Letter to You.

Dear Lost Friend,

How are you? I hope things are well.

I know we don't talk anymore.

We don't text or talk on the phone anymore.

But I remember a time where we'd talk and share secrets.

Would it be okay if I told you one more secret?

I don't want to write anymore.

Because everytime I write, I'm reminded of you.

I'm reminded of how you use to ask me to read to you.

Lamely recite you poems over the phone.

Whisper you words, weaved from my mind, to your heart.

You watched in awe as I tried to perfect this art.

Type out stories that you would read before you slept.

Hand written letters that I sent to you, and hope you kept.

Paint you stories as if I was vandalizing the walls of your mind with vivid poetry.

If I could only take back those words because they mean nothing now.

Because those words were covered in feelings that were for your eyes only.

I'd be lying if I said that I never felt a damn thing about you.

But I'm at this point in our relationship that I don't want to admit that I felt anything for you.

It makes things easier to move on and walk away from what we had.

I'm not saying it was all bad.

I just don't want to remember the good times we enjoyed together.

I don't want to remember how much effort I put in to get her.

All the laughter and smiles I would capture with my nikon.

The times where we'd just lie on the grass and watch the clouds float by.

Or drive around town, one hand on the wheel, one hand holding your hand.

I don't want to remember your voice, whispering in my ears.

Secretly telling me of the years we might spend in each other's arms.

I don't want to hear you telling me how you've fallen for my charms.

Or how happy you are that you've met a guy like me.

Or how ecstatic you are that I became a part of your life.

Or how I was so perfect for you.

I saw you on the bus the other day.

I started to panic and shy away.

We ended up spending an hour in each other's presence.

Just sitting, and thinking.

Awkwardly glancing at one another.

And quietly smiling when our eyes meet one another.

I should've said hi.

Seeing you so randomly, like how we first met.

Maybe it was a sign.

It made me realize how much I...

Lesbians you.

I wonder if you do too.

I'm trying to repress all this memory.

So I pretend that you're the enemy.

You tricked me with your empty promises of compromise and everlasting patience.

Caught me off guard and brainwashed me with the help of your secret agents.

Also known as your smile and your eyes.

And I would've died if it wasn't for my necklace of resurection.

But then I lost internet connection.

You would've liked that line.

They say that time heals all, is it really true?

I think time just helped me adjust to how things have become.

And forgetting is the only way that moving on is properly done.

I'm hoping I'm wrong because our memories are stuck on replay.

I guess I'll just have to see in time.

But I'm scared.

That I'll actually move on.

And be happy without you.

That's it, that's my secret.

I hope you treasure this one like the others..

Sincerly Yours,

My Masterpiece.

I usually have problems starting a piece.
I mean, I know what I want I want to write, but to get from here to there…
Leaves me at an awkward position.
Like there’s a mountain of an ice and I’m trying to climb it with chopsticks and phone lines for rope.
So for this particular piece, I’ve broken the ice by explaining that.
So here we go.
I’ve been struggling with school my entire life.
And it’s not a question of whether there is intelligence residing in my brain.
And it’s not a strain of teenage procrastination that fucks me over.
I can’t precisely place it, because it’s embedded in the back of my mind.
School is just so…
Boring. Trivial. Repetitive.
I have a problem accepting the fact that a piece of paper will define me to the outside world.
I refuse to accept that a piece of paper can tell me who I can or can’t be.
I cannot acknowledge the thought that a piece of paper predetermines my life after the age of four.
I’ve been in the same grade for three years.
And it’s gotten tiresome.
Like the fight that comes from me and my mother.
And I love her.
No question about that.
But we can’t seem to see eye to eye about this school situation.
She just sees it as a strain of teenage procrastination.
And worries that I will not be cut out for real life.
Because she strongly believes that going to school will train me for real life.
So I try to complete my education for her.
I’ve been trying.
For three years.
But I’m afflicted with a conflict in my mind.
My mental health is another concern of mine.
Did you know that 8 out of 10 teens are in need of mental health care?
And only 1 in 5 seeks out help, because they think no one cares?
That’s insane!
I’m not saying they’re insane.
They might be.
But I know I am.
Or I think I am.
Or I’ve been convincing myself that I am for years that it resulted in my insanity.
Which is funny.
Because it’s a problem inside my mind.
People often tell me that it’s technically not a problem.
That I should just suck it up and control my problem.
But I can’t control it.
My mind has a mind of its own.
My problem is not one to be taken lightly.
There are some things that I can’t even begin to understand.
Like the mood swings I go through every other second.
I go from calm and happy to motherfucking angry.
And I’m starting to think that I have other tenants in my mind.
Because sometimes, I would hear conversations in my head.
And I would converse with these people who are talking inside my head.
It doesn’t even feel like I’m talking with myself.
Which reminds me.
Remind me to introduce you to Jaclyn, Michael and Paul later.
Then again, I could be just imagining this entire performance.
But that begs the question of what is real.
I ‘m not convinced that you’re real.
Kind of like all my relationships.
If I told them in great detail, we’d be here for hours on end.
And I don’t want to spend more than a minute or so explaining it.
Because my memory is hazy, and I’m a little bit lazy.
Plus once you break up, you rarely remember the good times.
Only the bad, front and centre.
Reciting each line, memorized.
Under the spot light, holding the mic real tight.
My friends only hear the beginning and the end of each story.
Because I don’t like to spend time with the mushy details.
I only remember how we met, specify the entire set, because how could I forget.
The first time I laid eyes on her eyes.
And I remember the words that set fire to our world.
The last argument she had as my girl.
And looking back, I hate to agree with her.
And her conclusion for the termination of our relationship.
All my ex’s said the exact same thing.
I’m too cute for them.
But really though, I was a little bit selfish.
Got too attached, and got a lot more selfish.
I’m giving them my blood, sweat and tears.
Ask them for support when facing my fears.
Apparently equivalent exchange doesn’t exist in this plane of existence.
And being worried and caring is equivalent to annoyance and persistent.
I’ve learned a few things thanks to my ex-girlfriends.
Everything has a value, and everything has an end.
Life is so temporary, the only constant is change.
Which is ironic because constants aren’t supposed to change.
Hearts are meant to be broken and hardened.
How else are we supposed to learn?
The mind plays tricks on our physical senses.
We are secretly in hell, in pain with burns.
The dictionary is blueprints for a weapon of mass destruction.
And feelings?
They’re counterproductive, they disengage mass production.
Love is as real as you and I
Avoiding physical contact with our ears and eyes.
At the same time, as mythical as a two headed tiger with wings.
These are the lessons I learned. The pain still burns and stings.
The world lives in a cycle of struggling to survive.
Even though they know that everyone eventually dies.
It’s like reading a book that you already know the ending to.
And yet, here I am, living life pretending that I know what to do.
Here I am, barely alive, in pain, and struggling.
And yet, I smile, and preach to all.
Life is still worth living.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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."

