Papier-mâché

Featherless flight, encapsulating oxygen; hell-like fire is who I am: a corporeal substance and at dawn I am being born. My atomic bombs are made of hopelessness; naught they shall see in me but hatred.  Hail to my masters! I extend my mischievous hands implanted by vicious men of the 1940s. I wreck lives to bits of their false hopes. Schadenfreude is my pride.  I devour tears of men; clemency is a foe! Strike it with such force and satisfaction lies in the sound of my borborygmus . I breathe vileness at the top of my lungs; releasing toxic air, annihilating every bit of race. As thick as the fumes  I create destiny. Bent knees are their last resort as they plead for mercy reaching my brass-made hands. Some touch my aflame horn, in return, I bludgeon them with remorselessness and I render unattainable salvation.

  I'm a riddle in nine syllables, An elephant, a ponderous house, A melon strolling on two tendrils. O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! This loaf's big with its yeasty rising. Money's new-minted in this fat purse. I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf. I've eaten a bag of green apples, Boarded the train there's no getting off.

Call me by my birthstone : Pearl, clam's onomatopoeia Through the storm Deep down the cerulean sea I sail my inflated boat. Hovering towards me,  Kraken, ancient Scandinavian, drag my burden down as I flap my emerald tail one last time, like a mermaid of antagonistic tales. For no one sings my dark fantasies, as the whole world  only waits for my trophy. For Plath, my mother, like vines I crawl through the corners of this city in 1963 where I hear their disparaging exclamations. Flâneur , I wander with my floating feet, without silk top hat above my head,  still, I am a gentle lad, looking for my long-lost French coat.

Man who laid his hand upon me; Everlasting gratitude on behalf of my inner king, Repeat after me, as I rise: Repeat the joy of this 8th-month love of the last piece. Yuletide, I must celebrate with the virtual face! Canticle of the moon, with the stars, he sings: “Hear, hear, for I surrender my wrath. Retell the story on how I was saved; In this season, on the 25th, Spirited persona of mine, thy light that shone Throughout my entirety, towards me, Mellow tune I dance on this precipice, but that was a former state. And I kiss you in this distance, Sealed with unfeigned floral-scented ribbons and stamps. Mistletoe, below it, traditional kiss on the forehead, tracing your bridge to your softness, Yearning the warmth of your breath on my bareness. Love, Ahram, as the moon embraces your skin; Oh, love of my light, through the Lord, I express my Veneration towards Him, while I swear: “Ephemeral love, and as I declare my gratitude to Him, for you—my personified salvation.”

Cross-legged, Saturday grind: Hoarse voice of the barber. The morning greeting was the only polite tune he has ever spoken, thanks to the sun's radiance and soft chimes. His hands on the bare forehead of the kid; first touch, tenth fear. How the child fears the possibility that he will be cut by the blades, like the gruesome scenes of horror films his parents made him watch; stuck details of it reverberating to the young. " Koshin, be patient ," the mother clothes as the strands cling to the satin of which he never fails to keep tidy. How silence can respond to itself: " I, Laura, your mother, asking you to just take it easy ," as if the child had already said something for her to answer. Active cuts, passive shots― slice through the mouth, not wanting to move it ajar. Down from the scary stories his parents have always been into, to the reality he is strangled onto.

I sit on a two-year-old varnished wood of the chapel where I was baptized. Beloved Sabbath is what they wear ― with their necklaces. A 2005 memory that smells as my Johnson's Summer Swing childhood. Reminiscing how my aunt used to iterate, "The ninth hole is the fit," as the leather belt embraces my skinny body― the grip of manhood they deem me to become. I wonder how proud my father was as his child met the spring. Devotion of my youth, I asked before the Lord's temple where they surrendered my young person― through my tears that they thought were my approval. Singing the psalms as I witness while on the tiptoes of their praise. Vivid is their memory towards the Holy Book. I was a child, witnessed by hundreds of self-proclaimed fairies; with their CDs and gifts― as the nursery rhymes I enjoy to sing. How they held my childhood, for until now, I am being baptized by their wisdom. Proclaiming tongues as if it were a perfect sheet― softest silk. I kneel with my eyes ope

