on trying and gaining back my bestfriend

Sir Piocos read my concept paper and poem in class today. He said my entry about how I came up with the concept was much better and more sincere than my poem. That it was actually more poetic. It was actually more of a dear diary thing and I was afraid he’d say how teeny-bopper it was, haha! But he liked it at least, said it was mature and well, poetic. He’s not a fan of the poem though. Ugh.

So anyway, I think it’s about time I make time for writing. Something well though of but not trying too hard. Shit before this semester ends I have to atleast be chosen once for the best poem, im so tired of waiting for MY time. I have to make it happen. Demmit.

Which brings me to Monday night talk with Chase Isip. Funny how we can talk now like we used to when we were still bestfriends-bestfriends. And I had the longest discussion with him about me trying to actually get this guy, and when I couldn’t stress the point why it’s so important for me to try, I just had to tell him. So I did. Mark and I debated on this almost everyday for what, two weeks now. Because I see no point in telling him what’s already passed, Mark says I should just for the heck of it. And now Chase and I are sharing one too many laughs about it. And when I look back, I realize it is funny. Brought us closer I guess. And now he understands, how when it was during his time I never once tried to make him love me, that whenever girls would come to his life I would shut up and simply wait for MY time. and now I just felt the need to find out whether things would be different for me if I try. I know how hopeless and pointless fighting a losing battle is. But after 3 years I realized I’m never really the kind to get tired of hoping. But when Chase looked at me so seriously and said “maawa ka naman sa sarili mo” I felt ridiculously pathetic. He said I should stop trying to change just because I don’t feel enough. He asked me if I don’t feel that I am at least worth someone who’d love me because I’m simple and a million party nights away from being aggressive. I’m crazy sad because of how things are going for me, but on one side I feel extremely happy because I have chase to lean on to. Even if he feels he’s not helping, he’s the biggest help I have right now.

I guess this is a long enough entry to compensate for my absence these past few days. So, til tomorrow. I wait and no one will come. Fucket I’m kidding.

recycling poetry

would you believe, my second to the last post which was actually really just about what happened tonight is now revised into what i will pass tomorrow in Eng106 class. yes, this is what we like to call recycling. it's not yet done done, but it's better, i think. minus the details of the first one which is just a narration. i tried to apply a little subtlety, i've never been good at that though. i'm better with giving it all, no mystery, know what i mean? anyway, eto na:

Dama De Noche
In the silence of your absence
I remind myself
of nights before.
You lulled me to sleep
with your finger
mapping the lines on my palm.
dreamsounds in the background
invisible arabesques on the wall
In the confines
of my apocryphal universe,
where you fall like the nobleman
for dama's fragrance,
I will win your heart
in a one night's time.
I pray Cynthia
sing me to sleep
it's pointless waiting
but you keep singing
and i keep waiting.
I wait for forever's end
And til then
tonight, and nights after
I wait
And no one will come

for balance, instead of ranting about my nonexistent lovelife, I've decided to talk about how shitty my academics are going. well, the reality is that it will all go down to my being irresponsible, but creative writing is not exactly only about sense of responsibility, but talent as well. i look back at all the poems i've done only to realize that they are all wrong. sure, writing is about saying how you feel and all that crap, but apparently there is a right way of doing it.

this is my version of free writing, so for 5-10 minutes i will rant nonstop about not being talented enough. i'm talented at so many things, waiting for one, waiting forever, second. but not so much in writing. I may be the most normal being there is. I am absolutely ordinary and it sucks the life out of me. There is nothing worst in the world than being ordinary.Franco says love for writing is enough reason to go on, but I realize love for writing will not exactly sell, it could only do so much, like pass Eng106 for example(Please Lord, let me must pass eng106).

i'm so tired of wanting something so bad and being contented in watching it from afar. actually, contented is not the right word, more like limited. i have no idea what kind of magic the invisible wall that separates me from my dream is made of. restriction, maybe. i want to free myself from the religious constrictions I have, from the family values I value so much so i can be free to write whatever I want. but the reality is that I don't even know what I want to write about. just that I want to write, that much I know.

I don't want anything else. I just want to write! no purpose, no goal. i just want to write. and yet my heart seeks the acceptance of those around me. I want to be good. my god, I'm never good enough for anything, am I?

