I’m running out of words,

For the words I write, the words I speak

Are all about love — the kind of love that breaks a heart.

The kind of love a girl feels for a guy or the other way around.

But that kind of love is terrible most of the time

And it struck me that the kind of words I say are terrible and certainly don’t matter.

They keep on repeating on every poet’s mouth that they suffocate the mind of a reader.


I wish I could write — for I already forgot how to write — about life;

Its ups and downs;

Its winding road and the lessons I learn in each step I take.


About sea,

The dives I was scared to take but I took anyway

And though landed with hurting back, butt, head or limb,

I still managed to make a good one and another.


About the places I went to,

And the charm each one has unfolded to me;

The awe in every new experience,

The ‘ahh’ in every relaxing treat I get.

I traveled a lot, but I want to travel more.

Yet, in every travel, I have yet to use

All the words I know to explain what it felt.


I want to write about my dreams,

The strange ones and the ones that looked more like stories created by my imagination;

How some are scary and heart-pumping,

While many are surreal and enticing

And others — even those which I love — are heartbreaking.


I want to write about different people,

For truly, they’re part of this dream I have —

Not the as-I-go-to-sleep dream —

But the other one composed of wishes and aim.

I want to write about them and their stories

Because I know theirs are far more important

Than infatuation or lust or third-party craps.


For it’s okay to write about girl-boy love and heartbreak

But then there are far more important kinds of love that matter:

Love that can be seen when a doctor is trying earnestly to revive his patient, even without certainty of reliving,

Love that radiates from a friend in being a good listener,

Love that holds a family together,

Love that fights for the country and its countrymen,

Love that a Master has for His lowly servants.


Words struck deep like a knife and I forgot

How to use them in a way that will strike each reader,

Or in a slam poet’s case, each listener.


I’m running out of words and I couldn’t use them

To, somehow, change a single person’s life.


I’m running out of words and I couldn’t use them

To enlighten a human being about the beauty of this seemingly inhumane world.


I’m running out of words I haven’t tried using them at all.


[ October 04, 2015 ]



A Song called ‘Scream’

It’s haunting me,

Yet again.


I’ve nowhere to run,

I’ve no one to ask,

‘Save me, pray.’


Distinct sound,


It hurts;

Such cry so profound,

‘You lose,’

It says.


Darkness prowls,

Night eats and drinks,

Wind gusts but no breach,

‘Where am I?’

To myself,

Sound humming,

Yet again.


The wind sings,

Chimes made

From distant strings;

Laughs drumming,

Echoes, they’re mocking,

My body swings

Out of torment.


Tears flow,

I’m running,

Towards a room,

Called eighteen,

The door creaks,

My mind unlit,

A loud crash!

The walls bleed,

My hands, my hands,

They tremble;

There I see,

What’s it to be.


A Gift on Your Birthday. (A Spoken Poetry)

If it’s only me, I could say in thousand ways that I love you so much.

I could choose to do unimaginable things just to keep us in touch,

For you are in every song I hear; you are in every poem I write.

You are in every love quotes and stories I read and fantasize.

You are in every romantic movie I watch.


Every day, I miss how your hand locks with mine

While we watch all those movies until the very last credit line.

My forehead skin aches for your sweet kisses every night

As our frames and limbs intertwine.

Up to now, I am still amazed at how my frail body and your fleshy one fit just right.


However, the sunny parts of love stories have to come and pass;

Once in a while, happy endings are not meant to forever last.

We tried to keep our music playing, I kept wishing upon shooting stars.

And kept begging to GOD to give it another try, to give us another chance.

But how can good harmony be played from broken strings of two broken hearts?


My love, you chose to break my heart because you want to be better.

It was hard for me to accept that we cannot be together.

Our love is failing and we are falling apart.

Even if we sacrificed a lot to have gone this far,

It wasn’t enough to keep us intact.


And as far as I can tell, I’m not the one in your heart anymore.

I do not hunt your mind every day like before.

You no longer light up my phone every single night;

I am no longer the one you want to hug so tight.

Our constant conversations are lost and gone;

I am left behind seeing you have moved on.


I’m enclosed with this walls preventing me from being with you again.

I’m breaking my own heart to keep myself hidden from you,

But it’s going to be a lose-lose situation if I choose not to.

I’d rather let you live and keep you being alive,

Than choosing to keep in touch and we will hurt each other as much.


I want to be with you and kiss you in both sunny and stormy days.

I want to cuddle with you until the very last movie on our watch list.

I want to watch and criticize with you every recital and every concert you take me to.

I want to star gaze and have long and unending pillow talks with you under a blue moon.

I want to dance with you with our favorite songs playing on.

I want to write and play music with you like we used to do.