Alapaap, narito ang pagyapos ng aking katawan, Hayáhay ng hangi't ibon, narito't ako'y sabayan. Ragasa nang ragasa yaong mga tubig mula sa Kanluran, At kung dumaloy man ito pababa sa kabundukan, Marapat na hagkan ang iyong marikit na kapanaanan. Kalayaan kong makita ang dulot mong pagsinta,  O sa busabos ako ng sariling pangamba―nalugmok, ito ang aking puhon! Magmaliw, kung ito ma'y magmaliw, kung ito man ay susuungin, Aking panata'y pagtulos ng kandila ng pagsuyo. Hindik kong dala ng mga dapithapon, Ay sa kadalasa't sa kahibikan  Lagi't lagi kong sambit ang pahinga mong pagkatao. Kasarinlan, ibabandera ang sarili kong gawang watawat; ako'y tatakbo, at Ito'y mula sa pagkatao kong binubuo ng hangin ng iyong kasiguraduhan. Tanyag yaong aking kinatatayuang dalampasigan ng mapipinong buhangin; At kung ito man ang kahulugan ng paglalayag patungo sa iyo, Kung ito ang paglulan 'tungo sa iyong pagsinta, Ako ay tatapak sa lupa nang walang sapin ang mga pa

My father is a horror film from my relatives' view― Fine cinematography, grotesque plot. I watch closely as he approaches to me, With his feet inherited from my grandfather― a reason for feminine quivers. Splashed blood all over my creatively-built floor. Of color, of preference, of kind, Fuchsia excorticata , I sowed, a foreign shrub from our land. /peach, carnation pink,  the light palettes of my art. Blue is a definitive color, always his/ /Man is a default face of strength, And I have always been a lover of fuchsia plants/ Rewarded by countless recognitions― My father is keen to materialize the pride of his labour. Intimidating aroma of the sandalwood base notes of his Polo Sport, he profusely sprayed the bucks out of his lucrative job. "I prefer the manly scent," an echoing emphasis as he comes to me to embrace his heir, his control. Gnashing teeth as he grins, kisses the son's floral-scented hair as if carrying me in his arms in 2006 by the manhood's firm mu

 Tin cans and primordial air, As I played with my favorite Kentucky shirt. Right ear and left ear,  Crescendo, upbeat gags. I kill myself with seventh-grade memories, Filtered by haunting caress of my so-called friends, From the deep-rooted scars in my system. Gradual tempo From A to Z Skip these freaking letters,  For they shout my tears. Still playing? I speak me As they devour my brain Tracing my back with scorching knives I loathe all of you genius,  Silent I.  Friend is my demons, Traumatic fallen angel. Then born my bohemian, I stand with my pronoun you bludgeoned to disgrace. Can I.

Armed with a dark shade of blue, Camouflage, also I hide my form. Merciless of my type, this is my routine. As I smell the powder that came  from my caliber.  Look at me, daughter, I ooze with definition― Eyeglasses and badges, with my name given by your proud grandmother. I marry you with lipsticks and dolls. Define me the best, I, the father; 4 shots of relief I am my place's savior! Bloodshed is my strength, for I am Called to serve and protect the system. I am the system.

                                                                                                      1.  Love, Ahram, my dear; No place I shall flee but here; To you I adhere! 2. Hear, Southwestern man; As I speak this renowned love, Rejoice to thy birth! 3. Decades, I second; Stand by his side with comfort. Watch as he ascends! 4. Hold me, my fortress, Without you I diminish; Clasp me by the hand. 5. 'Tis my sustained soil, Nourished by the smiles and sprout Of this majesty. 6. Epics have their length; Their oral admiration, And your lips speak it. 7. Red-orange major, Kindle, kindle this love flare; To him, grant thy force. 8. Speak, my favorite; Magic, here's my single dime. I will bet my love! 9. Tulips, I shall give To my heir of legacy Arise, my keen love! 10.  Lie upon this sheet Covered with the hyacinths; With you is my warmth. 11. Feel my love apart From this mileage, in this path; Can I be your "near?" 12. Heard as it echoed, "Son, tell me a love stor

