Para Decir Adiós

Hopelessness is as exhilarating as it is thrilling.
As much as it makes the future look bleak, it lets you experience the present for what it is.
Hopelessness is sad and stressful, but it is also freeing.
Not thinking about the potential positives allows you to focus on what really matters
– nothing.
I've lost hope in a lot of things recently, including myself.
I've lost all hope in life itself.
Nothing has meaning if it isn't with you.
Nothing makes sense, not even you.

Marshed Memories

I can never forget the colour of your soul 
The way your eyes light up when I call you baby
Or how you love having your back rubbed and your toes tickled even though you're so scared of laughing out loud
Everyday, I think about how much hurt all of this caused me
But I cannot bring myself to forget you
Cos when a memory is etched into your heart, only dying can take it away
And I've tried and tried, but death just won't come
This heart might have been shattered into several little pieces
But each piece is alive and beating for you
You make my sky dark, the colour of the clouds before it rains
And though I can smell the pertichor from a mile away
You're the only one I want to dance in the rains with
I love you, even now that I remember how much hurt I feel.
I love you, even now it's drizzling on my bed.


The engine stopped running
Burnt out from overuse
It's what happens when you finally get a breath of fresh air after so long
You breathe it all in and forget to breathe out
The engine stopped running
You're still the most beautiful thing ever created
Still the colorful palette with which to paint my art
Just because a car won't start doesn't mean you can't sit in it
The engine stopped running
But you'll never stop being God's favorite piece
This engine might never start again
But I'll always love you.


You’re like the thought process behind a speech made by a motivational speaker
Like the calls of a mother to her crawling child trying to take his first step
Like a man taking in a breath after being resuscitated from a cardiac arrest,
You are inspiring;
A lot like Mary saw when she looked up to her son nailed on a cross
Like a weight lifter seeing the results to his months of working out
You’re tearfully beautiful, rugged and uncut.
But thrilling and mind blowing
Beautiful, like an imperfect unmined gem
Like a parent seeing his child say their first words
Complete and whole, like Jesus after the resurrection.
Like God’s favorite piece.


Time has slowed down, everything feels surreal 
Nothing makes sense, reality looks blurry
There's a heaviness in my chest and a lump in my throat
I want to lay in bed and be covered by an invisibility cloak
I've been unable to sleep, my thoughts are unclear
My world is turned upside down, I don't know what to do
And the only person I want to talk to is gone
Ironic, that the first time I'm writing about you is after losing you.


Cursed by the angst of a jealous Cupid; damned by his fetish
People like me can’t fall in love.
Instead, we stumble, plummeting deep into the abyss of emotional rollercoaster.
And this has been my favourite ride yet.
This – you, us – is the one thing I don’t feel the need to fix.
Because how do you fix perfection?
In statistics, qualitative data are data that do not have numerical value.
But I’ve managed to put a number on you – 100 – the number of years I hope we spend together.
I love you so much, I’ve lost my urge to write; to piece words together and convince myself I have the penmanship of Robert Ludlum.
I love you so much the only thing I want to do is to rehearse jokes. Go over them in my head. Make sure the delivery is perfect.
So much, the only thing I want to do is watch you laugh till tears fill your eyes. You see, your laughter is perfect, just like you.
Seeing you get breathless from laughing the other day is still my favourite memory etched into my mind.
I often play it back like a loop and plot ways on how to recreate it.
There’s nothing in the world more beautiful.
I’ve never been more at peace with being a clown.
This has been my favourite ride yet.
And this time, I hope the engine never stops running.

Cursed Delusions

I watched the clouds cover the moon
And the rays from the light scattered across the night’s skyline
Sometimes, the silver lining is only present when the darkness is thickest
Same way my mind is the most depressed when my belly is its giddiest
It’s the biggest paradox – my life
How much having emotions gets me sad
So it’s an irony the way I keep chasing love
Even though I want nothing to do with this delirious disease
Handcuffs can be made to be pretty as well
A jail decorated to look like heaven
But out, watching the sparkle of a shooting star through the night’s sky
I realized just because it’s colourful doesn’t mean it’s real.

God’s Favourite Piece

What does it feel like to fall in love with a poet?
It’s confusing, it’s being unsure of what is actually real and what is mere poetry
It’s being told about how your lips feel like God’s airbrush as he paints his favourite image – which is you by the way
It’s waking up to poems about how the contour of your body when you sleep is like the lines on the face of the moon
What does it feel like to fall in love with a poet?
It’s doubting every word they say, “maybe this too is a lie”
When they swear that the first day they locked eyes with you, their belly ruffled, not from a runny stomach, but from the number of butterflies that filled it up in an instant
How time stood still, but their heart couldn’t stop thumping with all the vigor and speed it could muster
Falling in love with a poet is beautiful, it’s ethereal
It’s letting the pheromones wash your brain and leave your mouth gaping for lack of words
I know this for a fact because that’s exactly how I feel everytime I look at you
Only, you’re not a poet, you’re the poem, God’s favourite piece.
What does it feel like to fall in love with a poet?

