You overheard someone calling you a bitch in the hallway today,
Maybe it’s because of the color painted on your lips.
It was dark, crimson red–the color of blood.
“Bitch,” she said.
Three AM, your phone was ringing,
“I want to die,” a friend whispered.
You painted your lips with a dark, crimson red–the color of blood.
Maybe they won’t notice how much it quivers.
You saw it in a stranger’s eyes while looking at you,
Maybe it’s because you closed your eyes in the whole jeepney ride–
Pretending not to hear any sound.
You saw the marks on her wrists yesterday,
Eyes filled with tears, you offered her a hug.
Closing your eyes, you acted like nothing’s wrong.
Someone asked you if your heart is functioning correctly,
If you have a capability to feel anything–
Maybe it’s because of your straight face, the one you always wear.
She offered you a smile today, claiming she’s fine,
“The last person who said that is now lying on the ground, out of breath,” you wanted to say.
Maybe it’s because you no longer possess your heart but why aren’t you feeling anything?
You saw yourself in the mirror today.
Maybe it’s because of all of the needless crying,
Sometimes you wish you could be one.