Nikko says the problem with poetry is that it's so arbitrary. what may be good for one may suck for someone else. i don't care about anyone else, the acceptance of my professors are enough. one unbelievably flattering compliment and i might, might, might find hope in writing again.

don't get me wrong, leaving writing has never crossed my mind. this is my life. i know no other thing than writing. but sometimes, instead of freeing me from my pains, it causes me greater distress. I believe in loving what you do and doing what you love, and more than the silly boys in my blogs, writing is my one great love. but i'm getting nowhere. i have absolutely nothing wonderful to offer the world. you won't exactly get somewhere by fading away, will you? i don't want to fade away. i'm no kurt cobain, and if ever i do fade away, atleast let me do it with honor. with my own Come As You Are.

i'm not making any sense, am I? i don't usually make sense. i sort of just rant and rant and i usually don't know how to stop. I have nothing to write, tomorrow's the deadline for the Eng106 poem, and I'm tired of making something only good enough to pass. my 35/50, 15/25 and 35/50 is not good enough. no! ONE MAD IDEA! how hard is that?

my god. i've been waiting 3 hours now, where is he?

dama de noche

i found i have a knack for waiting. expecting follows.
the day's bipolar weather made me undesirable in any way possible.
and in the shower i thought of the night i am to spend with you.
dreamsounds in the background
and invisible arabesques on the wall.
you will be busy studying, and i'll be busy pretending.
i spent an entire half hour tending to myself.
a big shirt and tiny-teeny shorts were enough
but instead of smoke and sweat from an all day's work
i smelled like mango passion fruit.
in the confines of my apocryphal universe
where you fall like the nobleman
for dama's fragrance,
i will win your heart
in a one night's time.
feet crossed, chin propped on one palm
i tried putting the thought away
til later when it is real.
cynthia alexander was singing
loud in my ears
and i felt you touch my shoulder
lightly, gently, like a feather
about to fly away.
you were dressed to leave
and i betrayed you with a smile,
i asked you to take care
and you promised you would be back.

feet crossed, chin propped on one palm,
i wait again for forever.
til then, tonight and nights after,
i am your dama de noche.

September all over again

this time, it's no longer just plain painful. last night i was happy. my arms intertwined with yours, you once again played your finger on my palm. i showed you how to do it, you kept doing it wrong but the truth is you can do it any way you want, i'd be glad just to have a part of you touching a part of me.

i'll remember every detail, it will be a crime to forget. I remember every song you sang last night, everything you said. I remember the faces you made when i said something stupid or funny, or when i got over-emotional. I remember the way my cheek touched your shoulder when you were showing me how to twist my hand.

my god, i sound so obsessed!

shiny red balloon spoils everything

barbie, listen please
my little boy blue is stuck
outside waiting for it to stop
one two three
the rain is falling
can you hear?
i can

barbie, sing me to sleep
make me forget for a while
the rain outside
is pouring inside
the tears are coursing
down my back

barbie, stop lying
i have you to blame
it's pointless waiting
but you keep singing
and i keep waiting
and no one will come

barbie, i'm sorry
the world is turning black
paint it back to blue
i'll wait a little longer
i promise i will
til then fill me
with the darkness that is
you

M is for Misery

I know, eventually, like him, I will have to let you go. And it hurts to know I always have to be the one to stay behind while others walk beside you, it hurts that after the long painful journey I had with him, I'm still here treading a longer walk with you. i can stop halfway and run back, but my heart won't let me. and i keep welcoming thoughts of you, and us together only to realize at the end of the day that it can never be.

I put too much effort into this, more than things I did for him. If there's anything I got from this, it's that now I have him to lean on. nakakatawa, pero nakakairita. we're improving, i thought we were. that night we talked for hours, laughing hysterically about the most mundane things, you lulled me to sleep with your finger mapping the lines on my palm, i had my hand resting on your chest, we were listening to dreamsounds, I was so happy. That night ended with her head resting on your shoulders as you brushed her hair with your fingers, you went home hand in hand. i felt so defeated.

this is not a race, if it is, she'd be halfway through. i could atleast run and find out how far my feet would take me, but is it stupid pointless to run and lose? the second placers don't really matter that much, I know, I've always been second. never first. never only. always second.

you make me feel so ugly.

One day, I have to get up, get out and run as fast as I can to the farthest my feet will take me.

You won’t be there. No one will be. Just me. Finally only myself to blame for my own miseries. God knows how much I’d rather you take me. How much I’d rather I take you with me to my escape. You to ride bikes with me in the fields of Tuscany. You to lean on as I get emotional listening to sad Spanish guitar. You to walk hand in hand with in the bazaars in Bangkok. You to wait for while you’re at work. You to fight with over directions. You to make up with after a long fight. You to laugh with after a long day at work. You to wait for, so we can eat dinner together. You beside me after I painted our new living room wall. You, you, you. I know it will never happen, and it breaks me.

They asked me what hurts more, is it that you don’t love me, or is it that you love my friend? The truth is I don’t know. Just that it hurts. And I need it to stop. I thought I wonderful that you got me over him. But you got me through the pain only to prepare me for the worst.

Someday I will run away, just me. And I know that the world is so beautiful that I will forget whatever pain I felt with you, or with anyone. I fear I will return, I fear I will look back and feel indebted to return to this place. And you won’t be there waiting.