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Double Poems :)

Seeing as I haven't updated in a while, I present you with TWO poems :)
Enjoy !

To Be Human.

To be human is to be imperfect, little quirks and flaws.
To look past the imperfection, and portray patience.
To be human is to error, make mistakes, and take the fall.
Or place blame on someone else, and sneak around the truth.
To be human is to lie, exagerate the truth, alter what it really is.
Adjust it, tamper it, adapt it, turn ignorance into bliss.
To be human is to understand, see past the walls insecurity put together.
Because judging one's insecurities is like disregarding a well thought out letter.
To be human is to feel the emotions set free regardless if it's sincere.
Regardless if it was faked, isolation is what humans really fear.
To be human is to protect what one holds dear.
To throw their life away to keep their loved ones away from fear.
To be human is to love, and feel that love given back.
To know guilt, regret, pride, lust and whatever you lack.
To be human is to smile, ear to ear, regardless of the pain.
To be human is to smile, ear to ear, to hide away the pain.
To be human is to feel guilt, and repentance when you've done wrong.
To be human is to break apart, lose pieces, only to come back up, strong.
To be human is to give away your heart, regardless of the future up ahead.
To be human is to take risks, regardless of the future bleeding out red.
To be human is to grow up, living the adventure of the real world.
Fill out dreams and goals, and find that perfect girl.
Raise a family, grow old and pass away.
Live life to the fullest and still live with regrets of that one day.
To be human is complicated, and simple at the same time.
But I don't want to be human, because they never have enough time.

The Monster Inside Me.

I was walking in the depths of my mind.
I came across this room with a cage inside.
I saw a figure in the cage before me.
He was bound by weights on his shoulder.
He turned his head and his eyes shined red.
He growled at me and muttered a few words.
I must've misheard and he walked towards me.
Stood right in front of me.
He smiled at me and my body shuddered at the glance of his crooked grin.
As I stared into his dark, shallow eyes, I could feel my body trembling at the thought that this monster is inside of me.
You could feel the evil seep through.
I wondered what created it and how could I undo this monster from being born.
But its like I was staring into a mirror.
Except every scar, bruise, pain and thorn was visibly present.
And in the abscenece of acceptance, this evil in front of me was born.
I could see the events that made him stronger flash before me.
Every time I felt alone.
Every moment I faced depression.
Every night where I am left alone wtih thoughts.
Every opportunity my heart was crushed before my very eyes.
Every brick that I covered myself with.
Every soul that abandoned me.
Every smile that was faked.
Every word that inspired deciet.
Every tear that drops
Every line I write.
Every poem I compose.
Every picture I capture.
Every breath I take.
I gave life to this monster.
I shuddered once again at the thought that this monster is inside me.
No, this monster is me.