Standing, I am standing On this partially arid soil Overlooking a foretold place. From my son's cheerful tone,  It was the land of their bliss; My lips could not help but open ajar By the grandeur.  "This is where I will be planting my seeds,"  Echoing in me persistently. My son in delight―his eyes did not lie. "Father, I am not okay..." The latter had forced me to laugh. I stared at his hazelnut eyes― Our truly few facsimile― I could tell from his lips The shouted grace. For that is a man's temperament, From my ancient roots I revere! I had been waking up with contentment For I hold on to the identity of a man. I had always been doing it while displaying my veins. It was Wednesday afternoon of July 19th when I visited; The flowers I had placed upon the Bermuda grass months ago were still intact. I sat where he sowed the monsters that devoured his abyssal reality. Therein, autumnal leaves clung on my shoulders, "Are these you, son?"  Pledging my se

Ilang beses ko nang sinisigaw at hinihiling nang tiklop-tuhod ang pagsagip, at batid kong nabibingi na ang langit sa paghingi ko ng awa. " Papuri! Kahabagan nawa'y mamutawi! "  Nguni't bumabalik lamang sa akin ang mga alingawngaw.  Wala, at hindi ko dama ang tubig ― ang ragasa na tatapos sa tuyot ko nang pag-asa. Pagdarahop na patuloy bubugso, at magpapatuloy sa paghukay sa kuwebang gawa ng sarili kong pag-iisip. " Ako ang gumawa, ako ang guguho, "  at paulit-ulit ko itong bibigkasin na parang isang saplot na babalot sa hapo kong katawan.

This four-minute masterpiece lingering at 3:58 A.M., with a fluttering melody. Visit not my brazen eyes as they dream, It is I who dreams with eyes open. Thy bewitching virtual, deliver me from thy storm; Give me time as I speak my chants. "Could you wait for me by your door?" said the hopeful lad. Hear thy caged wren as it sings for freedom, Heed this high-strung being, forgive his mind  that longs for space, As the lungs breathe out the 21st rural smoke. "It's your night," the words that had summoned me. Bed of strawberries and guns that pull my body down; 'Tis the place I lie upon ― never rested. Wail; listen to me as I stand before your alluring apparition. Pray, pray for me, my dear, as I face this perplexity; From this that had stood before me--the luscious red, curled daydream, and through his vision of me, that had seen the angel from his dark brown eyes. Could you be gentler? "Have mercy!" my knelt-down prayer; I shout it! I shout it! But

They are nothing but torturous, devourers of submission; lurking with their might. Tamed, I do not know why I am still holding on to their light.

"Alas, 'tis life, 'tis life, I adore!" My ironic interjection. Heir of my springtime, hold this precious gem I finely made. Reach me out as I feel it--my metamorphosis. I now am in my redirection; "And I shall put you in my red pouch," you said. "akin to my luscious lips." Man of my dreams, my spring, would you let me give you tulips? Enchanted as I speak before you, how could it be possible for this life to bear this creature? My Lord, from my suppressed life that I have put in minuscule, Maximize, I maximize! They grow, I perceive it from here.  As I take a glance, I shall appreciate this blessed place anew!  No place could precede this--series of my transformations. Utopia, I had not seen you for a very long time! Each day, I wonder how could you be this attainable? "Love wanders," they speak in their customary living. Therefore, I express my serendipity! O, apostrophe, from Earth, I admire your unfathomable-yet-fathomable corporeal! D

  Anak, kalugod-lugod ka! Salamat sa iyong dulot na kulay. Yaman ko'y ikaw ang tagpo; ang pananatili ang iyong magiging patnubay. At kung ika'y magsumamo, 'di nanaisin, sapagka't ito'y guhit ng palad. Walang buhay na kaluluwa ang sisilid sa madilim na pagkatao. Kung kaya't ito'y aking dapat dinggin; kailangan kong suungin ang kailaliman nitong bangin. Orasan mo ako habang pinipigilan ko ang paghinga sa dulot nitong hangin. Naririnig mo pa ba ang paglagok ng inumin? Ito'y dugong humahagod sa aking lalamunan. Ako ay lulan ng sandamakmak na palamuting laruan; gusto mo pa ba akong hawakan? Rekado ako ng isang kumpulang sabi-sabi. "Ano'ng handa mo sa iyong kaarawan?" Isa-isa silang pipila sa akin na parang hindi nila ako pinagdudahan. Tampulan ng tukso--kahinaan ba ang tunay na ginhawa? Halakhak sila--itong aking pamilya. O sukdulan ng pagsuko at paghingi awa? Pagkalugmok, ikaw ang karaniwang pithaya! Sambit ko ang kaligayahan--ito ay aking ikuk

