The playboy perfect correction



Because someone
who read it
and knew whom
I was referring to
“You know he can see this, right?”
-the poem
I wrote about him
five years later

“Maybe he’ll call you again…”
once a playboy
still a playboy…(?)

So I tore it down,

I don’t want that to happen
I’m too old

I think
I’m too fragile


The Dreadful Countdown


Christmas is nearing
I stay frozen, eyeing it
as if it’s a dreadful creature

crawling closer to get me…

It’s always been like this since you gone…
days of celebration
birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, New Year
All mutated into scary monsters
hiding in calendar corners,
waiting to inflict slow poison pain on me

Shopping, wrapping, singing, fellowship dinners
make no sense anymore…
Innocent to gallows
they all to me

I cringe with fear

Fear of fake smile plastered to my face
Fear of small talk that I cannot relate
When all I’m only possible of is
Heroin trance with complete silence

Fear of guilt that follows afterward
knowing it’s not their fault
that I cannot be happy without you

I am just fed up

they looking at me
as if I’m a failed terrorist
still adamant about a long forgotten ideology

Last Christmas
I was blessed enough
To forge a fight
To hide in the shadow of upset
Isn’t it lame to play the same trick twice in a row?

So this time?

Should I run away?

I knew I’d miss you of course…
But didn’t
that you’ll make me stumble this long…

Come back, I want to kill you…

Heart resonates

Next Door

Source: Confused by Oscar Alejandro Plascencia

I watch you sleeping,
almost every night.
To keep from you,
I must put up a fight.
And do you know
that this is how I feel?
You feel the same,
I can’t believe it’s real!

Take it slow.
See, my heart’s
Take it slow.
I’m falling
for you.

I hear you’re taking
all this seriously.
It’s not that I’m not,
It’s just…why me?
What do I have
to offer in return?
Let’s face the truth,
I don’t want to get burned!

Take it slow.
See, my heart’s
Take it slow.
I’m falling
for you.

I know our future
is still far ahead,
but like a child,
I fear to find it dead.
I’m just a victim
of this thing called love.
Promise you’ll try
not to push, pull or shove.

Take it slow.
See, my heart’s
Take it slow.
I’m falling
for you.




For you my love
I’d leave everything…

My friends say
Look at him, what are you thinking??
Find one from our own…
What do they mean?
Deep down I feel we belong to the same family

They say I’m just domestic,
Not fit for jungle
Will miss my satin pillows…
What do they mean?
I’m always gonna sleep on top of you, warm
Secure from the whole world

They say you are rough,
That you don’t understand like us,
One day your anger or hunger will finish me off…
What do they mean?

They don’t understand that 

I don’t mind…

With love,

Don’t ask me about my tattoos

Kitty sketchbook


Sometimes hardest is to define our own motives, specially of past.


“Don’t ask me about my tattoos” is one of them. When asked by someone, it’s easy to relate to the meaning. But is that it?

Some ask why hurt yourself?  Or Why so permanent? My granny asked whether I was going insane.

For me it’s not just the tattoo or simply what it means. It represents the day, the year, the different person I was back then, how I waited  impatiently for it to heal, innocent happiness I felt, with whom I was in love with…

You will ask me and I will tell it’s the symbol of freedom. But freedom is not the  sole reason I cherished it all these years… Are people capable of having clear cut reasons for the tattoos they get or things they do?

I remember the day I got my first tattoo. Anxious in a good way… Butterflies in my stomach… for two reasons.

First- my first tattoo

Second- I was there with a friend of mine, a friend that made my heart beat faster at a time I was far too stubborn and shy to accept I am capable of something called love.

I remember how he held my hand while I’m cringing from tiny tinglings of pain… I remember his eyes on me… And how I thanked him afterwards for being such a good friend and how he smiled at my eyes silently making them want to look at my feet…

Now, years and years gone by

whenever I come across that tattoo

I feel it as gold. I run my hand across it and remember his smile…

I feel golden

But I am not going to tell you that. I will be telling “It is the symbol of freedom”…



After all this time I still miss you.

Every time I fail is just a reminder that no one can make me okay like the way you used to do. This might look like ice cold nothing to you, given the way I used to act around you. But now…

Now that you are really not here I do not know what to do.
Without you in my life now I feel cold wind suck me dry, no warm blankets to cover me by.
Warm blankets of your love,
your smile