Tag Archives: find

santa’s not real (but you might be)

Wrap me up like a present
And put me away
And when it gets cold, I’ll be yours
Let the bells ring on a fool’s holiday
I swear that I’m more than just
Broken promises…

~*~

i will find you

in wine coolers

and silent carols

and hallmark films

that we both hate

.

your tinsel smirk

in a mistletoe twist

red and green and

stupid clichés on

pink candy cane lips

.

we can stay away

from rude relatives

bland after-dinners

pull the sweater over

our eyes just to hide

.

don’t wake me up

when the fireside’s

snuffed-out, and this

hangover feels like

a feverish nevermind

.

wrap up the year

a humourless cheer

the star fell off the

tree, and the cat stole

half the ornaments

.

but i will find you

in crystal snowdrops

and visiting ghosts

for you’re the childish

wonder that i once lost.

~*~

Decorations can change
Like tinsel and ribbon so
Do not open ’til you’ve got
Forever to spend with me
On a fool’s holiday.

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h[a]unt

feel the

haunt

don’t

open up

kill the

blinds

to hide

your find

.

feel the

haunt

don’t keep

it shut

kill the

mind to

see what’s

inside.

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hanap-ilaw (finding light)

kahit ano mang

idlip ng karimlan

huwag na huwag

mo itong bibitawan

sagipin mo na lang

ang mga nakaligtaan

at susundin ang irog

ng ating kalangitan.

despite the slumber

of the darkness

never should you

ever lose your hold

instead, may you save

what has been neglected

and love shall be brought

back by our heavens.

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Elizabeth and the Zealot

His embittered smile proclaims of an innocently senile man, but his rancid breath reeks of irreparable psychological damage.

Outside, a group of children playing tag in the playground across the street, clambering across loose gravel and joyously shrieking as outstretched hands willingly grab for their shoulders, caught unaware and simply caught.

Inside his shirt, the old crucifix his long-deceased mother gave him on the brink of her deathbed, clasp half-broken and several priceless encrusted jewels missing; a toothless grin, unfaithful gaps. The tiny metal weighs heavily against his unwashed chest, the unpleasant sensation almost burning a hole through his heart. Sometimes, he mutters a memorised creed out of reflex, though no one believes in it anymore. Perhaps not even God Himself. But him?

Mindless gazes. The chipped, mouldy statue of a weeping wooden saint in one dark nook of the living room, rotting food and dusty candles its ever-resilient offering. The mirror, barely reflective, smudged with soot and cobwebs and his tuberculosis-infected saliva. The closed window beside him like a sleepy eye, tiringly wary as it occasionally betrays a resounding laugh or a glimpse of excitedly-billowing hair. He forgets so many things nowadays, but he always remembers. The children. He must watch the children.

Or else?

Or else…

Grabbing his ragged coat from the settee, the man coughed into his fist once, twice, and absently wiped the offending knuckle onto his beige pants. He headed for the door and resolutely grabbed the tarnished doorknob with a shaky hand. The hinges squeaked. A child, perhaps the acting leader of the pack, called out for everyone’s attention as he insisted to play hide and seek.

A countdown, and the palpable air of small bodies scattering. The man decided musingly, that he would humour them and join in their little pastime. He’s always been good at hiding. Though, he sighed out in quiet lamentation, with his old age and raging rheumatism, it would not really make the job any easier for him.

But only one child would win the game that night.

No one would ever find her.

He’ll make sure of that.

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Filed under Prose

so what was it that you were hoping for?

just an instantaneous reprieve

i still piss myself off with the thought

that it wouldn’t matter if i worry

you’re just a pretty name on paper

and my stuttering pen refuses to bleed

so my head does all the purging

again and again and i want it to be fine

even if i’m inconsequentially yours

because you’ll never find me out

i’m too shaded but i can’t cool it off

blindsided by your automatic ideas so

i guess i’ll apologise under my breath

every night, just before you save my

nightmares and leave the brake in

your clutch, ripped off like the breaks

in my heaving ribs, mouthing sorry

over and over and i’m not over it

i’ll never be fucking over it anyway

is that all you want? don’t even bother

i’m just the mirror you’re pointing at

and i’m just mimicking your baby eyes

it’s exhausting to let it glint all day

but who will care? you’re the best that

it gets, and i’m half as worse as i will get

and we’re all just a bunch of broken bodies

seemingly set for headfirst collision but

only narrowly missing by a sinew in the end

well i shouldn’t really get my hopes up

you’re far too clever for my cry for help

and my delusions can only cash in so much

before you’re changing your mind again

and i think for a second, maybe, oh

just fucking maybe—falling prey again

to your last instantaneous reprieve

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Still. Alive.

