Tag Archives: poetry

What Eats Me

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What eats me
Is that I never sleep early
Even when I’m already brain-dead
And brains remind me of zombies
Eater of brains
Bringer of pains
Probably like you.

What eats me
Is that I never stop trying
Putting cheese to it and rhyming
Typing,
Sighing,
Gradually dying
Whenever you so much as pass by.

What eats me
Is that you never intend it
But you create chaos anyway
Like an innocent child
Or a mad man in the street
Or just a lazy god with too much time
And boredom in his godly seat.

What eats me
Is that I’ll probably never get my chance
To show you I’m great at other things, too,
Other things besides a drunken night’s dance.

What eats me
Is that you’ll never be somebody else
Perhaps someone with less brains
And brains remind me of zombies
Sad, soaked zombies in the pouring rain.

You’ll just never be somebody else
Someone I can actually impress
Without instantly getting depressed
Over my ambitious romantic request.

Sucks that you’ll never be somebody else
Somebody ugly perhaps,
Or poor,
Or awkward,
Or annoying
With an ambulance’s siren for a voice
Or jagged stalactites for teeth
Or–shit I don’t know
Somebody less you I guess.

What eats me
Is that you possibly never even listened
When I told you stuff
That left me traumatized
The rest of the weekend.

What eats me–
Beats me!
Maybe some icky thought of you
And me
Just you and me
And a dreamy walk
Along the campus I used to roam.
I’ll show you there’s more to it than you think
There are flowers and bees and beautiful things.
Lines that would melt your guard
Stares that would compress time and space
And reasons never to feel alone again.

What eats me
Ate all those other boys.

What eats me
Devoured their hopeful hearts
And silent farts alike.

What eats me
Eats the night,
Eats the reasons
And the fight inside;
Eats the itch,
Eats my speech,
It’s freakin’ insane–
Life’s a bitch;
Eats the rights and the wrongs,
The common sense to just play along.
‘Cause what eats me
Eats like a zombie
And ’til you shoot it dead
It’ll go on a killing spree.

What eats me,
It’s you.

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The Rains

Aren’t lovers like the rain?
They come pouring from the skies,
heaven-sent.
They laugh for no reason
and fill the nights with screams.
They soak the world with fluids
and make everything
so

much

heavier

than they should be.
They make a lot of us sick,
revolted,
nauseated–
an unhealthy bunch overflowing with madness.

Aren’t lovers like the rain? Think about it.
Oh they don’t care about the earth;
clouds drop them like freed angels
and they fall,

fall,

fall without ever thinking,
ever stopping one bit

until they crash

and turn into mud. Filthy puddles in the torn ground.

And aren’t lovers like the rain?
They hurtle in one direction
then go down the drain.
They’re raging rivers and bursting creeks,
claps of thunder and roaring winds;
the drip,
drip,

drip

from a hole in your roof–
the annoying sound while you try to sleep.

You know, I do remember it’s like the rain,
the giver of life
and the most numbing of pains
like ice in your head as your chest burns
and the squish in your shoes
when you brave the stupid.

God it’s stupid.

So stupid it flooded my head and swamped my work!
‘Twas everywhere I looked, shit, even in my bed!
And all the basins were filled–no teacup to spare!
Nothing was dry for everything was goddamn wet.

And I bet

that I haven’t learned a thing from the rains.
Though I say I love the sun
it’s not what my skin seeks.
For as clean and dry as I aspire to be,
clearly, the storms know the real me;

for the heavens set the rule,

the lightning is the judge,

the droplets are the hearts,

and rains are lovers,

water is love.

And I

I’m nothing but

a sponge.

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Filed under Love, Poems

A Story of You and I

I am afraid of writing
because I can only write about you
and you are leaving
me.

I am afraid of poetry
because the saddest poem
is the most enchanting one
and you can’t be the reason
I write it now.

Every morning, the birds remind me
that your plane flies well
like they fly well
and neither of them can ever fail.

And every evening, the dark sky whispers
that everyone’s almost asleep
and so are you
and so should I.
There’s no other choice but to sleep
and wake up again tomorrow. Continue reading

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Friday Night

Plump red lips soaked in beer
The cheapest around — the most potent kind
Thin fingers slip down the neck, mark the glass
Smoke clears it up between us this Friday night

Come tell your friends more about me
Toss my name around like a helpless lighter
Well, it’s Friday night; our humanity
Disappears behind the thirst for ice

Maybe I think of you or not
I’m not as drunk as you nor as sober
It’s just the way things are
Hard to drown
With jokes and songs and silent bouts of frown

Do people fall in love this evening?
Can people reach out beyond?
When troubles are washed away by the slickest swig,
Can people break out of their cells to cry?

