Tell Me Lies A Little More Make Me Cry A Little More Break My Heart A Little More So I Can Love You A

trying to write a poem. or even a story. but shit

MATUTULOG NA AKO TAPOS PAPAIYAKIN MO AKO. WAG GANITO BES. MAMAMAGA MATA KO. ABA. SUSME. MAGSUSUOT AKO NG SHADES BUKAS NITO. PERO SALAMAT KULOT. LECHE KA. DI NA AKO NAG ENGLISH

PERO KAYA PALA DI KA MAN LANG MAGREPLY SA MGA MESSAGES KO. KALOKA

SAKA AYOS LANG YAN, NAIINTINDIHAN KO (the books part). ALSO, ANG GANDA AT ANG GALING BES. SHET. LOVE YOU XX

PS SIGE. PAGBIBIGYAN KITA NA MAGANDA KA. LOL. MAGANDA KA NAMAN. IN YOUR OWN WAY, PERO BES BALANG ARAW, MAY MAMAMANGHA SA KAGANDAHAN MO. PROMISE YAN

A promise

She smiles.

Time itself stops.

She feels like a good music.

A song in the wind.

A good song different (in) every single phrase.

Happy 21st birthday, you, mother of three dragons. HA! I just want to say that this is my first black-out poetry and it is about you (and you should be thankful). This is my way of telling you, I am lucky to be your friend and I am thankful that I am beautiful. oops! hahaha What I’m trying to say is, Happy birthday to you, my friend. I will always be here, Raphabelle (@thsdfnngslnc ). 

Love, Khayonardo :)

PS. to answer your unasked questions, Yes, this is my book (from Every Day by David Levithan page 11), and yes, this edited. I love you but I love my books, too. I know you understand that. HAHAHAHAHA

Unexpectedly

too many poems too many unrequited love too many broken hearts and too many bruises and unwanted scars

too many persons oblivious to what they did

to gain existence in another world

a world called poetry

(eusie.)

Version -4.9.2.19.13.6.20

a.k.a. You’re another word for “Oh”

He is the ocean, but you are the sky. I can see the horizon in your eyes. Even if your soul failed to reflect his bright smile, your own smile blinded me. Don’t worry if you remind me of him. I may say that you made me remember how he looked like, but between the two of you, I would choose to memorize the features of your face. If my hands suddenly caress your skin, take a breath and let the warmth of my touch soak inside your veins. And you’ll know, that even if he is the ocean, you are the sky. You are the sky and the ocean mirrors your color.

Old ones

Four years, and (almost probably) four months           — later,          used to be clear, now just more than a blur;          twitching every time these eyes are caught,          too many stories etched, and not even told;          hushed pleas are not pleas at all, so why?;          loading bullets to a gun, waiting for the blow,          of a mention of a name, of anything at all…;

Muffled screams inside these (five) throats          — saying,          old ones sure are gold, but old ones rust;          bombs threatening to fall, each close distance,          when will they decide to bury these bones?;

But, so far (it’s alright), it’s alright

(eusie.)

A poem written by Beau Taplin entitled, “Vacation”

a.k.a. That’s literally the title, and the poem is in italic by the way

I need to move around a bit. To shuffle my surroundings.

The day it all sank in, I didn’t find myself on the kitchen floor. But I sat on a chair, crying my heart out to the extent that I wanted it to disappear; I didn’t want a broken heart. The sobs that came from my sour lips bounced to the walls and then to oblivion, as if they knew that they were useless anyway.

To wake up in cities I don’t know my way around and have conversations in languages I cannot entirely comprehend.

I didn’t know what to read from these unknown yearnings at around two in the morning, of sad movies or sad songs, or probably just sad love. Or at mid-afternoon, when I wake up wanting something I don’t even know. Or when it rains, trying to reach out my hands and feel the drops and feel, just feel.

There is always this tremendous longing in my heart to be lost,

But after then, I know. I want to be lost in a place unknown, but then find myself in the same location where I think I forgot my soul. I want to wake up and walk to a balcony to see a different set of lights and colors waving at me from the day before. I want my heart to ache with the sight of people falling in love and knowing that I wouldn’t encounter the same love story the next city I’m in. I want to feel the lack of a familiar emotion when I come home, but know someday, I’ll be able to really forget the emptiness in my chest and really come home.

to be someplace else, to be far far away from this.

But I know that with these obligations wrapping me on my neck and disabling me to breathe properly, I have no choice of running away to find out the bliss of going to different places and being held captive by their beauty. I know that being lost in a place where no one knows my name and how my heartstrings tangle each other up to form my lonely soul is better than being found in a place where everyone drags me around and force me to suppress my dreams to want myself and feel myself and love myself after I lose myself.

(eusie.)

Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.

Emery Allen

Thank you for the judgment. I will eat them all till they fill my stomach with nothing but your words. I will let them burn all what’s inside of me till I die, and I will visit you and whisper these things you’ve said so you can eat them too and I will come out of your body and conquer your soul.

January 26, 2014 (eusie.)

In-se-cure

a.k.a. I want to forget your name

I turned my back away from haunted walls one night with shaking hands and eyes lost in focus, with lips startled and words buried deep within six feet down my throat. There had been a war across my horizons, among my thoughts, along with bombs exploding leaving me deaf to every “You’re beautiful” thrown against my face ever since. They see me flush in red, but burn with questions that can make every human’s words into ashes. I don’t trust what they say, because whenever I see myself as I stand in front of the mirror, I can hear my own eyes gasp. With my hands clasped to each other and tied above my chest, mouth slightly open, eyes glued to the ceiling — I started crying again. The moonlight peeped through my windows, and I think I saw your face in the dark. My knees traveled to be clenched by my arms. There was sudden heartbeat, then another.. like a continuous bang on my bedroom door. Ignoring it, I tried to forget the reason why everything seemed to be connected to you. More like I tried to find the reason why, because although they said I am worthy and I didn't deserve you, what I have been keeping in mind is when you let go in a whisper, “You just weren't enough.”

(eusie.)

Still aching, still still

It’s almost dark, and the sun is already giving up from waiting too long for the moon to kiss him good night. Nearby, city lights are seen waking up slowly from their sleep. Then there’s a calm feeling that tiptoes into a homeless tiny boy’s heart when he looks up to swallow the stars as they begin their daily routine of sewing the skies with their warmth. There goes an echo after a single leaf fell down to the ground from which tree it belonged. Nearby, little flowers are singing silently to the song that echoes from the wind’s passing. But one thing that is almost known by the universe, is the soft heavy sigh that always come from a river between these little flowers and trees, between the people and city lights, and between the world and the stars.

It is uncertain when it started, but ever since then, the night is always achingly lonely just as the river is. But the river is still. And the river is quiet.

Sometimes. the river’s cries can be heard during rainstorms, it’s almost not there, but it is, as the river never really wants anyone to know about its nightmares. Sometimes, the river hums a tune to which leaves from the world above escape to and lead them to places unknown. Sometimes, the river dance when people encourage it to, their skin loving the river’s every rhythmic wavy touch, and the river swallows all the attention as it never really want to feel sad all the time. But sometimes, when everything is still, the river is still, and the river is quiet, and the river is quietly sobbing.

It is still uncertain, but the universe knows it eminently, that the river is aching, still aching, and that the river is still, still still.

(eusie.)