Sa Mata ng Kontrabida

Hindi ko sinasadya
Di ko sinasadyang mahulog sayo
Di ko sinasadyang hanap-hanapin ka ng puso ko
Di ko sinasadyang mahulog sa lalaking may ibang laman ang puso.

Lagi akong nakakarinig ng mga kwento ng pagkasawi sa pag-ibig
At ang laging dahilan ng kanilang sakit
Ay yung ipagpapalit sila sa iba
Puro galit at pait ang nararamdaman ng taong naiwan
Puro kagaguhan naman daw ang alam ng taong nang-iwan
Pero ni minsan wala akong narinig na simpatya para sa kontrabida

Ang akala kasi ng lahat
Kapag ikaw ang bago, pakiramdam mo ikaw na ang panalo
Totoo, pakiramdam mo ikaw ang pinakamagandang babae sa buong mundo
Ikaw ang pinili eh
Pero madaling mawala ang ilusyon

Masakit maramdaman na lagi kang pangalawa
Na lagi kang huli
Na sa bawat masasayang minuto na kasama mo sya
Maiisip mo, “Ginawa rin kaya to nila?”
Na sa mga sandaling kayakap mo sya
Gusto mong magtanong kung ganun din ba sya kahigpit yakapin noon
O baka higit pa?
Na sa bawat dampi ng labi mo sa labi nya
Tatanungin mo ang sarili mo, “Kasintamis ba ng halik ko ang sa kanya?”
Na sa bawat gabing katabi mo syang mahimbing na natutulog, wala kang ibang maisip kundi “Ako kaya ang napapanaginipan nya, o sya?”
Na sa bawat pag gising mas nya, tinatakot ka ng posibilidad na nagsisisi na sya na ikaw ang pinili nya.

Kahit kailan di ka mapapanatag dahil alam mong
Tulad ng nakaraang relasyon nya
Wala kayong kasiguraduhan
Lagi kang magagambala ng takot
Na baka sa pag gising mo’y wala na sya
Tulad ng pagkawala nya sa nakalipas nya

Napakahirap magmahal pero mas
Mahirap magmahal kapag alam mong may kakumpetensya ka
Mahirap magmahal kapag alam mong may nasaktan ka
Mahirap magmahal kapag alam mong ang puso’t isip nya ay punong-puno ng bakas ng taong pinalitan mo
Mahirap magmahal kapag alam mong sa mata ng lahat
Ikaw ang kontrabida

Last Night

He was standing there, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other holding the roll of cannabis resting between his lips. The pungent smell of smoke emanated off him, billowing in wisps in the air. He was silent – his arrogant, lopsided smile on those lips, his eyes boring holes into hers.

She was sitting on the floor, exhausted, naked except for the blanket that’s providing her protection, her eyes bloodshot from her crying that started the night before. She was tired – she hasn’t eaten nor slept. And yet he has the audacity to touch her, to demand her body’s submission. How dare him.

He didn’t want to force her. He cherished her… but last night. Last night he wasn’t the man he is. He was fucked. He was stoned, and she started screaming about his “irresponsibility”. He snapped, angry that his buzz was destroyed. He didn’t want to hold tight her thin wrists in his fists, didn’t want to cover her mouth as she screamed for him to stop, to get off, to have pity, to please, please stop.

She didn’t want to beg. It was beneath her. But last night, she swallowed her pride, and pleaded for the man she thought she knew, to stop. Tears were streaming on her face, yet he ignored it. Something in her broke – she willed for her body to separate from her soul. She wants out. She wants to escape.

He knew it was wrong. But he can’t stop – she was like a drug, and he was hooked. He had let go of her hands, and she was thrashing, writhing, against him, her nails digging in his back, raking, drawing blood. He was travelling between pain and pleasure, he was hooked. And he wanted more.

The pillows swallowed her tears as she submitted to his domination. His hands were rough and hard on her. She’s already sure of the bruises that will appear on her hips, her thighs, her shoulders, and her back. His lips, though, were a contrast of his hands: sweet and feathery kisses travelled through her skin. Until they reached her nape, and bit hard. Another bruise. She felt him pull her hair, and she prayed he’d pull hard enough to extinguish all the oxygen in her brain, so that her heart would do the thinking.

Her whimpers sent him over the edge. As he lay on top of her, kissing her back, he felt her heart hammering. He felt her struggle to get him off, but he held his place. He kissed her shoulder, rested his head between her shoulder blades. He knew he was hurting her, his weight too much for her thin body. He knew he hurt her.

She felt empty, dirty and tainted. He had never done this before; she’s now questioning the love he said he has for her. She struggled to get him off; he did, after a while, feeling her discomfort. Her tears started to fall again as she turned her back to him. She felt his arm pull her close, and as he rested his head on her shoulder, he cried his apology.

She felt his tears on her shoulder, sliding down. She felt his body shudder as sobs wracked his body. Her heart clenched. She knew she shouldn’t forgive him. She knew this is wrong. But at this point, she doesn’t care anymore. The hazy smoke has clouded her judgment perhaps, but fuck it, she doesn’t care anymore. She turned to look into his eyes and kiss him on the lips. As she moved atop him, savouring her slow descent, his hands strong yet gentle on her waist, she kissed his tears away. This is her, this is him. This is them. Eyes locked, fingers intertwined, together they knew, this is right.