"Where am I?" Speaking volume. I witnessed their victories. Here is their springboard; they are lingering fiends inside my head--lurking melancholia. "Excellence is never a sin," they chanted, while injecting into me with such force; Reckoning every move to make, outstretching my limbs, yet remained unfathomable. "Excellent's not the adjective I embody!" I shouted with shivers. I have been eager; barefoot, I tirelessly looked for my circle. Somber, still I ascended--high enough for people to witness. Are we playing? My family, thy visage I admire. There, my mother's wearing her dear garment, and my father's a classic's offspring. Ye stainless immaculacy of white, as pure as my youth's birth; I beseech my strength! Pining, while I am peeling my skin! I now am sick due to this unhealthy, familial-made destiny; Earth me up; they are earthing me up while I am hearing their negation. Agonizing cheers, still I breathe, still I breathe naivety

Purihin yaong pigurin; Ako ang diyos, Yapusin, dumugin, ako'y dinggin! Siginarugan, sa lupa ikaw ang kanang-kamay; "Alay sa iyo'y aming pamimintuho!" Pinagmasdan ko ang tagpong ito habang nanginginig. Yaong mga aninong ligáw at Ang pagsusumiksik nilang mga huwad; Gálit ng poon nilang ramdam sa 'di-mabilang na mga yabag. Lumuha ma'y wala itong diringgin; Lahat ng mga ito ay nakagapos—balót sa hinagpis at pasakit. Isa-isang naglalakad sa likha nitóng lupa, habang naaagnas kasamà ang mga puting saplot. Dala ang labintatlong-libong kadena na nakapulupot sa kanilang mga katawan. Ito'y nagsalita sa tono ng isang kulog: "Durugin, durugin yaong mga salot!" Takbo, kawawang nilalang; Dalangin mong hindi na natugunan! Sa nagdaang siglo ng pagkitil, wala na'ng kalamnan, Gutóm na gutóm itong dambuhalang poon, Nguni't ito pa ri'y hinahagkan. Walang-pikit kong pinagmamasdan itong mga anyo, Habang unti-unting nagsisilabasan a

These are my shadows I regard; I joined the game—unprepared. I run. I crawled. I obeyed everything, your criteria. And as soon as I got tired looking for my reward, I panted. I sighed. "I could not live by your desired utopia," my pleading. You told me it would pass. Tapped me on my shoulders while wearing my gray shirt, You scolded me by my shade of choice Humiliated—I still showed my garments: They were nothing but dark, As my every day, As my every day. Felt sorry for the trembles; I knelt down and unhesitatingly apologized—still shaking. "I had no control," I emphasized. "You're bluffing," it echoed a hundred times; Came down to me like raining knives, mercilessly. Into this trench where both of my feet were tested; I breathed in. I breathed out. With glasses on, you asked me if I was okay. I begged for mercy. You held my hand, said it was okay. You laughingly smiled afterwards; Asked me to pray, instead. I prayed, dea

Could I still stop myself from feeling and letting this wicked, inner bitch live inside me? Nevertheless, here you go: this is my mental imprint, my tiresome everyday; featuring my fucking compulsions. —— "what are you doing?" "typing and thinking..." "they have become your vice." "definitely. addictive!" "oh, wait," "what does 'vice' (\ˈvīs\) even mean for you?" "enunciate not!" "okay, i apologize..." "does it connote suffering?" "it does and it does not... personally" "w-what?" "it is a win-win, nonetheless"; "it's an indulgence!" "curse it; fuck it!" "i excuse my language!" "omg, 'i' was not capitalized! This should be consistent." "I excuse my language!" "ugh, finally; relieved!" "you are such an overreacting retard!" "oh, well, this is ir

