This is no

It’s a cycle of falling
and getting back up on my feet;
of missing and forgetting you.
I want to create my own ending
where you leave me forever on my own
and nobody really notices except me.
Then you’d knock right back in
and say the right words.

How do I tell you
how much I miss you
when you just drift away?
I can’t figure out everything
because you left me
with random puzzle pieces
that doesn’t even fit together?

Taint

Standing right next to you

Is an old friend and all lost
Confused with the tainted world
Sick from flesh to bones
Resting a suffocating journey
He stands there staring
At the blank pictured faces
And broken records of a chord
You were watching yourself fall
Hurt like you’ve never been hurt
But breathing and breathing hard
You’re mind fails to rest
As much as you wanted to
For every blink of your eyes
You see a murky blot of a picture
A stained shirt and a broken wheel
But He was there all along
Protecting you on your way home
Standing right next to you

spill

there is no start in what I want to say
because as I look at the sky and
gaze at its infinity and wander off
with the misty wind that
tends to hug every part of
me, I see the details of 
the fine lines of ideas
and sparks and scraps of paper
torn and not, they lay
scattered on the cold floor
there saying something that
should have been spoken
yet still waiting to be unearthed
traces, just traces
of sweet summers
familiar laughter
meaningful glances
they were long gone
as the waves crashed upon 
the tiny ebb of
warmth, it dims its flares
as I bleed into another
torn piece of paper
I can't start what I want to say

Somebody feels lost today

Deep in painted walls

Where there’s drawn memories

Songs and letters scrawled

Dream Car

I attended this public speaking workshop recently thanks to one hospital (the one I’m waiting to get hired in) who never fails to give me surprises and anything you’d relate about trying to live. The last statement is something to figure out.

It was so much fun. I remembered when I was back in my high school, I’m part of speech and drama club then it became a speaker’s bureau. The speech and drama club loves to conduct speech and dramatic workshops in which I much enjoyed way back because of all its activities. So, having attended again in quite a familiar place made me glad. 

The speakers or must I say facilitators were very excellent especially the one guy who really stands out the moment he starts speaking. I was so amused with his manners of speaking, it lead me back to square one. I wished I was fluent and articulate in speaking like he does. 

One activity in the workshop was an individual impromptu-not extemporaneous as they claim-of a topic one has to pick from inside a bag of doom. Perfect.

Of all the topics I could have, I got a topic about a dream car. (read above) I stood in front, stiff and nerve-wracked. I had no idea what I’m supposed to say. What did I say?

I started my speech enumerating a few cars that I knew. (What am I saying?) Then asked the audience what i’m talking about. Then I greeted them a pleasant afternoon. Then I said my topic. After that, all hell breaks loose. I jumbled and mumbled, stammered and buckled all the things in my head. The only decent thing I must have said was, I needed a car that could take me anywhere. Then I ran to the back of the room and crawled under a chair. Kidding. 

Things I think I should have said:

What is my dream car?

For one, my dream car has to fit at least 8 people in it. Because I need to put all family members in it and a few friends and I can even include an extra person if there will be one. So it has to be a big one.  And the hood, or, what-do-they-call-it, the roof of the car can be modified to fall back so that I can enjoy the wind and the sky whenever I drive. Then it has to have huge wheels. The ones where you can drive over a terrain or a rocky road. It has to withstand those kinds of roads because I think that’s where I’m mostly going. Then it has to have speakers in it so I could play music whenever I’m stressed. And it has to have a tracking GPS device so I won’t get lost. It also has to have an unlimited internet connection in it so I could never loose connection with the world. The most important part of this car is that, I want it to be the one to take me to places I’ve never been to. I want it to take me where I've dreamed of wanting to see. I want it to be the one to show me the things I needed to learn. And I want all my favorite people to be in it. And these are the people that I’d never regret to travel with. :)

What I stammer in speech, I fluently speak when I write. >_<

rebirth

a blue flame blazed
lit with warmth for
a person who've grown cold
weary amongst the earth
he trekked and went
but the fire finally bent
when years passed
time never noticed
and it left him curled up
in a black pile of ashes

what love can’t cure

nights in crumpled sheets
she lie staring upon a screen
scattered with hushed glances
and thought out schemes


a song starts to spill the background
flocked with ringing keys
piano notes starts to linger
as she tries not to be teased


conversations now recurs
and his voice begins to play
of words said and meant
sprawled out on one fateful day


she remembers the blatant gaze
where his eyes never turned away
at chance he held her hands in his
and a distinct beat chose to stray


while she watched the screen evolve
lying once again in crumpled sheets
a trace of a familiar grin
starts to line across her cheeks


