Poison: Illusions of Grandeur

You dress in a white gown to hide your murky, lecherous soul. You feign innocence with your wide-eyed expression. You stare blankly at someone seemingly to imbue incorruptibility to conceal your dark, evil thoughts.

Pristine. Immaculate. Meek. Gentle. Kind.

You can fool them. But not me.

Donyita, que pasa?

You are shrouded with envy.

I see through you.

Beneath the white robe, you are eviscerated by slithering worms gorging through your pit.

You are nothing but a putrid, insignificant soul who wants to banish other unassuming spirits to be just like you.

I can see you.

Jealous. Frivolous. Friendless.

You don’t deceive me.

Mail Undeliverable: A Year of the Unspoken

I wrote this for him a few months back - I can't remember if it was last year. I'm not sure if I sent it... or if he remembers I did.

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A plethora of emotions all at the same time.

Passion. Love. Happiness. Ecstasy.

Hatred. Remorse. Anguish. Pain.

All for one and only one person.

And perhaps, this dichotomy is what actually draws us together.

Both conflict and similarities make up this strong connection, this uncanny bond that you and I have. That you and I share.

I am drawn to you yet I am appalled by the attraction.

I want to let go, but the more I try to, the more I am coveted.

What brings writhing pain is the reality that the present doesn’t allow us to be together.

You think of me as juvenile, but I am beyond the years I have lived.

Wide-eyed and hopeful, yet also cynical and cautious.

It is uncertain if I believe in forever and ever. Or fairy tale endings.

I always thought that living happily ever after is an evasive and obscure conclusion that happens only in books of children ages 3 until 7.

I don’t know if someone like you does, too.

But if in case you do, may I ask you?

What are you doing for the rest of your life? Do you believe in sharing it with someone?

If and when the rest of your life begins,

Will you find me?

Seeing through

Hers was another hurried morning
A quarter after nine and
She needed to set out
Expectedly, she filled her Sunday
With errands and rendezvous
Looking forward to an extended
Sunday brunch at the lakeside

Pacing back and forth
In front of her dresser
She pulled over her romper
Checked her reflection
Put on her mascara
Glided her berry lipstick
And puckered her lips

As she tied the lace of her platforms
And looked up again
There she was in front of the mirror
The little girl with a stubby face
Small nose that looked like a button
Beneath the peach shades on her cheeks
She never really changed

Her hazel eyes are aged by wisdom
Expression deepened by experience
Wiser than her years
Yet her child-likeness remains
As the little girl stared right back
And smiled sweetly she realized
She remains the heiress to Florentine.