Poetry

Reach for Infinity

Dedicated to my dear friend, Pauline Sahagun. Belated 18th!

When we were young
we learned how to count:
one, two, three…
counting until we run out of fingers
and we continue with our toes.
We continue with the books we read
the crayons we colored with
the forts we built
with the scraped knees
and the grazed elbows
and with the shooting stars
that continue to kiss the night sky.
Soon we started counting the seconds
the full moons
the cups of coffee
the heartbreaks
and the hours spent poring over textbooks
instead of fairytales.
Hours turned to days
turned to months
turned to years
instead of counting the days left
count the minutes you’ve spent breathing
count the laughter instead of tears
count the blessings instead of failures
count the friends instead of enemies
count the stars,
as impossible as it may be.

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Poetry

Mr. Sandman

In the middle of the night
tossing and turning
not a wink turned to sleep
even when I tried counting sheep.
“Where is he?” I cried.
“Oh dear Mr. Sandman,
please creep into my bed tonight.”
Sprinkle those sand
make my lids grow heavy
turn these words into Zzzz’s
turn the darkness into dreams
let me escape this reality.

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Poetry

Why

Why am I so willing
to expose myself to you?
to reveal my deepest secrets
to bare my rawest emotions
to show you my vulnerability

Why am I so willing
to give everything to you?
my every thought
my every corner
from my neck to my knees
every bat of an eyelash
the butterflies in my stomach
every stolen glance

Why am I so willing
to spend my time with you?
trading in my sleep
taking every chance
to hold your hand
to have my head upon your chest
to hear your heartbeat
match my breath
and to feel your heart
close to mine

Please tell me
why you?

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Poetry

Silence

I am drowning
in my own words
unsaid.

Bottling it up.
Covering it up.

“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Everything’s fine.
And I smile.

So I kept this pretty little mouth shut
took the key
and threw it away.

But the words are wound up
tight around my neck
and soon
I suffocate
in my own silence.

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Poetry

Into the Mist

You can feel it
on your skin
the unmistakable tickle
of the rain.
You look up and wonder
how it just seemingly appears
from the dark abyss
of the clouds.
Everyone else runs
yet you stay
unaffected.
You like the way
it caresses your skin
like sweet soft kisses
from the sky.
The rain intensifies
and slowly you too
disappear
into the mist.

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Memoir, Thoughts

What waits after death?

He’s lying down on a velvet cushion. His body is rigid and somebody fastened under his folded hands a beaded rosary and a crucifix. I look at the man in front of me, scrutinizing his face. “Does he look like your grandfather?” my mom whispers. I nod, noting how the slope of his nose and the wrinkle of his brow is an uncanny resemblance to that of my grandfather. Under the incandescent light, I notice how this person’s face has turned rubbery. The flesh where blood once flowed is now stiff and decaying despite the chemicals injected in its veins. This person looks so different from the man in the framed picture on the casket. An elderly woman who I assume to be his wife cries softly behind me.  I remain quiet, respectful.  Death is not something I am familiar with and the emotions that come with it. One would be sad, desperate even, if a loved one has passed away. I have attended a fair amount of funerals at my age. But they’re always of someone I barely knew. This one, in particular, were of my grandfather’s brother. There were no emotions attached, just sympathy out of respect. With this, I wonder how I would react if someone that I dearly love would pass away. Would I cry? Or would I bottle it up, appearing stoic but a mess inside? Would I even be ready? Then again, death is never something you could prepare for. Even those expecting death would waver until their last breath. It’s a question even Hamlet has pondered on. What waits after death? Heaven? Reincarnation? Or simply nothing at all?

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