I tried holding on even on simple things like being friends,

But the harder I close my grip, the easier my fingers slip;

I’m counting every finger I used to hold on to this magic we created.

It’s funny because I must say, for once, I’ve gotten to believe in magic;

But there are always greater things magic cannot break.

I’m down to my last finger, one last chance to say:


This is it. I love you and I thank you for everything. Alas, this is the end.


N: I wrote this in June last year, 2016. I lost my hard drive November of the same year. I only saved a few of my original spoken and ‘unspoken’ poetry pieces. This is one of them. Thanks to my phone.

I wrote this a few weeks before ‘his’ birthday. I was supposed to perform this on stage and or put it online but I lost my nerve. With everything that came up after, I decided to move this to trash. Yet, as I read and recite this piece again and again, I realized it was then a premonition or something.

Nevertheless, I’m deeply heartbroken at the loss of my hard drive (which was converted to an external device, FYI) and thought that the person who took it might have stumbled upon my literary and music pieces. Mahirap na. It would be plagiarism on that person’s part and fiasco on mine. I wrote this with my heart and I couldn’t afford some thieving monkey getting the credit.



Tula No. Something Something

Kung dati ay kinikilig ako sa tuwing nakakarinig ako ng love song,

Ngayon ay madali akong mainis

Oo, bitter ako, pero hindi maikakailang nasasaktan rin kasi ako.


Ang sakit-sakit.

Ang sakit kayang maiwan ng taong mahal mo.

Ang sakit kayang malamang pinapaasa ka lang niya na babalik pa siya sa iyo.

Ang sakit malamang may iba na siya habang naghihintay ka.

Habang hinihintay mo siyang bumalik sa’yo.

Dahil iyon ang sinabi niya,

“Babalik ako.”

Ang sakit ring marinig sa ibang tao na ang laki mong tanga,

Na kasalanan mo pa ang lahat ng nangyayari sa’yo.

Ang sakit malamang kasama niyang naglaho ang mga akala mong kaibigan mo.

Ang sakit masisi sa isang bagay na hindi mo naman ginawa.

Ang sakit masising ikaw ang idinidiin sa kasalanang siya ang nag-umpisa.

Ang sakit maramdamang hindi pantay ang pagtingin ng mundo sa mga taong nasasaktan at naiiwan.

Ang sakit madamang ako na nga ang nasaktan, ako pa ang may kasalanan.


Kaya hindi niyo ako masisisi kung hindi ko nais marinig ang mga kantang iyan.

Lalo na siguro ‘yung kay Ed Sheeran.


Oo, bitter ako, dahil hindi ko kinakailang nasasaktan ako.

Nadudurog ang aking puso, natutunaw ang aking isipan, nanghihina ang aking katawan.

Sa tuwing maririnig ko ang mga naglipanang kundiman.


My (less than) 10-minute poem for the day. Isinulat ko nga pala habang nagpapatugtog sila ng Ed Sheeran song sa “Benshoppe.”



A Shooting Star

A serendipitous tale once transpired

A lone wolf surrounded by extreme coldness;

A bright shooting star eventually chanced upon.


Charred the ice was

When hands held tight

A sudden gush flowed through their eyes


‘T’was an unremarkable picture

Of a mysterious wish

Agreed to be with one another


“Truly glad I am, to finally meet someone,

So tender and kind, cool in the midst of gloom,

Life’s stiffness unbent by a feathery stroke.”


The once lone wolf answered in a blush,

“Though thine fire was brought to soothe

Mine’s bitterness and angst.”


Yet, the light the star emanates

Didn’t promise a constant state

Of compassion and hopeful fate.


Though the light shines,

The fire engulfs without gaps

Charred not only the ice but the radiance.


How such lovely scene turned into dust?

The two hands break, they must

Memories – good and bad – created ash.


An inconsolable grief thrashed the night

Full of supposed warmth

From two people breathing almost as one.


What if the only way

to forgive such past

Is to get even with the one who passed?


Butterfly, Sunflower…

Here is a story of a girl who met a boy

Who gave her all the attention she never sought for.

Eventually, his flattery yielded her butterflies in the stomach;

She thought it would last but the same butterfly broke her heart.


He gave her butterfly she never asked,

A butterfly she thought would last;

Yet, as time goes by the story of the butterfly – she realized –

Is but an unending lie.


The butterfly boy flew away

Never wishing to return again;

The sunflower girl got her petals fall down like teardrops,

Sunny yellow drops that turned into gloomy black ones.


Days passed, months even, another year turned into a tragic past,

She saw the butterfly boy returned;

Still exactly the way he was when the sunflower girl met him;

Enticing, flattering, deceiving but somehow enjoying

A company of a new flower girl he found.


With sixteen petals and nine leaves, the new flower girl he found.