I’ve been trying to get you out of my bloodstream but you seem to have made a home there. My veins know only your name and the spaces between my bones are longing for you to fill them. There is an ocean roaring inside my chest, locked between my ribs, and it calls for you and only for you. I remember thinking your smile brings the moon’s light to shame and I wonder why we even need stars to blanket the night when you’re already here enveloped in your effulgence.
I hate how we lose time in our hands as if we don’t grip it enough to make it stay. It is terrifying to know you don’t have enough time for anything yet you can’t do anything about it. Why do we even have a concept for it? Animals do just fine without. They live without the fear of time running out on them, gathering its things and slamming the door right in their faces. I guess it’s in man’s nature to complicate things so they can evolve. But it is already February and it is both amazing and appalling to realize just how fast time is slipping away between our fingers like sand. I’ve come across this article once about black holes having lips that slow time. There is no proof that this is actually true but let’s go there and kiss it on the mouth. Just in case. Let’s slow time and stay in that place forever.
Let’s make this clear. I am not the poster child for perfection; I am the bereaved night sky grieving for stars, the wine glass thirsty for the water I will never have. My hands are too clumsy, they drop everything because handling things well has never been my forte. I create storms inside myself then get upset when it rains. I put the ocean in my chest in the arms of other people because I don’t want to drown by myself. I have a grave of elephant bones inside my closet. Once, I thought I had the world between my fingers. Later I found out that I was the trapped one, a prisoner bleeding through the cracks of the earth.
Winter is still crawling underneath my skin, freezing the Spring that’s trying to melt all the snow sleeping between my ribs, woven in my spine, filling out the spaces in my bones. You used to be my Spring, with your resplendent glory and kaleidoscopic colors. You with the flowers in your fingers, birds in your throat, trees in your lungs, sunlight in your smile. You were the singing earth who came to bring me warmth. And I used to think that that is enough; you were enough to battle the blistering cold that keeps on biting my fingers and my skin from within.
And yet you weren’t.
I am making a home out of the ice asphyxiating the floor, right now. I’ve realized I can never make one out of poetry and words because their walls aren’t strong enough. Or maybe, I am not strong enough. Je ne sais pas. I have Numbness and Poignancy for neighbors and they always let themselves in- probably because my door is always open. I never liked them, you know but they keep me company on nights the ocean inside me is too deep, too big for little me whose arms are too skinny and too weak to try and do anything.
I keep the door open for Spring. Hoping one day, you’d come back strong enough to lift me out of this blizzard I’ve found a home in.
Hurry up, please.
i. you once told me i was your heart which, for me, was better than the trite saying “you have my heart”.
ii. you were always the one closing the distance between us and i secretly like that i don’t have to take the initiative once in a while.
iii. your arms turn into fleshy rib cages protecting the delicate when you hug me tightly by the waist.
iv. you smell like sunshine and good memories.
v. your laughter reminds me of little kids playing in a small pool during the summer after eating chocolate ice cream dripping from their fingertips.
vi. your tears are glitters turned liquid.
vii. your hands are delicate, gentle yet firm and strong and holds my hand even when my palms are sweaty and i want to let go.
viii. you have seen every flaw in me but still haven’t left through the front door.
ix. you have the sun in your eyes, heaven in your lips, galaxy in your chest, ocean in your ribs, stardust in your bones; i bet when God created you he thought “damn son, you’re going to have the entire world in you.”
x. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and i can’t help but love you as much as you love me.
I am learning how to accept and take criticisms without breaking myself from the inside while I smile and nod outside, pretending I’m alright. I don’t know why we put our self-esteem in other people’s hands; it is such a sticky business and often times, we just turn up disappointed. I am trying to stop myself from handing mine to other people. I’ve realized the only person you can count on to make yourself stronger, happier and better is your own self. Don’t put your self-confidence as well as your happiness in strangers’ hands that shake when the weight is too damn heavy. There is warmth in your palms, warmer than your friends’ or your lover’s sweaty ones. Keep it there.
It’s late and I ought to be sleeping but the moon tonight looks too lonely as she whispered its secrets to the quiet ocean. You’re probably swept under a dream right now, tossing and turning softly with the blankets hugging you, giving you warmth to fight the cold that’s threatening to crawl over you. Sometimes, I get lonely too. Late at night. When all the houses are snoring lightly and I’m the only one awake. I want to go outside and run under the moon, bathe in the light of the uncaring stars, walk barefooted towards you. You know, I get jealous at the blanket comforting you, at the sunlight that sees you up first thing in the morning, at the coffee that kisses you awake. Because I should be all those, instead here I am thinking of you, dissecting my feelings about you through the words that stick on the roof of my mouth. I hope you don’t notice it because when we kiss, I pour them all down on yours so I don’t have to say it out loud.
You see me as a distant memory, too far away to even call-or try to, so you don’t. I’m sitting here just waiting, for anything, wishing you’d look at me and realize that I am reachable, I am visible, I am near; you can even trace my bones with your fingertip. I want to scream but in your eyes I am already light years away, I doubt my voice can even find its way to you. I gathered all the words and swallowed it down ignoring the fact that some of them have rough edges, scraping my throat, so it won’t spill on your feet and lie there ignored. I know. I know I am not relevant. I know I’m just there; the last resort, last option, last thought. I know.