“ Happy father’s day !” It reads; My hands shake as I happen to read it. A memento I hold with my hands; A memory that haunts. “ Will you forgive the bubbles that I made with my hands ?” I ask you. Displeased, you look at me; "Pop it! Strike it! Hit it!" You insist. I will not resist, father. I will not resist; for I have been your bloodline’s disgrace. Undress me, now; Ignite my skinny body, and shout, “‘Tis not the body of a man!” It’s alright, father; I won’t resist. Eat your scrumptious meal; Consume it wholly for it is served! Cramped, how do I breathe? Defeated, I beg for your prize; Strangled, I won’t despise! Stone me to my gradual death as I speak my beliefs, while you are cross-legged staring at my wholeness, And as you shame my todays as I flaunt it. “I curse you, filthy; we’ve to be men!” Talk me down; force me to worship your entirety! “Ave, ave, thy infallible strength!” Are my sins obliterated, now? Grant me for I speak your taught

With my eyes open,  I hold a m emento: picturing as how she shakes the transparent bottle every morning, As how she does it to her sweater, now; she would cuss, “ Damn , these lints won’t take off.” Relieved by her efforts,  “Kiss me on the cheeks, son,” her good-bye. Riding her decade-old Blue scooter—bare hands. Embroidered on it was the Nirvana—a conventional mantra. Worn with white hopes of today’s hardships. Today, I pray for her deliverance; O, Holy Ghost, may she be touched?  Spare her from normalcy’s danger. From Her son who once was breathing infant, that savored And smelt the aroma Of the breast, That bore the Summer. Madame of Her class, can I hold you? Are you near?  Are you near? Presence, I seek you; Be dear!

In 2000 born the child of Lianga, Rejoice to the birth of thy Modesty. Await no more, the day has come Of the nine-month protection! From thy bosom shall yield the son of man; “ Voilà, here’s your child whom you dear; thanks heavens for He’d mercy! ” Shouted the curious. Hoisted —see the light of these thirsties of your presence! There, there, sire, hold your precious sprout! Laid on the softest cotton and lullabies, Of tomorrow’s better place; But, O Yesterday’s wonder, could you be recurred? From today’s brokenness, Where are you, salvation? Decades of the Lad’s voyage from his springtime; Glistening seasons, altering scenes and incongruous rhymes Of the words he’d lain upon the scented cloth. From a pure noun grew up to a castaway pronoun, On quests, in admirations. Applause; give this kid the Gold! To you, my gracious kneeling, pity me, For silver’s a traitor! Hear him  ye bystanders, Solitude’s game has befriended his entirety. Prai

This four-minute masterpiece lingering at 3:58 A.M., With a fluttering melody.   Visit not my brazen eyes as they dream, It is I who dreams with eyes open. Thy bewitching virtual, deliver me from thy storm; Give me time as I speak my chants. “ Could you wait for me by your door ?” a response. Hear thy caged wren as it sings for freedom, Heed this high-strung being, forgive his mind  That longs for space, As the lungs breathe out the 21st rural smoke.  “It’s your night ,” the words that had summoned me. Bed of strawberries and guns that pull my body down; T’is the place I lie upon—never rested. Wail; listen to me as I stand before you—an alluring apparition. Pray, pray for me, my dear, as I face this perplexity; From this that had stood before me—the luscious red, curled daydream, And through his vision of me, That had seen the angel from his dark brown eyes. Could you be gentler? “Have mercy!” My knelt-down prayer; I shout it! I shout it!

The moment you read this, I have come to face my fate. With a screen before my eyes, Exposing every micro in me rummaging through my whole system. A predetermined occurrence. I have done so much preventives But t'is the force I had not fathomed. I have lived my life with so much fear, My everydayness has shown me despair—mentally, emotionally, physically. This I apologize for I have come and followed this malady, For I have not found my strength, For I have ceased the chance. I have come across this deepest trench of my life, The darkest region I could ever go into. To the fortunate, please take this, and continue my legacy. It may have succumbed my prowess, but never my soul. In a world wherever every step is driven by selfishness, never hesitate to create your universe and never stop indulging yourself with metaphors.