Ten

One

If my tear-stained sheets and mascara-smeared pillows could talk

They would speak of my desperation and death each day

Two

I’ve always loved the night

For I find comfort in the dark

But how can I embrace the shadows

If every time I close my eyes I see you?

Three

You are the best thing that ever happened to me

Four

You are the worst thing that ever happened to me because

Five

I love you

I love you like it’s the only thing I can do best

I love you like you’re the air I’m struggling to breathe

I love you like you’re the blood running in my veins but

Six

I was just the bandage to your wounds

When she slashed your heart and left you bleeding

Having eaten nothing but her old messages

Seven

I was there for you

I gave my everything to you

I even let you use my own flesh and blood to reconstruct your broken heart but

Eight

Eight

When the wounds healed, the scars spelled out her name

But you know what hurts the most? It’s when

Nine

You let her open your wounds again

And you come running back to me, begging for another reconstructive surgery

Not realizing that because I gave you my heart to use

It was my heart she killed when you let her run you over again

Ten

I am broken

I am dead

I have nothing more to give

Because nothing to me has been left

And I,

I will be forever marred

By the scars that will always, always

Spell out your name.

Assumptions

When I was little, I thought love was magical, eternal.  I thought wrong.

Growing up in a house torn by flames of ice and screams of silence, I thought love was impossible. I thought wrong.

The first boy who made me smile despite my fears, I thought he was love. I thought wrong.

The first man who made me follow my heart, I thought he was love. I thought wrong.

The first man who made me fight, I thought he was love. I thought wrong.

I’ve collected a notebook full of all my assumptions

I’ve stored a memory full of my thoughts

I’ve kept a heart full of tears and pain, sealed it with an ice chain, and threw the key into my river of wrath.

I am alone.

I am happy.

I am strong.

I thought wrong.

The first man who listened to what I have to say, I thought he was love.

The first man who made me feel like I belong, I thought he was love.

The first man who faced my fears with me, I thought he was love.

The first man who gave warmth to my cold heart, I thought he was love.

The first man who brought light to my dark soul, I thought he was love.

I thought right.

But he has stolen my heart and ran away with it

And now all I have left is a gaping hole in my chest,

Which only his name could fill.

I thought love could kill.

I thought right – it always will.

Bad Love

Tick tock tick tock

Hear the ticking of the clock, sweetie.

It’s counting down your life.

Listen to your heavy breathing.

Is the adrenaline rushing through your veins already?

Tell me, are you deciding – fight or flight?

I see your trembling hands, and I can’t help but laugh.

You’re feeling fear.

Good, good.

Now you know how I feel.

Now you know how I’ve been living for years.

Now you know how much effort I have to exert every time you come near.

Now you know how I have to stifle my cries every time you hurt me.

I’m black and blue, body and soul.

You’ve ruined me.

Yet you stood there with blank eyes, pretending not to know why I’m breaking down.

It’s payback time, love.

Run, I’m giving you a headstart.

Let’s play hide-and-seek.

I find you, you’d feel my vengeance.

You escape? No worries, I’ll still hunt you down.

Cry now.

Shed tears for your life.

Listen to your heart beating.

Feel the pounding.

The glint of my knife will be the last reflection in your eyes.

I Self-Harm

I self-harm.
And no, it isn’t about creating dramas for attention.
No, I’m not doing for the sake of popularity, for coolness.
No, it isn’t romantic.
I self-harm.
Not because I want to die,
But because I want to live.
I self-harm.
Not because I want to get hurt,
But because I want to be relieved.
I self-harm
Because I want to feel
I self-harm because the bite of the blade
Into my flesh is the only
Link to reality that I have
I self-harm
Because I am so damaged that I need to see my blood flow
To convince myself that I am still alive
That I’m breathing
That I exist
That I am still human
Warm with flesh and bones and blood
Not the dead rotting corpse I feel inside.
I self-harm
Because I am a destructive force and
I don’t want to leave debris trailing in my wake
I’d rather hurt myself.
I self-harm
Because it’s the only drug I can have
To keep me sane me as I continue to breathe.
So..
To the person who thought that cutting her wrist and showing it off
To gain the sympathy of others is the
Sure fire way to be popular and cool
You never fooled me.
That isn’t the face of depression.
That’s a narcissist hiding behind the mask of self-mutilation.
Do you want to know how it really looks like?
It looks like blades and cutters hidden in the back of the drawers
It looks like clothes stained with blood and tears
It looks like long sleeves in the summer
And pants in the beach
It’s the shame you feel
Every time you think of how weak you are.
It isn’t about your boyfriend kissing your wrists
Telling you how beautiful you are in his eyes
No. You are not beautiful.
Not in the way they say anyway.
Because you are scarred with your lost battles with your demons.
The only way you can be beautiful is when
You survive and look back and glow
With pride as you think of how strong you’ve become.
Don’t get me wrong.
You are still whole, you are still unique, you are still wonderful
And believe me, your wounds will heal and close
But the ugly scars will forever stay
In places only you can see.

