start,"

Thirteen looked at her children's innocent eyes. Tears began rolling down, for she did not know how to explain the situation to her twin children. The shock of what she had just lost is still too fresh in her mind. She embraced the children, and the children hugged her in return. Although, she knew that her children questioned why she was eminating such sorrow and despair. The twins took a step back and her daughter wiped her tear away. Her son grabbed his sisters hand and Thirteen smiled.

"Don't cry," her daughter spoke so innocently, "everything will be okay." As if she really knew what her fragile mother recently witnessed.

"Always take care of your sister," she knew that her time wasn't up just yet, but she spoke as if her impending doom was nearing her heart. The young boy nodded his head. "No matter what, always look out for your twin sister, Aaron."

Friday, January 1, 2010

Four Hours.

Four hours to go till the New Years. This year has been filled with great adventures, impossible obstacles and amazing friends. I just wanted to take this time to thank the few who I am more than proud to call friends. I consider each and every one of these people family. (Not in any particular order.)

Marcus L
John D
Immanuel U
Kim L
Danielle U
Voydie A
Lester P
Lawrence T
John H
Karl N
Kirstie S
Annie A

Everest F
Justin A
Sandy R
Gillian M
L Dalton
Linda K
Beautee A
Chrisshan L
Luxe C

AJ M

Thanks, and remember, I got you fam.