Everything

~

She's a self-proclaimed mess
and a you-complained screwup
and the only things that ever flecked her brown eyes
were wish-wasted lashes and
you-wasted tears.

She can never fall asleep on her back
(maybe all the knife-wounds haven't healed yet)
and the only way you'll get her to say
it hurts
is if you convince her well enough.

The only time she's
photogenic
is when she suffer-smiles,
(and she looks pretty damn gorgeous, too)
and she only thinks best in abstract, tilted logic
and disconnected adjectives.

Her life is music and writing and
you,
but she can never say it
in words embellish-less and
metaphor-proof enough
to explain.

She's a reader, a writer, a dreamer,
a fool;
but the false-brave need
to be needed, too.

And perhaps
someday
she'll find what she doesn't know
she's looking for,
and maybe she'll learn to
feel
again.

All's Left to Hoping

~

All those thoughts running through her mind
and she needs to get lost somehow, too
-one ticket to anywhere but here, please-
But like a good girl, she stays
and tells no one about all the
band aids and bubble wrap she wasted
trying to keep her stupidly fragile heart in place
-this side up, please take care of me-
but the frustrated brattinella in her
threw it down and stepped all over it
thinking maybe if her feet bleed, too,
her words would waltz into your thoughts
and then she could stay there for once.

Stuck

~

Well, she's never had the time
for any of the nice boys
needing only the one
who could wound her heart to pieces
and kisskisskiss it back together--
And her feet will only take her
as far from him as she can stand
without looking back for his approval--
'that was a nice try, baby; maybe
we'll try again tomorrow.'
So she'll let him coax her needs
into a dizzy suffocation
'til she finds another excuse
to start runrunrunning away
again.

Miss Mismatched Mess

~

She is cinnamon-speckled skin
that gets awkward tan lines at all the wrong times
and goosebumps only when it's cold.
She is dirty socks and tiny feet,
electriclumsy ankles
and legs made only to curl up to her chest.
She is an arched back and slouched shoulderblades,
bitten, bleeding lips, and fingertips
that only turn pages that smell as good
as their words taste on her
breath.

Curfew

~

it's ironic how seven rhymes with heaven
but really, for her it's hell--
a hell she tries to slow down
but she can never stop it, because
it's always going a little too fast--
and maybe she's only riding
on the wings of her own rushed inertia, but
breathless goodbye kisses aren't good enough
or even good
because there's nothing really good
about goodbye--

Finally

You're crying again, begging me to stay, saying you need me; but I'm used to it now.

You'll always say that, but do you ever honestly mean it? What the hell do you need me for, anyway? You're the one who won't let me hold you, the one who won't tell me what's wrong 'til I start hurting you.

Am I suffocating you? Deal with it.

You're the one acting like you don't need me, like you really don't care. I gave you my trust, and what did you do? You shoved it in the dirt, stomped on it and kicked it back into my face.

What were you thinking? Were you thinking? This isn't even a relationship anymore. It's a nuisance.

I can't embellish everything like you can, I can't candy-coat my words to make them sound sweet. You've always known that, haven't you? You hate me for it, too. You're always saying how I'm too logical, I'm too critical. You hypocrite. You needed me to change, even if you never admitted it.
And then you said you changed for me? All you did was get worse.

I'm sick of this crap, you know? I'm sick of having to be there when you obviously don't want me to be. I'm sick of having to fix everything only because you still don't know how.

Maybe I really don't love you anymore. I know I did, once. I did, with all my heart. I can at least promise you that. You've lied to me more times than I've ever broken promises to you, you know.

You were worth something to me once, a forever ago. You were worth everything to me; more than myself. I thought you'd be the one to fix everything, to make me alright. I guess I was wrong, wasn't I? We both know I'm not making that mistake again.

You were an amazing screwup; you were the best mistake of my life. But I don't want to hold you down anymore, and I'm tired of getting hurt.

You're crying again, but I'm sick of it now.

Moments

Eating noodles for the nth time this week
and watching the rain as it falls
harder by the minute--

Trying to synchronize our blinking 'cause then
when we look at each other
we'll have our eyes open--

And you wouldn't believe it but
right now I love you more than I do
when I say it
because I don't need to.

