*
She Bares and Browns by him, the activist/caricaturist
1984
she made a 17-year old Ilongga cry with joy,
and her husband, drunk with glee, butterflies in his stomach.
she had reigning cheekbones and pout-carved lips
and a childhood that will follow her to the cities and mini pedestals.
1995
she had a pet dog, Bradox. She slept in the afternoon, found him on
her uncle plates when she woke up. She cried so hard, she hated him so much
and she lit candles on their backyard, sobbing like an orphan.
2000
she was a sad girl behind eyeglasses and medals.
she sang at the back of the door when the guns were out and everyone
was yelling bullshits.
2003
2004
she was more alive, half dead.
2006
she keeps things secret, like stories and lies and pieces of river banks.
she keeps crumbling Christmas trees well past May.
she keeps trying.
2007
she had a skateboard she tried to ride. she had a book she tried to read. she had a boy she tried to love.
she tries to make her bed, some late nights and pretends it’s 5:30am.
she tries to believe that her wishes might still come true.
2008
tomorrow i am
sleeping in to
put off waking
up without you.
Still.
.
bro diin na tong gitara mo nga ginbitbit mo sang nite sheep ka pa man? kacute sang baby pic mo, daw yawa nga bata. 
@maurya: hehe. you’re too kind, thanks 
ah you have a whole beautiful community there even without klitshy.
@officem8: ah ginpangayo to kay mas kampeon sya magkaraskas. bakal na lang ko bag-o ah. ay pwerte na ka yawan-on. 
I repeat, I am your fan. Forever.
@ben: if being flattered like this kills, i could have died. haha. mushy mushy
*
she likes seashore naps and the view of everything from the bus window. she likes tiny moments and the small spaces between faces when people talk.
sometimes, she wakes up to that odd feeling of being a fallen leaf, an old tree, an azotea or a waitress somewhere-- talking to a taxicab driver about that random song on the radio.
*
---
---
and this. a proof that:
how you see LIFE is how
you actually see YOUR self.
*
*
***
maddening spurt:
----------------------
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”
-Jack Kerouac-
You write poems I wish I could have written.
Posted by maurya at October 9, 2008, 3:04 pmDeviantArt feels incomplete without yo.