Friday, May 25, 2012

Sweet Dreams

Dear Superman,

It pains that you don't remember me when every day, every waking hour, you inhabit my thoughts. The web of images we shared that April night left me wanting more and more that the weeks that followed were happily and painfully endured believing that this June, we'll have plenty of time to spend together. 

I remember everything. The light that danced through the curtains and the shadows that made jagged formations on your skin. I remember your scent and the way your eyes bore through me. I remember the candid moments like rolling films, reruns and reruns at the back of my mind.

Yet like films, the tangibility of everything is haunting me. Maybe these have all been mirages, dreams that fate used to play tricks on lonely children. Either way I don't wanna wake up from you.

Happy First Month Babe. I love you so much :)


Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Wide Awake

The spell of summer was finally broken and the illusion of scorching days on the beach were replaced by last semester's afterthoughts of what proved to be a mediocre school performance. Yes. The dreaded grades have arrived and since June is just around the bend, the Princely Pauper can't help but feel utterly panicky since he can't actually remember the last time he opened his Accounting books though he knew that there's a 5000-page catch-up he must do.

Looks like the boy got too focused on his summer revelry that he forgot that there are a million responsibilities to handle. But who can blame him honestly? Summer's the time to bury your feet on the sand and just lounge in bed even if it's already high noon. Summer's the time to just breath the breeze and let loose all the worldly worries-that's why they call it vacation, right?

But it's that moment before the new semester that's got him so tensed up. A bundle of changes will happen-new house, less Twitter, Superman at school, harder Accounting subjects; he can only pray that he's geared up for these significant life alterations. 

The summer sun has indeed worked it's magic and though he'll miss the carefree days it gave him, he must  now shoved it's sweet promise at the back of his closet and face his favorite responsibilities -_-

What he's happy though is that he's finally awake and can finally begin doing what he must. Nobody wants to be surprised by a surprise exam on the first day right?

Sunday, May 20, 2012

It's A Small World After All

Superman's transferring to our school this semester and the usual problem of vultures about to prey over him is making me shiver. His exes are also gonna be on the same department as his and the worry wart in me is tingling.

Oh yeah. One of his exes is my fourth degree cousin who I do not talk, look or interact with except on Facebook. So "yay!" for that.

It is a seriously small world indeed.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

I Don't Wanna Wake Up From This Tonight


Swimming in a deep sea of blankets, 
I'm drowning with thoughts of you. 
Nostalgia enveloped my dreaming,
and the fever of euphoria sinks in.
Your fingers lay buried in a coffin by my head
and the warmth of your once-upon-a-time touch haunts me.

"And there's no remedy for memory,
your face is like a melody,
it won't leave my head"
~Dark Paradise by Lana del Rey

Monday, May 14, 2012

Sandy Shores and Seas

I buried my feet on the sand while the lazy shore kissed the ocean. I watched its blackness slowly swallowing me and savored the sensation. The softness is orgasmic and the crazed me continued the afternoon excursion while the orange sun burned the blue gray skies.

I love the sea. It reminds me of freedom and danger, that life is still a vast expanse of unknown and only the brave dare see what lies beneath the waters.

The sea breeze blows my shirt while the whirling waves drench my shorts. I wanted to plunge in it's salty eternity, but health concerns forbid me.

And so I buried my feet on the sand while the lazy shore kissed the ocean. Someday soon, I'll kiss the sea too and I'll savor the sensation of its lofty waves swallowing me.

Thursday, May 10, 2012


How can someone die when he's already dead? How can you kill someone who's already been killed?

I wanted to write about us and the mornings that woke me up beside you.. That unexpected kiss and the very first time we made love never fails to amuse me that bittersweet nostalgia envelops me every time I lay in bed.

I wanted to write of your scent that habituates in the satin sheets and pillows and those pajamas you wore that still hang at the back of our door, now freshly pressed; freshly washed. 

I wanted to write of our sink and the way you washed dishes; of how different we poor people do it; of where you touched me for the very first time by tickling my sides and of how it made me feel feeling your skin for the very first time.

I wanted to write of us in the bathroom and how I lathered your ears with soap foam; of how you smiled at our mirror with that crazed expression; of how handsome you are-bathed or not.

I wanted to write of the pond of thoughts that continually ripple your images on the clear blue screen. I wanted to write about how you ignored me and how you left me dazed and confused, breathless and hanging again, yet continually loving you with every smile that you flash on my thoughts. 

Love comes, love goes, love comes back again; but death only comes once, and though I wanted to write of death again, I cannot. I've already died the first time you broke me. Besides, the dead can't hold pens, the carpals will find it difficult.

Saturday, May 5, 2012


"When artists fall in love, their work invariably suffer."
~Gossip Girl

The dire need to write is tickling the corners of my mind. But unfortunately, all I can do these days is scribble a few verses here and there without the ability to construct a decent paragraph.

The thirst to write; is a desire I can never satiate. Wish I had the decency to make sense these days.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012


The Daddy is an educator; excellent in Math, humble in character. He keeps the family in tact and though appears stern, we all know he has a soft spot for his daughters and often treats them with succulent dinners made by his own fingers.

The Mommy is a secretary for a government agency. She's an extreme organizer and keeps track of the house's cleanliness. She's the classic wife but she's allergic to kitchen duties and often leaves me to the dishwashing task.

The Ate is a high school student fresh of youth and ripe of pimples. She's the house supermodel, taking credit for her beautiful face that she got from Mom and Dad. We love dressing her up with laces and chiffon and she loves exchanging them with denim and cotton. She's the family artist and she spends her free time drawing or playing the piano.

The Bunso is the family singer, belting rhythms and melodies at the utmost ease. She's my confidante,  and she's got a fat bank account.

I ,on the other hand, am the frustrated family member; the red out of the all the blues, the spotted out of all the striped. I clean, I wash, I mop, I scrub; trying to earn a spot of the family I pictured to have. And although they nest me, the color of my feathers will never be enough to make me belong. 

Deep inside, I'm small and frail; broken shards decorate me. I just wonder how I'd look like displayed alone. 
i: Matryoshka Dolls