You, Romantic One

You, romantic one. You are made of fire, silver and pure and raging and vulnerable to rain. The gods of Love will have their wrath raining on you. They despise you so for being true and defiant and eternally hopeful against all odds. Though you know for a fact that Hope can kill you as easily as a waterfall's brutal kiss, you welcome it, bed with it, waken to find the stark cold mornings with it. Though you know you are doomed to a life of painful questions and the even more painful seeking for the answers, you go on with each awful minute stepping into the hurting little hour of need, and want, to be heard, to be seen and felt, to be loved as truly and deeply as the ways of the Universe could ever allow. But this is all that there is to you--this multifacetedness birthed by Pain and Bliss of being so gloriously different in a way that makes you relate to almost anything that exists in the realm of the human condition. No conditions necessary, you brave the world, even if your courage comes across as cowardice to most of its people, because right from the beginning that's the only thing they deemed you capable of manifesting. For all your beauty, you will be seen as broken. For all your Love you will be considered ungrateful. For all your innocence, you will be sentenced gulity. And beyond any shadow of doubt, yours will be the last and hardest and sweetest of tears. Amen.

Sa Laot ng Kaluluwang Desperado

nais kung matanto
ang lalim ng pusong ito
na pinuno mo
ng mga nanaginip na talang

magigising at magigising din
sa katotohanang
hindi sapat ang pagsisinungaling
sa sarili't sapilitang paglimot
sa iyo upang puksain

ang kaluluwang nagmamahal
kahit na nasasakal

May 10th Mindmesh

--you are keen on misunderstanding me, aren't you? i resent that.

--the way you behave towards me sometimes, the words you speak, leaves me wondering if my efforts to be near you are unnecessarily stressing you out. i know you are burdened enough by your life's concerns; i do not want to add more to that.

--do i give the impression that i'm out to hold you liable for the friendship that we have now and the 'responsibilities' that might go with it? i don't want you to feel like being my friend is a full time job. i don't want to be in the way of what you hope to achieve or how you want to live your life.

--people are noticing there's something different in the way we treat each other. something is there than mere platonic friendship, they say. although it bothers me not, i am bothered for you. i do not want to be in any way predisposing your "ill repute" in this place. i reckon, i should see you less and be more conscientiously on guard.

--it irks me to know that back in then you had duly expressed that we keep things as professional as possible at work and that it always escapes me. what can i do? i am consumed by you. but that is not the point, i know. the point is: i can't risk your plans by being too 'dumbed' by love.

--there are so many things to say. things i haven't even broken down for the most part, much less sort out. i'm not hoping for the time when i could tell you about them. i only wish i'd understand somehow what they're all about in my own time.

--play it cool, Jeff. don't give yourself away. hold yourself together.

--as if hating you for what you unconsciously make me do is powerful enough to douse these devoted flames.

Silent Cry

Courage, and something else--i summoned within
as fiercely as dragon-embattled knights pray for life
as steadfastly as lilies anticipate death by winter

as hopelessly as i wade through the space between us--
twenty yards of carpeted floor and a lifetime of regrets
over thoughts unsaid and stubbornly remaining within

within this heart resonates a multimedia reminder of you
vivid colors like your boyish blush, the blonde hairs on your arms
luminescent in half-light, the chocolate-chip-like freckles on your back

tortuous sounds--your hearty laughter, your sneeze, your song-bursts,
your potent Freudian slips lingering at the back of my mind
they follow me to the next empty minute, the yet-to-be-understood lifetime

that lies awake in tomorrow's twilight
there is courage in holding back tears, braving the days
without you by my side, without the feel of you leaving me inside

though i know crying is for cowards and weeping is for heroes
i hold on to my woes--the exquisite ribbons of pain
suspending me in space, making me suffer the unbearable lightness

of being so carnally in love, so spiritually in lust with you who
can't feel me through my words, my hemorrhaging poetics,
my thirst, my muted sighs, my yawning scars, my idle hours,

my not touching you,
my not kissing you,
my not asking why

i'm making my silent cry...

