leave me alone

July 4, 2011

it’s not that i don’t know what i want, it’s just that i want so many things but i don’t know which should come first. i’m mixing my blueprints with photographs, taking down hope and then building walls out of missed opportunities and fears.

and though i seem tired, there are things that excite me and i want to pursue those things because i feel more alive, more worthy, but i hold back because of the guilt. i hold back, but i also hold on to those few precious stones discovered in the recesses of my hollowed out frame.

i just hate it when people take advantage to hammer the guilt and reinforce it over and over with desperation just because the feeling of neglect overwhelms the selfish too many times. sad huh? and they call us lucky for having been given the gift of choice. pfft.

and because i’ve grown in a household of rants, absences and rooms overflowing with regrets and anger, i just want to run away or explode into ashes.

i want to be a part of the world but all i can do is sleep and dream. and this is the life i take home everyday.

what i’d give to go out on my own.


are feelings there to be shown? were they made to exist in order for us to express it out loud to that chosen individual?

why celebrate someone’s birthday when they’re already dead? isn’t that equivalent to digging up an ambition which you’ve long ago laid to rest?

you’re making masochists out of us.


i think rain isn’t the tears of angels, of gods or of any form of deity, but the sadness and the pain that we often do not acknowledge in real time. instead of wallowing in self pity, the universe allowed the sky to crumble into water so that it’s the clouds who would cry for us instead.


bitter exhaustion

January 1, 2011

i wrote another villanelle this morning, since i was inspired by linebyline. this is deep since it took me longer than i thought to finish. then again, emotions were running high and i had to read and reread as each one fought their way through for a chance to let themselves be known. thankfully, i was able to construct an accurate piece(give or take) that described what i wanted to voice out. hopefully, it will portray my inner longing, and if not, well, the readers have their own interpretation. i take consolation in the fact that at least i was able to produce something and in the process, was able to relieve some parts of me in the recesses of my being.

so without further ado, here’s the poem:

we squandered the years curtailing combustions
having been used to living in shades of gray.
contented to smile in bitter exhaustion

photographs are proof of nature’s transition
but man holds on any tangible remains
and squanders off years to curtail combustions

why do you put out unfamiliar passions?
is religion worth all the tragic delay?
are we content smiling bitter exhaustions?

utter the truth you denied in confusion:
we later become what we ourselves contained
’til squandered years cease to curtail combustions

undisturbed of one’s immobilization
cowering in fear the feeble blind now claims
contentment, smiling with bitter exhaustion

sometimes we rot from too much regulation,
why draw lines which evolution will erase?
who can squander years curtailing combustions?
how content are smiles of bitter exhaustion?