Tag Archives: throwback

Febfair {Diliman}

PicsArt_02-18-09.12.53

I woke up this morning

with blisters on my tired arms

and wilted grass blades and mud stains

stuck all over my filthy trousers

my throat dry, red eyes throbbing,

a giant pandemonium of a headache

swelling triumphantly in my brain

so I staggered to the bathroom

where the mirror replayed memories

of us screaming elatedly on dizzying rides,

walking about blinded by neon lights,

picking out cheap food from every

stall that we chanced to pass by,

taking blurry photographs with the widest

grins plastered on our sweaty faces,

telling cheeky stories against the noise

of both rock concerts and chattering crowds,

and secretly stalking our smitten friend

around like a bunch of nosy, giggling idiots—

and finally half-drunkenly weaving across

dark street ends after midnight (though we didn’t

have a single drop of alcohol in our systems)

stars barely visible, shoulders interlocked

the whole way back, middle fingers up

to your late night curfew, and we hugged it

out goodbye, silently wishing under our breaths

that the other one wouldn’t leave just yet…

jolted back to the present, I stared at my

trainwreck of a face and decorated party tattoos

and decided, with a wistful smile,

that I have never felt this good.

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a cold slice of toast (01.03.19)

It’s 2019.

Maybe I could improve on my writing skills

I know I write shitty poetry a dime a dozen

But my dumb fanfictions and short stories

Are still no good to me—no, no good at all

Or perhaps I could do a little better with chord

Changes and strumming and barre chords

On my strawberry-red guitar and ukulele

And buy a violin I’ll probably never use just

To get a laugh out of my poor bleeding ears

Or I could make a hundred more watercolour

Paintings and spend a million quid on buying

Art materials I don’t even know how to use

Just to make a mess out of my dorm room desk

And I didn’t do so well on my first semester

But perhaps it will be better the next time around

In the meantime, I could tire myself out and travel

I could improve my bad ollies, try out new hobbies

Finally get a kickflip in, paint my hair to a rainbow

Stop ignoring my friends like I don’t give a damn

And stop being frustrated with the way I am—

Or I could spend an entire year coming up

With better ways to say “fuck it all, who cares anyway?”

…I think I like that last one a lot.

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a song about rain (but it doesn’t make any sense)

It’s not the heavy rain
That makes me feel things
But I never realised
Just how cold autumn is
Without an extra layer
Of sun, na na na na

But not from the sky
No, not from far above
Not from the yellow ball
That scorched our sense
Our summer skins loved

Rather, it’s the weather
That I feel from every smile
Every little highs and blushing sighs
Making dark nights worthwhile
From the coffee mugs
Still warm from last calls
Or the cookie in the cookie jar
Alone without a hand to fall

And snatch it up, a midnight treat
Oh, it’s never been this sweet

Wait…where was I?
The rain has stopped falling
Well, I suppose till next time
I’ll dream of hurricanes, my darling.

Happy first birthday to this absolutely shitty song that I wrote and recorded last year while lying flat-out dead in our dorm’s study hall (mmm, catch that sweeet natural big room reverb sonnn) somewhere in the middle of the night, severely sick from the flu and highly depressed and running on about 0.5 minutes of sleep as I constantly stall on an ARTS1 + HUM100 + COMM10 combo kill strike fucking essay due the next day or so. Also yeah it had just started raining during that time and it was pretty cosy hence the song theme—not that I don’t always write about rain half the time anyway but yk what I mean. And it’s somewhat rainy right now sometimes but not really fuck you climate change so I’ll count this as relevant-ish. Anyhow. Hope y’all a kick out of how stupidly weird I sound here. Like wth it’s only been a year since passed and yet I already sound so d i f f e r e n t how,,,

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Filed under Other stuff

Little Blue Boys

Little chubby blonde boy

And his big brother holding

A blue mini-soccer ball

Oh, here they come a’gigglin

Little chubby blonde boy

And his big brother grinning

In their olive-green trike

Oh, there they went a’ridin.

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Filed under Poetry