Nostalgia

I miss you
Like a grass plucked from the field
Like a shell washed from the shore
I miss you
Like a bottle thrown out to the sea
Like a tree uprooted from its home
I miss you
Like the love always needed
Like the comfort always wanted
I miss you
Like an angel thrown out of heaven
Like the devil taken from hell
I miss you
Like how I miss my home
Like how my heart aches for yours
I miss you

Happiness

February 1, 2015.
I wonder if you still remember that day. I do. It was the day you asked me that question: “How would you define happiness?”
It started everything.
My answer varied from time to time.
After months of being in love with you, here’s my answer:
Happiness is seeing your messages on my phone.
Happiness is going through our conversations.
Happiness is waiting for your free time.
Happiness is the moment your name appears whenever you call.
Happiness is hearing you sing for me.
Happiness is making up after days of fighting.
Happiness is asking for forgiveness every time I push you away.
Happiness… is not always there but..
Happiness is knowing you want someone else but still stayed with me.
Happiness is picking myself back up again after you broke me.
Happiness is when you chased me again when I gave up on you.
Happiness is you putting me back together after I inadvertently broke myself again.
Happiness is seeing you change.
Happiness is feeling that finally.. this love isn’t unrequited anymore.
Happiness is loving you unconditionally.
Happiness is holding your hand.
Happiness is looking at your eyes.
Happiness is being with you.
Happiness is knowing that I can  love more than I thought I can.
Happiness is being loved by you.
Happiness is loving you.
You’re my definition of happiness.

Rue

What would your life be today if you only did what you didn’t?
Has it ever crossed your mind that you could be happier than you already are?
If you only…
Took that single step?
Looked back before running away?
Given than chance?
What if that single choice could take away all that pain and regret?
If ever you’re given the chance to go back in time to change the past, will you take it?
Will you exchange your experiences and lessons learned for that single thing every soul, including yours, is searching for – happiness?
But what if your happiness would mean someone else’s sorrow?
Will you be truly happy then, knowing that while you smile, someone will cry?
You are aware that for every action you make, every step you take, will affect the lives of all the people around you, right?
Knowing so then, will you still change the course of your life for your fulfillment, at the expense of the happiness of everyone else around you?
Will you be selfless, giving way for their sake, sacrificing your personal contentment, letting go of the promise of hope?
Or will you be selfish, putting them aside, fulfilling your heart’s desire, grasping what you regretfully let go of a long time ago?
What if everything hung at the blink of an eye, in that split second you’re given to decide?
What would your choice be?

Jump!

“Maybe tonight you’re scared of falling, and maybe there’s somebody here or somewhere else you’re thinking about, worrying over, fretting over, trying to figure out if you want to fall, or how and when you’re gonna land, and I gotta tell you friends that to stop thinking about the landing, because it’s all about falling.” 

                      —   Tiny Cooper
Have you ever wondered why we live our life the way we do? Why do we do the things we do? Has it ever crossed your mind to ask, “Why am I living like this?”? Do we live the way we do because we have no other choice but to do it? Do we live it like this to seek greater glory? Or maybe to fulfill the “mission” supposedly given to us? Or do we live our life the way we do because we are afraid to take that leap over the edge?
Tiny Cooper’s quote of brilliance hits dead-on the dilemma of living our life. Almost all of us stay within the circle of safety, braving life with hesitancy and doubts, all because we are afraid to get hurt. Because we are afraid to be called failures. Because we are too afraid to be laughed at.
This just proves that we humans are too stubborn to learn what life keeps on telling us: at some point or another, we are bound to fail, but it should never be an excuse to stop. Because, at some point or another, we are also bound to succeed. Life is a balance – successes and failures, happy and sad, black and white, yin and yang. But between the two extremes lies the medium that leads us the way: the journey.
As the famous cliché goes, “It’s not about the destination; it’s about the journey”, the journey – the “falling” of Tiny’s quote – is what life is ultimately about. It is not really the glory of success or the pain of failure that consumes us – it is the journey we have taken on the way to the extreme. Life, as tragic as it may seem, is almost always a series of constant failure. It is as if it is programmed to give us humans failures upon failures upon failures, giving success a “one shot only opportunity” quality. This is where “falling” comes in. We fall and fall and fall to land painfully on hard ground, just so that we can jump and then fall all over again.
It’s a cycle really. You jump, you fall, you land, you stand back up and then jump again, repeating the whole process, until finally, you seize that one-shot-only success. Until you’ve done the whole harsh thing, you could not say that you’ve lived life to the fullest. Living life to the fullest means jumping, falling, just to land to jump all over again. It’s about taking risks and facing challenges head on. It’s about facing your fears, braving life with a certainty that you will eventually achieve what you are trying to achieve.

 

So live your life – jump over the edge of fear, land, and then jump again. Because that is life: landing from a bad fall only to jump and fall again. It’s picking the pieces of your broken self and starting all over again. It is about never stopping and making excuses. Because as you fall, as you live, you realize: life isn’t just actually about falling; it’s about embracing it, so that it becomes about the floating.