Infallible

Not even anything can save me now–
The optimism, this new shirt,
The way my jeans fit my legs perfectly,
Not even the way my feet are comfortably resting inside my sneakers.

Not even anything can save me now–
The poetry, the clicking sound in my mind as words pour out my mouth,
Not even the eloquence I was always proud to have,
Not even the sophisticated nature of this game I chose to play.

Not even anything can save me now–
The way my eyes look so alive, and decisive right now,
The way my face looks like it’s ready to take on the world,
Not even the way I stand as if I’m infallible.

Not even anything can save me now–
For all my vanity and confidence, and faith in myself,
None of these things will ever save me any day.
None of these things, I dare say.

I was raised to believe I can go on, alone,
And had been lauded for doing so, for so long.
But none of all these things can get me the love that I need.
None of all these things can get me things others have every day, unconditionally,
With no requirements, no pretense, no standards, no bars to beat.

Not even now. Not even once. Not ever.

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With A Pen In My Hand

With a pen in my hand, and a page on the other,
I’d write to my heart’s content,
Engrave in my mind every moment,
Live each day, knowing: nothing’s permanent.

With a guitar in my hand, and a pick on the other,
I’d sing of songs that would touch the soul,
Play the notes that make me whole,
Live each day with smile: my goal.

With a book in my hand, and a mic on the other,
I’d speak of the beauties I dig underneath these words,
Spread words of beauty, of peace, of other worlds,
Of people who write, who bleed, who draw swords.

With my heart in my hand, and my mind on the other,
I’d live my life as best as I can,
Living in the moment, and reflecting every now and then,
Live as though nothing will ever be forgotten.

My Year-End Thing

Before I join my band tomorrow welcoming the new year making noise in the street, I’d like to do away from my poetries for a while, and take this opportunity to do this year-end thing I’ve been meaning to post a few days back.

I created this account last September (I guess), but I only started posting stuff around November. It’s been great two months for starters, and I have to admit that I think I’ve been better than before.

At first I was hesitant to post anything online, because I’m really shy about letting people read my work. But I have to admit that seeing that other bloggers started liking my works, I realized that they’re probably worth something. My life still sucks every now and then, but through writing and seeing that what I write are appreciated, I get by, somehow. Maybe, it also helped to see that I’m not the only one who writes as form of therapy (mine as a personal choice)– it made me feel less alone. With a messed up mind like mine, writing really does save me.

I’d like to thank you guys for being with me through your likes, follows, and responses. They really mean a lot to me.

I also love the fact that I see a lot of things here– poetries, stories, articles, sketches, photos–everything. Everything gives me insights about a whole lot of different things. Credits to the awesome blogs I follow.

With those things being said, I’d like to say that this community and you guys of course, will always have a special place in my heart. Happy holidays and may you have a great new year ahead! 🙂

He Said, She Said II

“It’s a bet,” he said.
“‘Course, it is,” he said.
“Make sure she wouldn’t know,” he said
“Not until now,” she said.

“I’m calling her tonight,” he said.
“Go for it,” he said.
“I loved you the moment you walked through that door,” he said.
“I loved you,” she said.

“Please never leave me,” he said.
“I’m never going anywhere,” she said.
“Never let me go,” she said.
“I’ll never let you go,” he said.

“I can’t explain why.
Please understand,” he said.
“I can’t understand,
But go where you should be,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said.
She cries.

“She cries,” he said.
“Well, it was part of the deal,” he said.
“So, who’s turn is it?” he said.
“We both go this time,” he said.

“I never saw you again,” he said.
“No reason to do so,” she said.
“I miss you,” he said.
“Huh,” she said.

“I wanna hear you sing,” he said.
“You’d rather not,” she said.
“Let’s hang out?” he said.
“Ugh,” she said.

“Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” she said.
“I wanted to see you,” he said.
“Been busy,” she said.

“She won’t crack,” he said.
“Same here,” he said.
“What happened?” he said.
“I loved,” she said, “I cried.”
“I write.”

He Said, She Said I

“You are too beautiful to be left,” he said.
“Your attempt at flattery, nonetheless cliché,
Does not excuse me from the reality of the world,”
She said.

“You are too precious to let go,” he said.
“Your kind flattery, nonetheless cliché,
Does not shield me from the inevtibilities in life,”
She said.

“Those eyes– they make me fall in love,” he said.
“Your kind appreciation of my art, nonetheless flattering,
Doe not set you apart from the rest– opportunists,”
She said.

“That voice, so angelic, it puts me to sleep,” he said.
“Your kind comment, though refreshing to my ears,
Does not set you apart from the rest– opportunists,”
She said.

“May I get your number? Invite you to lunch?” he said.
“Opportunist,” she said. She said, in her mind.

The Ocean In Her Eyes

The ocean in her eyes–
I saw the ocean in her eyes.
The yearning to understand,
The yearning to deny the truth staring at her face,
The yearning to forget, to unsee, to run past the reality looming at her fate.

The ocean in her eyes–
I saw the ocean in her eyes.
The conflicting feelings of her tender soul,
The confused thoughts of her running mind,
The contradicting feelings, thoughts, and ideas filling her mind.

The ocean in her eyes–
I saw the ocean in her eyes.
And I write as she calmly contains the chaos in her mind,
And I write as she quietly ruminates the endless possibilities,
And I write as she bravely sets down her feelings with her pen.

The ocean in her eyes–
I saw the ocean in her eyes.

~

Familiar theme. Hmmmm 😉
http://pcmanongsong.wordpress.com/2013/12/28/a-space-between-stops/

Under the Yellow Light

He’s a stranger. Again.
A man with a name that rings a bell,
A man with a silhouette that looks familiar from a distant past.
Under the yellow light.

He’s a stranger. Again.
A man with a voice long forgotten,
A man with a face starting to fade into the dark.
Under the yellow light.

He’s a stranger. Again.
A man who reminds me of a small, dull ache,
A man who embodies what my memory makes him out to be.
Under the yellow light.

He’s a stranger. Again.
A man far from the one I knew a lifetime ago.
A man far from the one I adored a lifetime ago.
Under the yellow light.

He’s a stranger. Again.
I keep telling myself: He’s a stranger.
My mind is playing cruel tricks on my eyes,
Under the yellow light.