So many friends surround you
Like disciples to an untouchable demigod
No way to get near
Impossible to hold
You’ve chosen a path I cannot tread

So this Friday night, I mute the TV
To hear myself, the schizophrenic
What do I want?
What do I need?
If not a bottle of beer, then what’s to keep?

Come tell your friends more about me
Blurt out my name to the darkest ceiling above
Well, it’s Friday night; our love this morning
Went to bed early to dream of us helplessly falling

Come tell, come yell
About the past and nothing
Withered roses, loony exes
And sex and sex and sex!
They all saw it coming but listened anyway
For all they wanted was to hear
Their lives narrated
Reflected
Branded
Stereotyped
Ridiculed with beautiful sarcasm
And class
In a glass

Maybe I think of you or not
I’m not as loud as you nor as clear
It’s just the way things are
So I’ll drown
In thoughts of worlds beyond you and frown

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Filed under Life, Poems

Of Poets and Basketball Players

 

“Should I tell her I love her in the poem?”

“Yes. You’ve already made the ridiculous decision of writing a poem for her, telling her about your feelings. So why stop short and not say that you love her?”

“Yeah, I realize that. But everyone says ‘I love you’ and this is not a high school kind of poem. Like I’ve told you, this poem is an adult poem, an adult love poem.”

“I somehow have this feeling that all love poems are childish. Ask her out. That’s what adults — men do.”

“But I don’t wanna be just like any other man. I want her to understand that I’m intelligent and creative and deep and I can write good love poems.”

“You can also achieve that by buying her a drink and then talking to her.”

“Yeah, but this is still much more special. If I get lucky and she allows me to date her and we get together, we’ll always have this poem written on a piece of crumpled yellowish paper. And whenever we feel like lying on the bed on idle weekends, cuddling, kissing, she’ll stand up, get it from the drawer and read it to me. It’s so cheesy that we’ll both laugh and remember how good were those first days.” Continue reading

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Filed under Love, Random Thoughts

A Song In My Head I Wish Interpol Would Play

Bed Bug
by Interpol*

Everytime
It gets me
Everytime

Everytime
It gets me
Everytime

Now I think about a lot and I do a lot of acts
But I really can’t know what goes on in this
Show
Cause it

Gets

Me

Everytime.
Yes, it gets me
Everytime

You’re over there, I’m underneath, it’s incomplete
I’m completely
Silly
Silly
Silly.

So what is worse? Go get a nurse
And rub some salt against these wounds
To—

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Everytime
I feel it. Anytime we’ll kill it.

We’re waking up the other day, we couldn’t guess
What’s waiting for us
When the rain doesn’t show up.

‘Cause when we plan we write things down
On biodegradable sheets of paper
We just found on sticky tables.

Yes, we write things down, and we talk things over
There’s a plan to carry this over and under
The sheets. Our mouths going

Blah, blah, blah. Ba-blah-ba-blah

Then I turn away, and I pull my hair
And I think of a girl who will knock me out
For tomorrow.

There’s a need to catch up
Let us all play catch-up
There’s a need to botch up
This fake blood of ketchup

Three minutes ’til five, a thousand steps to home
Why can’t I leave this chair and slip out of my bones
Oh baby

Everytime
It gets me
Everytime

Everytime

It gets me
Everytime

_____________________________________________________

* This is not a real song by Interpol. I just made it up because I like Interpol and I think they’ll sing the song in my head perfectly. LOL.

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Palaisipan

Lumulukso, lumulubog, lumalaktaw
Masundan lang
Hinuhulaan, inaabangan, kinakabahan
Kumalma lang
Tinatanya, pinipiga ang simpatya
Lumingon lamang
Hinaharap, hinahabol, hinang-hina
Umaga lamang,
Niyakap pa, ilang oras, bastusan na
Ulong kinalawang
Nawiwindang, nagba-blangko, nagniningas
Hindi mabilang
Mga nasasayang, kabi-kabilaang mga kapraningan
Lubus-lubusang
Sinasagad, binababad, binibilad
Sa init ng pulang
Bumabakat, walang puknat, kumakalat
Nangangati nang
Gumapang, mabuwang, tumiwalag
Isipang tigang
Sumusuka, sumusuko, sumisiwalat
Mga damdaming
Nauudyok, nabubulok sa sinasapit
Ayoko nang
Lumulundag, nagbabasag, humihiyaw
‘Di mapigilang
Magnilay-nilay, magbantay-bantay, baka mauhaw
Naniniwalang
May oras pa, kailangan pang ulit-ulitn.
Lumulukso, lumulubog, lumalaktaw

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