truth be told

What is there?

What is there



What is there




Nothing holds nothing and nothing keeps nothing.

I am nothing.

I hold nothing.

I keep nothing.

A void.



Saline not Bitter

To mean what you say takes a lot of courage. And takes a lot of getting used to, when everything else fails and you want your words to fail too. I take lightly what comes out of my mouth once in a while and yet after close inspection, will find that even the briefest, most immediate words that slip out my mouth holds truth in my heart. They may be masks of that truth, a shadow or reflection.

I have been angry at the world. I still am.

Sometimes the bowl that holds the fire inside gets overwhelmed by the very simplest of things. Sometime the bowl holds the coldest, it burns. It burns and sometimes I hold it with my bare hands, as if to cup all of that heat, to feel my flesh melt, slowly and into the fire.

Sometimes I am the fire.

Most times I just step back and watch it burn into embers. It leaves the darkest of coals. They are lumps at my throat. A reminder of the choking sounds I make when I plead.

This is a fault I have been made to accept a thousand times over. I was taught never to be me, always what was right. To burn , to be that fire, was to offend.

And so I dampen it with my own saline solution. And remind myself in every drop I take, to keep to myself and a s a reward, not fringe anyone that comes my way.

I am repulsive. When they see ME, they recoil. And I wonder how I was able to bear it, a hundred times over. And over. An over.

Sometimes I know what winter feels like.

Sometimes, I am winter.

I am cold as ice. I am winter and I am cold as ice.

As someone once wrote, are we not all but the words?

to feel lesser

and lesser and lesser until i feel nothing at all

i have a winter inside of me

i will feed everything to that winter

i will feed every feeling there till there is no more

i will be ice

i am ice

i am stone

and ice

until only cold dark winter remains


to build a platform,

to start with a hammer and nails and wood. good wood.

to measure, to hammer, to decide which and where and how

to choose and discard

and finally

see it stand.

but why build a platform

where one puts the hangman’s rope?

when you can hang from a tree?

shall i throw away the hammer?

and hang from the tree?

i shall throw away the hammer

so i have both hands free

to hang from the tree

Not Afraid

To disappear and never to return again is an escapists dream. Holding the same logic at hand, I stumbled towards you in my wish to forget. And in the process of forgetting, I found out that I can be something else than the haze that I’ve become. Suddenly, I was a solid matter. With form and substance. I was no longer a concept or an idea. I was. In that brief space and time, I truly believed that I can descend from dreaming onto steady earth. To disappear and never to return again, I saw an old part of myself detaching. It was slowly saying its goodbyes and I welcomed the change. I embraced the freedom from the fears I’ve held for so long. It was a lifetime. It was then. It was when you held my hand. In that brief space and time, I was.
I’m not afraid to fall out of grace. I can never return to my fears. I have become something less and more.
In that space and time. However short, Nothing will change, nothing will remain.


Wala. Wala namnag kwenta. walan namang nakikinig.
Wala namnag gusto maka-alam. walang patutunguhan dahil walang
papapuntahan. Nahuhulog sa mga tengang ayaw makinig.
Wala na ring paparuonan.

Wala. wala. wala.

At sa kawalan, marami kang maririnig
Sa bingit ng kamalayan
masisilayan ang sarili

Tumatawa ng walang pakundangan
sa pagka-aliw
Dahil mistulang isang malaking
katangahan ang ginagawa sa sarili

Alam nya ito pero sige parin ng sige

gustong saktan ang sarili ng paulit ulit
palulit ulit. Ulit. Ulit.

Di na nahabag sa pusong puno na ng
galos at pasa
sa mga katangahang di nya iniinda

Tuwing papabitiw na
bumabalik-balik pa

paulit ulit na lamang
kang sinasaktan

paulit ulit kang bumabalik
umaasa nanaman

Gently, I Lay on My Pillow

In the geography of gorges

explored by wanting hands

and eyes

and mouth

there I quiver

the pulse run amok

beneath blankets of hope and dream and woven truths

as gently as the breeze that brushed your hair this morning

i rest my head

on your soft firm body that eases my raging