Have you ever tasted dirty paint water?
“No, you’re not that stupid, right?”
No. No, I wasn’t. I never… but have you?

Anyway, I had sweet and warm coffee
right next to my wash cup
Did I dip into the wrong cup?
I dunno. Maybe.
It tasted sweet,
And red, and juicy.
And then I tasted salt,
metallic and red.

The thickness of the red covered my teeth,
My tongue, my lips,
And then my eyes were red.
And all I saw was that taste.
So I rubbed by eyes,
Hence, hands stained red forever.

All I touched was red.
Everyone stared back at me red.
I could not hear their hearts,
All I could hear was clanging, metallic red.

I dare not touch them.
Perhaps I feared my red.
Perhaps I feared theirs.

“Was it quinacridone?”
Nah. Cadmium, I think.


They say…


They say you took away my heart;
I say you’ve taken my feet,
Piece by piece the bottom part,
The skin that touch the ground –
My sole!

I can no longer land;
I can only hover.
Flesh too raw
too hurt
to touch
to stand.
Funny how I hover and shift
I can no longer put weight
on anything.

In a crowded room
I cannot stand
I cannot reach a soul
Was it just my feet you took, my love?
Alas, you took my hands!

I cannot reach, I can only grope.
I cannot touch, I can only burn.
I walk and all that’s read are marks,
No hope for my return.

They say you took away my heart.
Why have I none left
to give out?



a poem

I could have made myself precious:
salons every fortnight,
facials every month,
a bag for every outfit,
a wardrobe every season.

I could have made myself more … pleasing:
trimmer waist,
stick straight shiny hair,
a generous smile,
a witty little brain.

Instead of straightening my hair,
I chose to show every kink, every wave,
all the sharp curves of my brain.
Instead of slimming down my waist,
I chose to gorge on life joys and pains.
I chose to suck on the teat of life –
I imbibed. Too late to realize
That a thick waist will not keep a man
from holding me – or holding me back,
from completely embracing me – or completely crushing my breath.

I could have made myself precious:
Stone-cold marble skin
touched only by the highest bidder,
hands so light, I’d have flown away at the slightest slight,
a jewel, a treasure, a rare coveted delight.

I could have made myself slimmer.
Having more of me meant
more to give away,
more to lose,
more of me spread out on the table.

I could have been precious
but I let you touch.
I could have been precious
but I let you in.
I could have been precious
but I let you partake.

Yet, I can’t really be precious.
I’m not the type of girl that makes friends
or the type that men fall for.

Hell, I know I’m not precious.
Was I too easy?
Did I give too much of me?
I could have made myself precious to you.

The Horrorist

Here’s something I got from Manila ToyCon 2011. It’s strange that I went to a ToyCon and all I bought was comics. Still a true book and comics lover.

I got interested because it’s a spinoff from Hellblazer (the John Constantine comics, you noobs!) I really enjoyed it because I can relate to Constantine. We both can be big emotional blockheads. I won’t give a review because I don’t wanna give any spoilers.




Ang mga Munting Pangarap ni Bobi

Si Bobi ang Tatay ko.

Natatawa ko sa kanya. Nilibre ko siya ng almusal kahapon. Pambawi kasi di ko siya sinipot nung Fathers’ Day.

Bobi: Tinatanong ka nga pala sakin ni Jun.

Ako: Jun?

Bobi:  Si Jun Cruz Reyes. Mag workshop ka daw sa kanya.

Ako: Ahhh.

(sorry for the name-drop)

Natatawa ko sa kanya. Hanggang ngayon umaasa pa rin na makakapagsulat ako ng seryoso. Palanca daw. Sayang daw. Di naman ako karapatdapat sa pagsusulat.

Ibang-iba talaga sila ng Nanay ko. Ibang-iba ang pangarap para sakin.

Tumango na lang ako kay Bobi. Paano mo sasabihin sa sarili mong ama na nilamon na ko ng corporate world at ng pag-pangarap sa ibang bansa? Paano ko sasabihin “Tay, salamat. Pero matagal na’kong patay.” ?

Di ko masabi dahil mahal ako ni Bobi.

Happy Fathers’ Day.