If I Wanted To

I could write a poem for you
if I wanted to.
I could use a thousand or more words
if it would make it more meaningful.
I could swim every ocean,
walk every mile in between,
if I had the strength to do so.
But I’ve lost all the words
to the song I used to sing,
and my muscles can’t take another step.
All I can do is watch you fade
into a beautiful, distant memory
of what used to be.


Black and White

I used to dream of a world
where everything was black and white.
Maybe, I thought,
in this perfect world,
no one would see my flaws
or my scars.
The illusion of perfection
seemed so satisfying to me.

But perfection isn’t beauty,
and beauty was never built to last.

So I learned to color by numbers,
painting in every detail,
and in doing so, I found my happiness,
and the joy of being free
eclipsed my need for admiration,
and I was most satisfied.


Photo from Pexels

One Day

Give me one day
to stretch the minutes into hours.
I swear this time
it will last forever;
no second wasted,
no word left unsaid.
Just you and me
in our little bubble of infinity.

Just give me one day.
I promise to make it right.


Photo from Pexels

Soleil et Lune

The Moon ruled the night sky,
her lonely existence
extinguished by the little stars
she formed from her tears.

When she slept, her lover rose,
the Sun in his majestic light.
He dreamt, in his waking hours,
of holding her in his arms.

Their love was destined to die,
but against all odds,
it blossomed
like the flowers that grew below them.

Their story was written in the textbooks,
told and retold throughout generations:

Every cycle,
every shift of the universe,
was a promise
for their eyes to meet,
their souls to touch,
until that fated day,
when their paths crossed
once in a millennia
for a momentary dance,
when light and shadow become one;
a sight to behold
from the heavens above.


Photo from Pinterest

Pandemya, July 22nd, 2020

One hundred and twenty eight days
spent counting calendar pages.
The World slowly breathes,
measuring irregular heartbeats.
She looks in the mirror
at her reflection;
she sees a face
she no longer recognizes.


Note: When I wrote this, I counted 128 days from the start of the enhanced community quarantine period in Manila until yesterday.

Salt (2020 Version)

Life moves in a circle,
turning over and over again,
an endless cycle,
never stopping, never slowing.

The taste of wine is foreign,
a drop seldom falling on my tongue;
so rare for me to feel
the poison take root in my blood.

The taste of salt is more familiar,
more potent than any liquor.
It is a drug more addicting,
an enemy of my own creation.

These tears fall to my lips,
my mind screaming for more.
I feel the ache filling up my soul,
the pain tearing at my heart.

I feel no shame, none at all;
this addiction is mine alone.
These tears will dry, the sadness gone,
my soul cleansed once more.


Will I Wake

Will I wake and find you there
when my dreams haunt my darker nights?
Will I find your shadow by the wall,
or will the sun banish you from sight?

Your image flickers in my mind,
a whisper of a long-written history.
I’d draw a line from point to point
to form a path born from memory.

I wish for that single moment
when I could say what I meant to say.
But the truth that lives is what remains:
some things in life can never stay.

Marie (2016)

Mean To Say

I’ll say what I mean to say,
free of any false translation
derived from forces in my way,
souls of shameless indiscretion.

Life’s shortness cannot contain
what exists inside my heart.
All there is is what remains
until the day we fall apart.

Marie (2016)

Photo by Pexels