tuig
10/9/08*
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.
.
pamati
10/8/08
*
reading this made my day, from kayumanggi, my journal
written last August, I forgot the date. grrrr.
from Christine Day Lorico’s marvelalalaland
Haha!
Well, I want to start a poem with a laugh.
I read from somewhere that it’s orgasmic to
be your opposite self for a night.
so I decided to try my luck today
since I own the image of being a devious, vivacious, wanderer
(Single, who writes tickle-me-to-balls little verses)
and who nannies three kids with dressing-up deficiencies
Tonight:
a. am at La Terraza and there are rich kids
b. am caffeinated at La Terraza and there are poor kids trying hard to look rich.
c. am here, alone at La Terraza and a hot guy will offer me an ice cold beer.
A and B = check!
C. here comes a guy, and a bottle of beer grinning between his fingers. (I had in mind what pick-up lines to hear)
“of all people here, why are you alone?”
Mission: BE YOUR OPPOSITE SELF.
“I have a friend beside me, his name is Casper.”
(Duh. I wanted to run that very moment, I could not
Even figure out why the hell I said that. Might turn the hot guy off.)
“Haha. Little funny you. The music here sucks. Hiphop and all. That’s why
I was wondering what are you listening to under those earphones.”
I took off the right earphone and lent him.
“Sounds nice. Do you listen to Coldplay and Incubus?”
(then I forgot my mission to be the opposite of my self)
“No, I really don’t.”
“What? COLDPLAY and INCUBUS, hello, every chick dig them.
I mean, where are you from?”
“I am from a 5th class town and I don’t listen to them, do you listen to the Beatles?”
“OF COURSE. They are THE BEATLES. Everyone adores them”
“…oh yes, them, and I don’t listen that much because they make me feel bored.”
I left that place with ABCs
a. Being your opposite self style for me in my attempt to find a great match or an overnight romance does not work (and may never work. goodness! haha)
b. REAL men are way hotter than those who overrate and brace, who pretend and who want me to be what they are.
c. I do not hate Incubus, Coldplay and The Beatles. And I will not listen to them that much.
.
pasahero
10/7/08*
”you don’t really smoke, do you?”
“twice a year.”
sometimes, bus stops are real life stops.
you get to meet people who just blow you away and leave you
basking the aisle of surreal flood, you know that it has a
color but you can’t tell what the color is.
“what’s your name?”
“Richelle.”
“is that the name of your classmate with the biggest boobs in high school? come on.”
It was 6am and I was going to the pharmacy
It was 6am and I stood beside this man with a backpack and bagtas sandals.
It was 6am and he was so inquisitve and so suspicious and so alone.
I finished eating mais
“sorry i was so hungry, i did not give you a piece.”
“beautiful people like you need to sleep more.”
it was 6am and he knew I did not sleep well.
“you used to have long hair. and you used to sleep on the bus. and you used to…”
“used to bang my head when the earphones were up.”
“yeah, how can i forget you.”
and he began to really annoy me. not because i hate it when
strangers talk to me but because i hate being observed
and being told about it.
“i’m going home after 2 years. i have to start all over again.”
“i wish i could do that, pick a date, escape and go back if i feel sad. sadder.”
“to where?
“people only leave if their happiness flies away. somewhere else. if not to that place where they want to go to.”
“aha…”
i wanted to smile but it might make him too proud of his wisdom. so i just dunked my hands into my jacket pockets.
“and why are you going back? you never found that happiness there?”
“it did not fly away actually. i was just too crazy, fascinated with flights and hallucinations.”
“do you still write on that notebook? sorry but i saw you for a couple of times in Ceres, Carles-bound.”
“sometimes. but today, i was in a hurry so i left it. and my player.”
“it’s great that i have this chance of standing right next to you.”
“what’s the drama about? im just a sleepless girl in a jacket.”
“do you believe in kindred souls? like those lives that remind you: you still belong here?”
i wanted to smile but it might make him feel misjudged.
“do i remind you of SOMEONE?”
he wanted to smile but i knew he tried hard to hide it.
“do i remind you of a special someone?”
he smiled.
“yes, very. you remind me of my self.”
“oh i’d be happier if you told me, that i remind you of a past love. haha. i love bitching with the past. that touch and chase style.”
“im not kidding, the first time i saw you with that patadyong bag, yawning 3 times every hour, writing things down, smiling near the window, i felt safe, i felt that i am not a secluded case.”
“ah grandiose romanticism…do you write novels and paint ever-afters?”
my sarcasm did not work that well.
“you are just saying that because you are good at evading.”
“sometimes, we have to be good at such things.”
he looked at the highway,
“oh oh it’s here.”
“see you around romantic. halong.”
“reach me here.”
he handed me a little card
on it,
a name. before the name, a title. below the name,
a strange-sounding address.
at home,
i turned the faucet off, wiped the toothpaste bubbles
from my lips and dialed the number,
“the number you have dialed is either unattended
or out of coverage area, please try your call later thank you”
and the same autoresponse
for the next few hours.
.
tuhod
10/6/08*
and of all love poems, this one reigned that piece of burnt page
For you, I’ll Bleed my Knees - Pamela Herrera
=
With your fingertips, I found the glory of
being naked and wanted
*
On bended knees, you slung the moon
placed it on the plate and told me in your softest voice
“the sky is better off dark, but my life…it’s nothing without you”
*
Through climates, my knee caps became calloused
but my heart, never
=
You made me coil in pain,
you rolled me and hid me when you didn’t need my arms
still, I’d rather hold you than wrap my skin on
my folded legs, shivering cold
=
the floor may not deserve me
but you do…
and for you, I won’t mind stepping
low and bleed my limb.
=
Alone, I found within me my home
but now,
the only door is in your heart,
perhaps I have evacuated my whole self
and found the stairs in your lips.
remember, the first time I let my fabric fall
down on your toes after we kissed?
=
I left me.
.
sahi
10/5/08
*
why of all old poems this accidentally had a back-up?
sometimes, i feel handsome.
i loves hares hihi
People know it when you are bored you
start to draw your self on paper, exaggerate your penis
and your body hair.
The last time I met you, you wore this weird top with
“my dog is smarter than your president” print.
The last time we kissed in the sofa, you called me
plague
I started to put my palm near my mouth and
exhaled if my breath stink, but you took my hand off
and swept my hair to my shoulder
“just please, close your eyes”
People know it when I recall having multiple orgasms,
I write poems ending in ellipsis…
.