Maraming beses mo nang sinabing "200x na... 201x na... Magbabago na ako." "Time is just a social construct," ika nga nila. Hindi ko sinabing madali, hindi ko sinabing "bilís, ikaw na lang ang walang ambag, ikaw na lang ang walang úsad." Ang sinasabi ko ay "ikaw ang sarili mong oras; Bigyang diín ang sariling kakayahan; ikaw ang sarili mong lúnas sa panlabas man o panloob. Maniwala sa talà. Maniwala sa kapangyarihan. Ang oras ay batayan lámang ng isang pagpapatuloy at/o pagpipigil ng anomang bagay, pero ikaw ang patuloy na bugsô sa sarili mong mundo't búhay.

Apoy ng kasabikan Unti-unti nang pinapatay ng hanging dala ng lipunang mandurugas, Kamay na amoy-kalawang Na kahit ilang hugas, Ang basurang nilalangaw na kapatid ng bangkay na naaagnas. Dalawin nawa ng mga bulaklak Na nalanta't nangamatay Sa pangangalaga ng mga mapiling kamay. Hibik ng mga taong nagsisisi sa harap ng lamay—"parang awa ninyo na" sambitla ng patay. Kamusmusang tinatawanan ng mga multong ánimo'y kung sinong mga bayani; Pandayan ng mga pagsambang mga naghaharing-uri—sa sariling templo gawa ng maitim na budhí. Sandigang tinta ng mga gaa't pasakit, Walang humpay sa aking dugô kung sumipsip Indák ng kamay kung 'di ma'y hanging iihip. At doon ma'y magpapatuloy ang dalúyong na sisira sa baít at magtatalaga sa aking, " Ikaw ang patay na hari sa sarili mong pag-iisip ."

Ilang pag-ibig pa ang susulating hindi ka mangingiwi sa sarili mong karanasan? Nakatatatwa ba ang pag-ibig minsang sa 'yo'y nagpahalina, Naging bulok lang ang inaasahan mong masarap na bunga? Hindi mo pwedeng hawakan ang mundo—hindi siya ang mundo mo. Hindi siya ang pag-ikot, maging ang pagtigil. Hindi mo pwedeng ipagdamot ang pahinga sa katawan mong hapóng-hapó na. Hindi katapusan ng buhay ang katapusan ng dalawang kaluluwang minsang nangako sa isa't isa. Hindi magtatambal ang isa sa isa kung hindi kayo magkaiba. Oo na't ang isang bayani'y nagpakamatay para sa bayan, Nguni't hindi ka ipinanganak para pagtayuan ng rebulto sa isang bayan; Ikaw ang buháy na magpapatuloy pa sa agos ng búhay—sa mundo ng pasákit at ubod ng pait.  Huwag mong ihiwalay ang sarili mo sa daloy; hindi ang kawalan mong minsan ay kawalan mo nang panghabambuhay. Minsan ang paglayo nang ilang saglit ay gamot sa hindi makitang paggaling, Sa oras na'ng paghinga mo ay magaan,

1. Shall I hear my Woe Into the pit of these deeds? Live to thy burden. 2. Put thyself in verse And fly to the weightless place Exalt thy pained self. 3. Forgive me unhealed I praise t'is permanent taste Endured agony. 4. Leave my eyes unread Quench my anguish on ablaze And pour not my blood. 5. " It is what it is," Said the men in search for bliss; Make me feel my ease.

There  are his straight, perfectly-lined eyes That melted through heat the ice Whenever I look at them in vision. I witness the stars in the horizon. How much more are the lips and nose. That point perfectly upon a gaze. His smell as luscious as the rose; Every part lines making up the entirety of his face. He is perfect in his perfect ways; He is a god in his own kingdom.

" Tremble me, " it voiced out—begging; and it occurred, came to them mercilessly. "like a shivering wind in the night, like an unbearable force, make them taste my wrath. everything they have done will beget turmoil, for I am their living turmoil! shake their consciousness; make them cry and see their remorse, and make them hope for their restoration!"

Isang hingá, Isang kalabit sa gatilyong bugá; Isang hingá, Isang pagsadlak sa dusa. Hahandusáy ang katawán—lantá at lupaypáy; Sa lupà ay mananatiling hininga't bantáy. Imahe ng pasakit at karimlan, Kasarinlá'y sa langit ang himlayan. Walâ ang pahingá sa mundo, Walang pahingá ang mundo. Pagdarahóp ang karaniwang bugsô, Ang pithayà mo'y sa langit ang tagpô.