symbolism

T.R.O.Y. (The Ruins Of You)

Folder: 
Confessions

I stand in the ruins of you
carrying the casket
of the memories of us
Once, 
a cradle of holy affection and love.
Here lie the shattered 8 months
of unison prayers, 
jeepney banters,
subtle, orgasmic whispers,
the euphoria of meeting your mother,
and the dreams we built 
on midnight kisses and sacred moans.

The pen you gave me
still holds
its allegiance to you
refusing to spill its ink
thriving on its own will
I grapple it by its neck
and watch it slowly faint.

Lonely hearts from the start,
we relished the thought of a lasting love.
Two candles burn
when two lovers pray.
On our very first date,
I cursed on how you made me wait.
On our very last day,
I prayed that He would make you stay.
People say first impressions last
But you had me only at second glance.

Sober fools in a clandestine night
we laughed and walked for hours and miles
You, holding my bag
Me, holding your hand.
This was before his ghost haunted you
again
alive and well.
This was before in between hours,
you’d forget my whispers
and long for his.
This was before your friend 
called me to say,
“Just let him go. Love is not supposed
to work this way.”

The dark clouds came
and never left.

I stand in the ruins of you,
claws clutching to the ground,
eyes beaten and tired,
feet still shackled 
with the ropes you gave me last June
and every inch of them is an untold story
and each story is a blow to my head.
Love is but a slowly unfolding agony.
Knot
after
knot,
I untangle these shackles I tied myself to.
Knot
after
knot,
I begin to remember 
the life I built around you and me,
the dreamy kisses,
the day I met your friends and family,
the night I got so drunk
you had to forget our fight
to come and get me,
the night you got so drunk
you had to forget our fight
to say you still love me.
But the high wasn’t worth the agony
of knowing that at my lowest point,
confined in a hospital,
covered with punctures,
you successfully abandoned me;
of carrying a bleeding heart every day
and hoping it won't leak;
of feeling the sands of time slip
away from your grasp,
along with all your hope and chance;
of finally choosing to live through hell
hoping that your lover would remember
the warmth of an earthly heaven
you built for yourselves and once lived in.
of knowing that the memory of us
would later turn to dust
and I am to collect them
with bare hands.
Knot
after
knot,
The walls of this temple begin to shatter
I am no longer your prisoner.
I stand in the ruins of you,
claws clutching
on crumpled bed sheets,
rubbles of your promises,
residues of your gifts,
pictures torn to pieces, 
my handwritten notes
a hundred poems, 
a thousand letters
and the ashes of our bodies.
I spread my wings 
and begin to rise
and look up for the clouds
The dark clouds that came
never left.
But I am.
•••

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about moving on.

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Into the Depths of Chaos


I slip into an onyx dream
darker than any decaying thing
From the void trying to fill the void
Like Erebus I too am born of Chaos
-unraveling in a mist of dissonance
The silken noose tightens
I am cast into my own Spellhold-
cursed and forgotten
Pain is a welcomed refuge
Lest the 'stars hide their fires'
I will burn into a blacken ember

The hour of silence beckons
Echidna coils her fiery despair
Round and round, over and over
A mother's love- her beautiful poison
And sinks her fangs while
begging for absolution

I sink below the slithering surface
where nighmares wash away the sadness
There is no peaceful passing
She carves her scars into her child's heart
And only with her blessing does she allow any healing

I slip further into the tangled madness
caught on layers of dissension
The steady beating of despair
is slowly creating a new heir
She shows you the horizon
She tells you it is near
Then she swims in self delusion
all while drowning others with her fear

I close my eyes, I open them wide
Inside a sleepless mind, the quiet
is a beautiful lie
Like it or not I have to choose-
To descend further into a watery grave
or tie the noose 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

**My relationship with my mother can be quite...tumultuous**

Rebirth

Folder: 
Confessions

“Who is he?”

I whisper to myself

as your eyes gaze off to the distance

and treat me with the unbearable silence

I’m a little too late, I guess,

I hear your eyes scream, they confess

It is him who holds your heart

The one you’d rather hold your hand

Under the city lights

In a cold November night

 

But my love for you is greater than his.

 

So do the honor and list down the things

you so liked about him

Watch me burn myself with a pile of leaves

and reborn as him

Just let me be your light, your candle tonight

I can be him, your lover, if you like

I’ll cut my wrist, drain the blood my ancestors

passed on to me

Replace it with the words he whispers

when I’m not around

Let his words flow down my veins so you may speak

and tell me all the things you never say to me

Slit my throat with the screen of the phone you use

To capture his face, his smile, the perfection, your muse

Because you never even once

took a picture of me

— or maybe my image is just

too hideous for you to keep?

What strength of lens does he use, you say?

I can smash mine down if it’s not the same

Use the shards to peel off my skin I so badly hate

Blessed is he to have the kind that keeps you sane

I’ll unclench my claws I’ve spent years to build

Pull them out and mold me his hands and feet

Let the blood spritz all over the room

Let them spell: HERE LIES A HOLY FOOL,

WHO SURRENDERED HIMSELF FOR LOVE —

BECAUSE HIS LOVE WAS NEVER ENOUGH.

Tell my mother I died a sweetest death

And I’ll be waiting in line in the Day of Resurrect

Pour out the gasoline all over my corpse for the final touch

Say a short Ignatian prayer before you strike the match

Watch my skin; watch my veins turn to ash, turn to dust,

as I’m enveloped and swallowed by flames

‘Cause I’m tired of fighting, I’m tired of asking,

“Who is Carl, baby? I’m James.”

 

From now on, call me Carl.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about wanting and loving someone so much you are willing to turn yourself into someone else.

Silver & Gold

Not quite gold

But somehow always compared to it

I've heard of its value,

Its mention through the years

Mostly exsting in wedding bands

Or in cutlery for the wealthy.

I do not know its worth

I do not know gold's either

And there the comparisons continue

I wonder if the element minds

Remaining in second place,

Always being looked down by gold,

Its perfect big brother,

If you will.

Silver makes good heart-shaped lockets,

I'm sure it also serves

To uncover a deadly monster

Featured in Supernatural.

I'm sure silver does not like being silver.

I wouldn't want to be silver.

I think gold is what silver wants to be.

It does not want to end up a knife,

Spoon,

Fork,

Silver wants to be wanted

So much that others fight for it.

Silver wants to be looked at

For its bright color,

Not the dull grayish one

It comes with.

Silver could be gilded,

Though that would make it worthless.

But I don't think silver is that bad

If you really think about it.

Gold attracts too much attention,

While silver is a reserved one.

I know silver wants to be gold,

And to stop being compared and contrasted

Heartlessly

But maybe at the end of the day

Silver just wants to stay silver

Symbolism

Just three more steps 'till the end of the world,
Just three more steps 'till the end of an age,
Just three more steps 'till the end of the time when you have to be afraid.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this poem when I was 15 so the steps represent years. In other words three more steps until I don't have to be afraid of what other people could do to me. At least that's what I thought ha.

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My Box

This box I only give to a few,
But here and now I give it to you.

This box people almost never open,
In fear that it might get broken.

This box is delicate like a vase,
But the real part is in its base.

This box only few can see,
Instead all they look for is me.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is someone giving their heart (the box) to someone. Basically, giving them their love.

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Fly

Folder: 
Misc Poems

I give him one last look.
He assures me.
He preens my feathers,
looks into my eyes for the last time.

He implores me to go on.

I'm just not sure.
My heavy heart will carry me to the ground.
My petty wings will do little to break my fall.
But still,
he believes.

I take the plunge and
to my surprise
I glide through the air.

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