#Prose: February 21, 2017

Icarus was a foolish man. He was told not to hover near the sun. He did, and he died.

We all are Icarus at one point in our lives. Our head says no but our heart says go. We lived and loved blindly, foolishly.

I had my time. He had his, too. Together, unknowingly, we flew too close to the sun. I might have made sure not to put wax on my wings, but I flew too close for my own passion to burn me down.

I might have fallen, but like a phoenix rising from the ashes, each scar would be a reminder for me to take caution…to take shelter if I have to…to fly once again.

The sun was a temptress. She was too perfect for mortals, yet humans wanted to see the beauty up close and personal. We are not contented creatures. Nothing is ever enough for us.

At one point, we are all the sun. At one point, he or she was the sun. Too perfect, too pure for us. We know we can get to the sun but sometimes we do not have the willpower to work for what we want. We fall, like Icarus.

At some point, we reach the sun. We become so engrossed by the beauty it shows us. We become so obsessed with it, we try to make it our own. I tried to make things my own since I work for what I wanted, despite all the red flags telling me to stop or back down. I was so into the sun. I was so into the love I created. Unconsciously, the sun’s tongues of fire are already consuming me. It did hurt, but I deserved to burn in my own passion and desperation that never ceases to die, like the sun.

Like everyone else, Icarus taught us not to be foolish like him, Like everyone else, the sun taught us that passion can grow to obsession and it’ll be the last of us.

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#Prose: February 2015

Look me in the eyes
And tell me those three words
That I’m dying to hear

Kiss my scars
One by one
And tell me that I’m not my past

Hold me tight when I’m
Caving in
Tell me I’m beautiful and stronger than them

Make me believe in love
And try again

Tell me you will never leave
Like the rest of them

#Prose: March 2015

I remember, when I was younger
How beautiful the fire underneath the burners on our stove was
And if I could just reach out and touch it, then maybe
Maybe I too could be painted in red and blue.
And so when my mother turned away
I found out how hot fire could burn and
What it does to the skin on your fingertips
Even then, I was not afraid of the heat
How could I be afraid of something so
Wonderful-

But then there was you,
You whirled your way into my life
Burning away all I had built up
You were a firestorm stronger than I have ever seen
And suddenly the light under the burners seemed
So cold compared to the light in your eyes
And I thought, again, foolishly
How could I be afraid of something so
Wonderful-

And I forgot how it burns when you get too close to the fire.
But you didn’t let me forget for long,
Because your lips tasted of ash
And your hair smelled like smoke
And I should’ve been afraid, but then
Maybe I liked the slow burn under my skin
And the way you trailed flame
And maybe I liked the smoke slipping through my hands.

I didn’t notice how my fingers had started to turn black
How your lips sparked with every word you spoke
Or how everything had begun to turn dry and dead.

My mistake-

I let you burn everything in your path.

Including me.

And maybe the skin under my fingernails won’t ever by anything but charred.

And maybe I’ll never let go of the heat now under my tongue.

#Prose: September 2015

will you be at my funeral?

i’m just wondering. will you go bury me with my relatives? what will you be wearing? black or white? will you guys release balloons in memory of me? will you guys talk about how i became a part of your lives? did i ever become a part of your life?

will you cry? can you look at me through the casket’s looking glass? will you ever hold my relative’s hand, especially my mother, and comfort them? will you ever say that you have regretted not saying everything you wanted to say while i was alive? would you even say a thing?

will you ever be at my funeral? i guess not. because i have died a lot of times, and you weren’t there. hell, no one was there. i just clutched on my nakedness, aching as every single worm of emotion eats my skin and my very soul. i was all alone. but i coped. i was used to it.

will you ever be at my funeral?

#Prose: May 29, 2015

There are nights when I wake up in the middle and I sometimes find myself struggling or sometimes I would punch the wall where your 4th-year high school picture is taped. Sometimes I wake up scared. Sometimes, mad. And every time this happens, I just look at our picture together, taped on the wall, and wish that you are here right beside me.

With all these recurring nightmares, I wish you are here to hold me in your arms, to tell me that everything will be alright, to assure me that the bad guys cannot reach me. With all these recurring nightmares I see you as my knight in shining armor, sent by Destiny to help me in my fight against my demons. With all these nightmares, your arms became my fortress, my castle, my armor. With the thoughts of you, all these nightmares shift into all the things we have been, and we could have been.

#Prose: Date Undefined

All that we live in is all that we have left
Before the raging fire and before we forget
We lied, we fly, we loved

‘Cause all I wanted was to be loved
No laws, no rules, no boundaries
All I wanted was to be free
No ties, no binds, no lines

‘Cause all are imperfect, all are flawed
The games we play we always fall
Fall apart
‘Cause all I wanted was to be loved