We are made of confused atoms and endless fathoms

And falling in love, in the wrong place at the wrong time

Chasing cigarettes on sixth street astride a flock of pigeons

On a sombre wedding day, runaway like the cotton-lily bride

But her wrists are coated with bright red lipstick she wiped off

After she found out that happily ever after didn’t really exist, train

Dragging along the sidewalk, scraped skateboards and wet chalk

And grinding teeth and damp laundry scattered by grumpy landlords

Perfect enemies knocking down old drywall while the rats complain

And the best friend you haven’t talked to in decades just showed up

At your doorstep dead 2 AM, mostly drunk sometimes troubled to crash

In your couch, grin that familiar grin and ask you how you’re doing

Pretend that the medication in the bathroom cabinet’s only Ambien

And quietly sneak out the morning barelaced and shamefaced so

You’re all alone again, tapping to the faded songs you never recorded

Right by the dusty windowsill as elusive spiders build their homes in

The flat you can’t quite call your home, haunted by strangers’ past bodies

And his awful-scented aftershave of coriander that seems to linger forever

And an uprising in every locked closet hiding identities and mothballs and

Childhood VHS tapes and taped-up mystery boxes containing what might

Just be forgotten yellowing letters and cheesy postcards from every state, or

The very key to unlocking the ultimate truth of the entire universe itself…

But we’re all too busy losing our phases and being torn back to ashes to ever find out.

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bygones

We hear that rumbling song in the distance
It’s coming closer, but we don’t like to talk about it
The sticks and stones won’t build you a home
And every word, it will exert you ’til you’re done…

~*~

hear me scream

your pity in disguise

verses reimbursing

an arcane surprise

so go find the me that

dripped down your

throat like madness

and felt like a cold

decimating the decay

or so i’ve been told

.

a night of encounter

faded into sometimes

sessions in the theatre

to remind you’re not mine

withdrawals attacking

this most awful defiance

but maybe if you don’t

find me out to fix me up,

soon enough, i’ll be able to

avoid this unexposed romance.

~*~

Where do we start
If we will end apart?
Where do we go from here?
It’s head versus heart
It will all be clear someday…

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why are you like that

i say that it’s

unreasonable

and yet i keep

seeing reasons

to be foolishly

drawn to this

chaos—a moth

recklessly flitting

against the sun

your ardent rays

have burned a

hole through my

common sense

and i can’t patch

it up with all this

tedious poetry, nor

careless ire, nor

all of the nihilistic

promises i lie to

of patiently waiting

of finding something

all before dying out

and falling off to nothing

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phantom boy

don’t you go,

phantom boy

i’m still not done

painting your portrait

to hang in my walls

long after the house rots,

long after i’ve passed away.

they said to let you go

for you’ve already found

your bluest heaven

where you can sleep with

fleecy floral angels,

but i don’t think i could

let you go that easily.

i want to capture you,

your ethereal silhouettes,

your faded outlines,

your scars and scepticisms,

your details and blurs,

and your coalescing heart.

because i still have mine,

phantom boy

and it beats angrily—

refusing to let me rest

until every colour, linework,

and careful brushstroke

is immaculate and

tastes tangibly of you.

i know you wish to leave soon,

phantom boy…

but won’t you please stay

and spare me just

one last masterpiece?

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(lost and) found

why do

i hide you

why do

i even try,

to convince

myself that

what i’m doing

is alright?

.

why did

i lose you

when you’re

just a lie,

and why do

i continue

when i know that

it’s not right?

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Filed under Poetry