of us and what resembles

9:54 AM Unknown 0 Comments

of us and what resembles

a flashy dress that hurts the eye but a fantasy to see,

a dainty souvenir from a cousin’s wedding that mom forgot to bring home,

a sparkler firework that flickers barely longer than a minute,

a childhood best friend you bumped into while you’re running late,

a day-off on a Tuesday or a Thursday;

all exciting,

none meant to last long,

yet still, the throbs are essential to the heart.







  

0 comments:

the scar on the back of her ankle

9:53 AM Unknown 0 Comments

the scars on the back of her ankles

in one fine morning
walked in front of me a woman

I noticed the back of her ankles were scarred,
I am too, familiar with the scars,
I am too, painted with the same scars,
exactly on the back of my ankles,

both of the back of our—hers and mine—ankles are scarred,
the scars are twins, somewhat ellipse-shaped,
and once I heard a tale they conceal:

the scars on the back of her ankles

the scars are twins, somewhat ellipse-shaped,
and once I heard a tale they conceal:

they were born from blisters of femininity;
their father was a pair of uncomfortable shoes that are, ladylike;
their father was a pair of mores that forces women to walk gracefully on their foots sheltered within a pair of pain;
their father was a pair of pretty footwear whom her ankles made love to,
he conveyed only ache but what strength is greater than a woman’s devotion to her  man?

so her ankles devout,
she learned to tolerate the sore,
no one shall ever know the pain,
because what is more dazzling than a woman’s devotion to her man?

it’s a man’s world anyway,
each ellipse-shaped scar borne to the back of her ankle

are left to all
feminine women,
who bleeds for beauty,
because they must be,
and any other soul forbid to know about the pain,
because a lady shall not whine,

thus the scars on the back of her ankles,
in silence they speak for themselves.










.......

what makes one a woman

who sits with her legs closed
whose hair smells like vanilla

who is a mother to a child

or

any soul with courage and compassion?


0 comments:

intense

9:52 AM Unknown 0 Comments

i am vehement and will not lessen

as strong as the midnight tides and will not slow down

as sturdy as the steel and will not soften

as abrupt as the avalanche and will not smoothen

for how mother nature has raised this very soul,


i am vehement and will not lessen.

0 comments:

the tolerated pain

9:51 AM Unknown 0 Comments

i still remember the pain of my first paper cut
i was only eight and it was from my father’s freshly printed sheets
i remember how the sting ached and my cut finger was throbbing

the pain was new to me,
so i wept and wept over the mere flesh wound

now that i have grown older,
i don't cry over paper cuts anymore

for that i am familiar with how it is going to hurt my skin,
the pain is somewhat bearable

although the sting still aches and the cut still throbs,
my body learned how to tolerate the twinge,

and the same goes with why,

i don't cry over heartbreaks anymore

0 comments:

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)