Ideation, Grief and Beauty

How do you do it – do this?
Be so perfect at living, at being, at being alive?
I see you smile on days your eyes tell different tales
When your skin swears and cusses and screams its tiredness?
How do you do this? Be this amazing?
At what point in your creation were you made this beautiful?
And not just what your face looks like, but what your heart feels like
Like the last drop of Caprisun, like angel petals
I saw you the other day in your element
Watching a video on your phone when you had just heard the worst news
Laughing like it was your last chance to ever be happy
Gleaming like a candle lit in hades
I saw you, with such splendor and calm
Without a care in the world, without any bother at all
And I prayed a little that you never lose that – your soul
Because in that moment, even now, you’re the most beautiful thing God ever created
How do you do that?

My First Bal

Losing belly fat is one of the most difficult things to do.
I know that’s a weird way to start up a note for you
But nothing about our relationship has ever been normal.
Nothing about either of us is.
You are the highlight to my full glam
– I sometimes could go out without you, but I never really am complete then.
It’s like the synonym of love – this feeling I have for you.
I know it’s not love because it’s something much deeper.
You are like a secret between God, the devil and the dead
I could never figure you out
But I could never stop being fascinated by your splendor
And all that you are – or are meant to be.
I am belly fat, you are belly.
And losing belly fat is one of the most difficult things in life.
So maybe we should just enjoy the ride.
It isn’t so bad afterall.


An ode to a heartbreak, one you should have seen coming
Yet you got blinded by the fables of hope, of belief, of loving
They say love is how much you’re willing to give up for a person, in sickness and health.
And you gave up, a lot, including yourself.
It’s an ode to a heartbreak, a pretty much foreseen one
That left you in the trenches of depression, with no more strength to mourn
You’ve always been one with tough skin, ready to bear the worst
But the heart muscle was not built to stretch, unless it is sick – just like yours
This is an ode to a heartbreak, your heartbreak
And if no one mentioned, you came out of it beautiful in your stride
Cheers to your strength, may we never have to be that strong again
This is an ode to you, you survived.

Satirical Balladry

Poetry is funny.
How it is a jumble of words.
An attempt by a person to sound deep.
To convey an emotion the audience never felt.
Poetry is a lie.
It’s you swearing you can read the meaning behind a line.
“My calyces – which are my eyes – blossomed in eternal praise.
The first day my heart spoke your name”.
Poetry is weird.
How a young girl writing her suicide note and someone commenting on how beautiful it is.
It’s rebellion, love, anguish, creativity.
Turning humour into a food for thought.
Poetry is for losers.
And boring people – or at least that’s what you say.
Why is the smell of the rain singing lyrics to your ex’s heart rhythm?
That makes no sense.
Poetry is really funny.
But my life isn’t.
Poetry is dumb, and so am I.
So it’s a wonder how this is a wonder to you.
My poems are shitty.
A constellation of penned down reasons I give myself to survive the next day.
Poetry is hilarious.
I hope to one day find a reason to laugh as well.

Construed Tics and Tocs

What is the value of eternity?
Is there a price to pay for time?
Desperate for the chance to see you smile again
Would an offer of my life be enough?
Who has the cell number of posterity?
How do I call her to bear me witness?
I swore an oath to Kronos to keep his biddings
But let the sands slip through my fingers in the heat of chaos
Friendships are worth the measure of time spent
The quality of memories created, the strength of the bonds formed
So the best friendships should last several lifetimes
Yet, here I am estranged by only thing I could call my own
At what point is the end of a circle, what is the dimension of time?
How is eternity valued?
Staring at shooting stars with my soulmate
Alas, it was dead, just like our love was.

Tethered Pain

Do you need to be in fire to know it’s hot?
How close do you have to get to feel its heat?
It took getting doused to understand your tears.
To be able to truly recognize the culprit.
Your lips always formed smiles that your eyes never seemed to believe.
I convinced myself your previous pains had scarred out the gleam.
Last night, my chest bled from the same spot you had been stabbed.
And the my heart’s rhythm was a chant of the anguish your soul had seen.
Last night, I, like you, experienced my guardian angel join forces with my demons.
The skies betrayed me as they bantered my already soaked sheets.
My knees were swept by the wind of anguish.
And my gut stuck in my throat, blocking out my shrieks.
I haven’t decided yet if this is an apology or not.
But I admit to recognizing the bruises on your hands now.
I was so close all this while, but could never really tell.
Maybe to understand Satan, you need to go through hell.
Do you need to be in fire to know it’s hot?
How close do you have to get to feel its heat?
Your shattered heart accused me of murder as I held it in my hands.
And watched your death get avenged, as I was the culprit.

Celestial Pleasure

“The moon is beautiful”
But for how long?
He always hated making commitments,
Yet, somehow, he kept making promises he couldn’t keep
“The moon will always be beautiful,
Even on days when it rains so hard and the clouds cover it up
Even when the sun – a brighter and hotter body – rises from the ground
I will always find the moon beautiful
You don’t need to always look at something to find it beautiful
Because it just is –
And just because it is out of sight for a moment doesn’t make it stop.”
His words always seemed convincing
And as much as he meant every single turn of phrase,
She knew whether or not he meant to, he would hurt her again
The moon is beautiful, but your inconsistency proves otherwise”
The moon was a metaphor for her, and its apparent beauty, a euphemism of his love
He always hated making commitments,
But he was prepared to commit this one time
The moon being beautiful is the hill he was willing to die on
But these days, all she had become was a level ground.