Sing to me some of your best sleeper hits.
I have a malleable personality...
...and in my strongest, I would eclipse everyone,
All these rooms occupied by a singular tenant, a giant
paroxysmic Mammon snug in his trousers.
I sew pajymas made out of people’s hearts.
We talk and solder in the form of bonds and treaties.
You are a treasurer of pain, nonetheless, and nothing more
than a questioning thug delivered into proviso, caveats.
I already got what I came for. My ears no longer work.
There is an off-switch at the base of this here palette
and in my throat, rusted spires
and a fu ...Read more
I brought with me a skill I call magic tampering,
so innate, it is where my personality's based. And so I locked myself in rooms,
waited 'til the anger thaws.
I do not want to be waiting for years in this here orchestra,
with their antibiotic eyes and phrenoplegic ears, and their
synthesized vocabularies, estimable lats
I still don't know what synergy means and I hear a ton of word fascists use it on the daily.
It's fun. Real funny, at the sides of the peepholes where people pretend like its their day job
A five to seven overwork, and I am new to this collapsing asceticism
Zoroastrian ...Read more
Don't speak my name
Don't you dare
Dare speak my given name
The one I never had a choice with
The one that child would grow up to despise
I am who I am right now
This collection of shame and of beauty,
of tragedy and of tact
Not the most prestige nor the most grand of becomings
But they are mine and mine to wear as I choose
Can barely compose myself...
Can barely think...
The ground glow orange
Wheat like cigarette ash
'round me, the cast of burning tower
like women alone in their forties
and the world that wrongly taught them sadness
You speak to me about truth
but your trut ...Read more
You can’t feed art to goats.
They cannot tell between grass and paper,
Brass and paint.
It will be a waste of your masterpiece,
Of your time and of your effort.
You cannot coat rock with silver,
Pare tins with gold,
Or ask the dead about warship expecting ammunition be sold.
They won’t cry at it like you did. Your tears will not translate to the dry untested tongue of another;
Like in row of pneuma. Guillotine. Heather bed.
You can’t feed art to goats
Like you can’t mix glass to water,
Container, shrapnel. You’d have to be stupid; Alicean to drink.
Color my pictures,
Let me live out from your black and whites and tools that are limited, you can
bring me to life, unpetrified. I want to live as
blazing rain in lupine fields. Everyone I meet be manganese oxide.
Like Anthony in the white clouds,
Too young to depart,
Too pure for this world.
I choose to be remembered as I remember him,
with his scabs and swear words doused and dissolved
in purity of childlike soul.
Sky roses aren't real.
You have to paint the petals blue.
Good in theory? Theory's not enough. Make them real.
Are you vindictive like me? Open your palm. Give me two. ...Read more
There's pride in sharing
And then there's bowing down
To lust upon Hollywoodizing mythologies
my kababayan are eager to laud about
It's easier to hate your own, hate your own, hate your own
Because you wait for the paint to turn to white
So you can appreciate them?
With what? A bigger pocket?
A better dress?
What to you makes a better dress?
One that submits to universal attention?
But they weren't designed after Western values
They were made for your immediates' eyes
You twist your tongue to sound like you come
from another village
and pity those who still talk like the previou ...Read more
Ace was keeping score
His friends didn't know it, but he was keeping score
He doesn't know himself, doesn't know his loved ones
Doesn't get to know the world revolving around him when he's parked
He's the getaway vehicle to the getaway beach
Left on the street overlooking the ocean and the sun
Distanced from all the joyous commotions
between him and his peers, the embracing warmth of the sand
As Bethany and Brent and Brenda smile and sip in margaritas
He's the odd fourth wheel in a group of strong personalities
Him, the quiet
Him, the weakest
Him, the one who makes sentimental call ...Read more
Part I: Chaos And Religion
If you had a nickel for every time you crossed the road rooting
for speeding cars to hit you in the middle
in the middle where you close your eyes, waiting for that glorious fin
Knowing that you will not get cheered on in the afterlife
and you're okay with it
But in the cold in-betweens and moments of internal chaos
that have you wondering
should you give in to theism, humanity's greatest vanity
bow down to deities, pray to non-existing endless varieties
that your mother and her sisters would not shut up about
that the world wouldn't stop shoving down our ...Read more
is a machine
What does the machine yearn for?
Why do the hinges, greased in oil, still fear of rust
You are made of, supposed to be made of
metal, your heart is pure adamantine, but your lungs are agony
On one end, your creator
door with all the answers, so ask away
Why you are the way that you are
And how your pieces
so effortlessly ugly
closer to your reflection
and think about your arms
and the arms of the many whom you cannot be
Have you not worked hard enough to sculpt your bones, your very genes
into the likes of those you consider maste ...Read more
Lovely, these metaphors you sing for your sadness
Like four blankets at night to keep your hypothermic heart from collapsing, contracting
Just like a sitcom but never funny
I see through your sunny, honey
I see through your morbid
Speak to me more about your profound nonsense
You and your posts
You and your profile pictures captioned with inspirational bullshit
You aren’t warm
But you can try– cry as you do
Throw your bullets at easy targets, now, now
Those people are designed to be taken down easy
Or at least,
In your head,
You do not want to go back to the p ...Read more
I disassembled my body
and created a confessor
a parent in my head
Told her things
I weren't ready to share with the world yet
Held her hand, She took mine
as ether poured light into me
She was the practice dummy I bore my soul to
A subreddit dedicated to the unburrowing of my sins
Her ears were always pressed to my shriveled mouth
as teeth clinked to wail out despair
Stood there in silence
and allowed her to love me as I yearned to be loved
Why do you look like my mother?
Why do you sound like her
feel like her
Resemble her in every way but tangible
Why were you t ...Read more
I am not alright with dying.
I am not alright with living, either.
I am stuck in the pathos in between,
A purgatory of my own making.
One thread, one sledgehammer of my own sins.
Some times I hate everyone. Some times I hate myself. I’m sick. I’m dizzy.
Growing peaches in the dark.
Nectarine before the fall,
Remedric after thaw.
The world rushes straight, heteronormative too much,
Disputes over land,
Made-up histo[r]ic value,
Burying children in the sand.
Surely the gods didn’t put us here to argue but, boy, do you enjoy it.
Forward. ...Read more
You do not compare to him
All your work and you still do not compare to him
You aren't even a pale imitation
Just a passing soul that will never be good enough
You set his picture as your screensaver
A telltale of a man you will never become
That green sun pierces through your blinds
Consume you with gusto
like burns on your face
You will never be that sight for sore eyes
That calms the city and lull giants to sleep
They want not your flesh and will toss you aside
for fresher peach, a ...Read more
Anarchy of the mind.
I wrote some welcome-to-my-blog remarks, which you can read here.