No More

~

It's been forever, and maybe I
forgot how to drown in your
hazel eyes

Because angry tongues can't be contained
and endorphins will dull the pain
for only as long as I can bleed
and soon enough, you will regret this
need
to keep me docile and at your side
though you will never respect my stubborn pride

You'll grow bored, and my hate will ferment
and together, we will begin to resent
the beating of one another's heart
till we only pull together
to watch each other

fall apart

Tryhard II

~

she pirouettes clumsily,
trying to find grace
but
chipped nail polish
and
faded blue highlights
can only take your jetê so far.

~

Tryhard I

~

she tippy-tippy-tiptoes
on her unlaced combat boots
so her gum-gluey heels
don't fray the edges of
her mud-flecked cargo pants.

~

Darling,

I miss who you used to be

and I know you miss

who you thought I was;
And I know

we both know
things will never be as
amazing
as they once were;
Though you will try
to fix it up with your
rough words and
decisive eyes
and I will lay down a blanket of
gossamer metaphors
to keep our glamour alive.
Our affection has died

it's been polluted, love
and our fingers have forgotten
how it feels to be locked
in the spaces of each other
moving more quickly to find
those soft, vulnerable corners of flesh
that so easily
burst into pain--
Our sweet nothings
are nothing
but a casualty, a mere
tradition
so we can say Goodnight with as clear a conscience
as we can manage--
And I can empty my loneliness
onto my sheets
as you taunt the stars once more
with your
unholy smirk and defiant gaze;
But one day,
my metaphors will dry up
and your logic,
twisted around so smoothly,

so sinuous, oh so sinuously
to encompass the impossibility of us
will grip us tighter, ever tighter,
suffocating the remains of what we were;
One day, our playful banter
and wrist-bumping
and needless, pathetic apologies
will not be enough
and then maybe we will

finally
find the strength to admit
what we knew so very long ago,

what we have known, darling

since the very beginning;

it's over.

Indigestion

~

All those butterf l i e s

you fed to me

well, darling, they've started a

mutiny.

~

Minus the Maybe

~

It's getting harder to convince you
but only
because I lost the will to convince
myself.

And throughout all the bittersweet collisions of
us,
at the back of my mind I'm still
wishing
hoping
needing
for the bitter to overpower the sweet

because then maybe it would make it easier
to leave.

To say, "I don't need you anymore,"

To give back to you a cardboard box
holding all the remains of what we used to be
[Although shredded butterfly wings and empty
chocolate cases
are poor glory-holders.]

Because eventually my metaphors will not be enough for you
you and your determined, clouded toxicity
and I will be forced to grit my teeth and discipline
my unruly tear ducts
through the transparent lies and the forced-out truths,
to make sure I still have the strength to say
that eight-lettered piece of
b u l l s h i t .

And maybe, just maybe,
I don't.

~

Lashless

~

I was a broken screen, cracking

not-so-gracefully under pressure and leaking

my emotions all over

my see-through façade.

You were a lightning-struck lake, all too eager

to hurt and drown out my insatiable

curiosity.

I was the cyanide in your coffee

and you were the mercury in my veins,

(though I was the bitter insomniac

and you the more toxic, inflexible one.)

You told me I was spineless as you

strangled me in nerve endings, and I

wasted all my wishes asking for some metaphors

sickeningly sweet enough to make you

retch out some truth.

Maybe if I crack your glasses

hard enough, you’ll see me with better eyes,

but then again, I gave up on dandelions

a long time ago.

~

Fake

~

Skip me a staccato beat, pretty girl

skip me your heartbeat with those clicketyclack heels.

Parade down the pavement, flooding glitter in the gutter

'til the cement holds down your glamour and your lies fall out from under you;

Now, would you like to tell the class how that feels?

Hapdi

masakit

pero titiisin

kahit alam natin

wala nang magbabago

magkunwari

na lang tayo

kasi 'yan lang

ang alam natin

at

hindi na tayo marunong

magmahal

~