I was born with an extremely rare and incurable disease…
\ ˈsmī(-ə)l \
I’ve been reading more poetry lately.
What does it mean to be free? Spoken word poetry.
More room for regrets. Give me your thoughts, as I seem to have none.
The recollection of love lost is painful,
but the mere existence of love can be an infinite joy.
Reading old works, apparently, is also a bit like awkwardly meeting yourself as a stranger
dreaming the way your lips touched my lips in a kiss,
praying for all our dreams as they built what we wish
Anong pag-ibig o pagpapakasakit?
Anong paglilingkod o pagtitiis?
silence speaks nothing — To be consumed by words until they come stumbling out, arranged and resonant, unwilling to bow to the closure of strict lips. What is that? Where is it– I’ve written copies, and rallies, and letters YET none of the words that reside in me have my heart, and I’m— Scared. SCARED…