B L U R – a collection of woes and happy thoughts

(Note: All photos are taken by me) 

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From the film “A Werewolf Boy” (I do not own the photo. All rights goes to its proper owner.)

Unwanted memories residing in my heart,

Crashes like a tidal wave again.

Like a soft, sadistic melody,

Tears instantly falls.

Time says it’s flying,

(I can hardly differentiate night and day) 

I guess bad memories can grow wings, too.


The black ink of my pen have memorized you,

Like the yellow painted flowers always aching for the sun.

Eyes closed, right and left, periods and parentheses-

My callused hands traced you,

Engulfed in your shadows,

Word by word, it’s all coming back.

(Why aren’t you coming back?) 


Regretful moments locked in these pages,

Your name, always drowning in a pool of bittersweet tears.

(I feel like I’m drowning, too)

The calluses between my fingers are so familiar to you,

(I’m used to the pain called you)

Like the grains of sand in the ocean being kissed away by the waves-

The separation no longer hurts, for it knows you’re going to visit again.


Pages and chapters written to erase your marks in my skull,

Silently pleading the universe to take you away,

Like the way the thunder surrenders itself to the summer breeze.

The hands which once held yours now only writes sad memories of you,

Like a baby uttering its first words,

My calluses repeatedly aches while madly writing for you…

(It knows nothing now but you.)

Shattered Pieces of Me and You


Taken at Cavite, Philippines

All things broken are beautiful,

That’s what my mother said.

When I was five, I pretended to be sick

Closing my eyes, I begged for my temperature to rise.


All things broken are beautiful,

That’s what the writer said.

On my twelfth birthday, you told me I’m beautiful.

Biting my lips, I sent you my paper-wrapped heart.


All things broken are beautiful,

That’s what the song said.

You touched my hands like a fragile piece of glass.

Shaking my head, I sent you away…


For all things broken are beautiful

That’s what the universe told me.

But I’m only 18–already I’m lonely and scarred.

Spitting embers, I promised not to be beautiful again.


All things broken are beautiful,

That’s what I said when I first saw your crooked hands.

You roared with laughter and said, “It’s bullshit.”

Holding my hand, you showed me what beauty is.


All things broken are beautiful,

But beautiful things aren’t always broken.

That’s what your tattoo said.

Kissing it slowly, my scarred self felt beautiful again.