--majest, Feb5,2012 11:38PM

positivity+realism

tiny grains of
realizations wash over me
up to the ends of
my fingertips
as i grasp
and hold
and try to catch
every single detail
they slip right through
the gaps
now as i look around
they start to shine and sparkle
where i stood
waiting and watching
to what move i might do
i scoop the tiny things
gingerly now
and keep them safely
in my hands

untitled

traces of you
form the lines and scent
of the beginning and an end
a hint of your smile
strums the beat of a heart
where the wind doesn’t make
reasons for you to ask
and the colors of the sky
remains a perfect art
remember the time when
I sat next to you and listened
as you were spilling words
wandering how people are what they are
while you created stories and poetry
and grinning through your ears
I said something
and you laughed

The Trail

Letters sprawled across the road
Like crumbs of bread still untouched
It contains dreams and endless thoughts
And wishful clouds that could float
It has drawings of a sunset bay
And laughter in a familiar place
It holds prayers in several scrawls
Holding distinct characters in made up plays
I looked back and stopped my tracks
And gazed how it leads towards my feet
And if I strain to look far back
I cannot see the other end where I start
Now I’m holding my words and yours
Even if pieces of it lay on the road
Its parts are waiting for you to find
Speaking to you among its lines
But you must have found a new trail
Or you can’t find my way
Because the trail seems too far behind
And has its end already gone

Musings

The people around me have spoken. They speak of wisdom that goes along the lines of commitment to a person they believe would be their person forever. They tell stories, rarely heard by my keen ears, where happiness and loneliness collide, overcome trials are called success, and the mere thought of having a someone even if it is far away feels better than no one. A bunch of them hold on to these ties for they have lived with it. It taught them things I seem to have failed to learn. It is being committed to love.


I have not yet been lost or lead to such musings. Thus, I'm doubtful, wondering, questioning what. However, I am curious, and has this utter urge to venture on these like sailing in uncharted waters.


How do you define it? How do you set directions to find what you must seek and know if you've finally found what you are looking for? How can you know what envelopes it's entities when the only way you can answer all your questions is actually live in it?

talking metaphors

Gaze upon the tallest tree
Look through its frame of view
Silently, it might whisper a hue
Falling leaves, sighing breeze
Do not look down on you
Gaze and dream the highest peak
High above its trunk and leaves
Its right over the top you may seek
Leave the forest floor
Trek the unknown once more
High above the trees
Wings were spread and seen
Wind flowed across the earth
Songs of woe were no more
High above the trees
Let us blend the sky and be free

Christmas

Sound of cheers
Were repeated
For a number of times
Today but
I see just letters
And words formed
To force a bright smile
On someone’s face
It’s too early for fireworks
But the lights were pretty
For any wishing heart
That longs to be merry
Music blared in every
Corner you’d pass
Giving justice for
Any loud kind of posse
But today I settled staring
At the busy streets and
People with their
Own plans for one kind
Of season of feast
Today I just settled my
Wishing heart for a
Generous bowl of
My own dish

Tell me more. Drown me in your infinite words that builds bridges from me to your different world. Sprawled by your ink is an intense pool of definitions that remains traced, etched across my skin. Don’t leave me thirsty for more things waiting to be told. I only ask that you whisper in my ear, fill me with what makes of you with just your words.

To Someone

You are my poem

A rhyme that never gets old

You are stuck on me on every word

You were.

my college course made my vocabulary stuck on words like anterograde amnesia, auscultate, sinus rhythm, aphasia, autistic and histrionic

which i can’t really use much for a blog post…

but on second thought!

if somene i used to like acquires anterograde amnesia for just one day, i’d let him auscultate my sinus rhythm (not literally) and i wouldn’t care if he would either be aphasic or autistic because he’ll still be the same old histrionic the next day.

hahah. go figure.. T_T

You ask me if I believe in forever

Forever… I think of the sky, how it just stays up there, unmoving, inspiring. And every time I gaze at it, it never is the same as yesterday. I’d think of how the trees spread its branches to it as if it wanted to touch and see what it felt like. But some leaves have fallen, some branches withered. It never felt what it wanted but just left with a wide grin full of questions unanswered

from the tiny notebook