(my silent cry)

A Pound for Ponderings

funny how i felt something's different when i went to your station last night akin, to what you felt the other day when you saw our mutual friend. i felt shunned by directional default. it is not like me to demand reciprocation of devotion in equal measure. nay, i for one do not believe reciprocal love is something we can expect from this life.

it is most difficult to forego the kind of life you'd rather lead when the beginning is marred by a looming presence akin to alienation. no friendship is ever inalienable in that converged paths always find ways to part. one is meant to pursue the forlorn road.

there is nothing that stays in this life. nothing you can carry with you for all your pained journey of learning more pain, learning how to deal with it simply because it is there.

why is he not coming over here? doesn't he see me? feel me? how interestingly annoying it is, to know that here i am, getting through every protracted second with the thought of seeing him. and there he is, staying at their bay. what's this in between, separating us, anyway? 30-40 yards and an ocean of thoughts and feelings locked up, building in pressure that makes for devastating consequences. maybe it's just me being too sensitive. maybe it is me being smart in figuring out things that should've been figured out long ago. maybe it's just me making mountains of shit-hills out of molehills.

i do not know. i do not know what think anymore.

resolved: just get the hell on with what is there in front, to keep from slacking off by matters of consequence beyond my control.

the problem with me is i am extremely jealous. which is why i don't make an effort to care and love and hope because when i do, i get ever so jealous over trifles. now, this is not something that is generally destructive; for the most part, it is i who suffers from that.
now i'm cold. my lips are chapped. my fingers numb. my eyes needing to close. i am tired. i've had enough of my daily complications.

i don't see any point in doing so. i don't see any point in all this, being someone i am not. living for something that i cannot ever be.

marty has a point. i AM more responsible than this. i have more respect for myself than what i'm exhibiting now. life is more than who we are. how does one deal with the unbearable lightness of being anyway?

don't give yourself away. don't give yourself away.

scarred soul hiding from the world, hide thyself once more.


as of this writing, Jeprox G. Lingamen, 23, is writhing silently on his work station, gazing longingly at the object of his heart-complications, valiantly ignoring the stark lonely seconds drenching him cold like unannounced sleet does to a weeping willow. he'll be alright though, as he so fiercely professes all the time.

A Way to Keep to Myself Somehow

i'm in the pantry at the moment, e-mailing those who are dear to me, trying to forget the thoughts swirling ever so deliciously in my mind like melting double dutch ice cream. delicious is Love, no matter how difficult everything seems to be, one can still somehow relish the heady delights it brings into an otherwise famished life. it does not make sense, this thing i'm doing--hiding behind words never guarantees the coming of Change. nothing returns, every act of kindness not done, every sob of grief unreleased, every little thing that does magic unacknowledged, they all do not return. they fade, as multi-colored skies fade in the face of the endlessness covering us. now that forgiveness is out of reach, everyday feels endless in that i go on thinking and pretending not to hope that things would make a turn for happiness and reconciliation and peace, or even a semblance of these. nay, nothing gold stays. as much as i want to believe the power of words, such as those bled by a famed romantic--"Two men can defy the world," i cannot, for the life of me, i cannot succumb to such weakness. the unfulfilled kind of love is for the stronger sort like me. and that had better remain as such. for what do i know of Love, what do i know of Love--

--a waterfall of hearts shunned?

grazie per sentendo a me...

May 7th Shards

i finally convinced myself that no matter the many love letters i write you, however beautifully crafted they may be, whatever they may awaken inside you, these things do not mean a thing. they do not mean a thing because you are not here in this heart. you never had and you never will because you never can love me back in that special way. it does not matter even if you choose to stay or be captured and imprisoned in this dungeon heart that i have filled of you for the longest time in the short time i decide to be yours. it does not matter because i am not one to hold you against my will, to tie myself with bonds that are too frail to last and are repulsive for my self-respect. and should i succumb to the pathetic urges of my soul, it would not matter still because you'd break free. it is so you to shatter through the crumbling resolve of my love. it is so you to hurt someone like me as anyone who loves truly knows, as any romantic knows. you are the stuff that unfulfilled dreams are made of and destroyed for. and so be it.