I am afraid to love you

Afraid that you’d find me

hiding behind pretty words

and castles of gold,

only to find that I was

not the person you wanted

me to be

I am afraid that you’ll

see the scars that paint my

skin and the blood that

lingers between my teeth

and decide that maybe I am

too broken to be put back




I am so afraid to fall

for your smile or the twinkle

in your eyes

because your words peel from me

bit by bit everything i

kept sacred behind lips

sewn tight and you kiss them

shackles fall apart and I

am scared because I’m falling

into your dark eyes,

feeling around in the night

and the crunch under my bare


resonate in my skull and I wonder

where you are when I

drown in the sensation of

me without you.

You say you love me more

than I love you but you

don’t know how my

soul has memorized the sound

of your name and repeated it

to itself so many times

every metal and element

is stained with the letters of




So please,

bear with me when I

cannot say I love you

because those words would be

the key to the oceans

stirred up in my soul

and I am afraid you’ll

get washed away with the rest

of the world

and I will be left

standing at my seaside cliff


where you’ve gone.


The Hardest Thing

I’ve always been good at beating around the bush and hiding behind prose, rather than delivering a message straight. My poems or pseudo poems are all tapestries woven from things I wish I had the courage to say.

I’ve always been good at pretending I liked someone or flirting with someone I wasn’t even remotely attracted to; it’s how I get by– knowing that I was in control, that I could disappear if I wanted to, unscathed.

That’s the problem when you pass me by. My heart races and oceans decide to manifest between the folds of my hands, my eyes find nowhere better to rest than the slope of your jawline. I’ve always been good at pretending, but terrible at telling the truth.

When you slip your fingers between mine, I swear my lungs burst into flames; when you brush your lips over my skin, I forget where I am.

You are a book I wish I could keep on my bookshelf, turning page after page into the night; always finding more creases and indentions to love as my fingers find your pages and get cut along your corners. You are that song on the radio I can’t seem to escape from: all one thousand of them.

Do you see now? I’ve never been good at getting to the point.

That’s the hardest thing when a liar like me falls in love.

every day

It starts early morning in the inner reaches of my body
Building up and flowing out through my tear ducts my mouth my wrists
Tearing soul from flesh I am nothing
And by nightfall the demons leave what’s left of me
To put itself back together

I was writing this letter, something that I had been struggling with for a long time; because I’m complete shit at saying things straightforward. That is why I use metaphors, they make my messages so much more rose-colored than they actually are. There are more pressing letters to be written; however.


Dear girl with her hair in a ponytail,

Where do I begin? I have gone over every topic with you– complete existentialist shit to the color of your toenail polish for prom. Where do I begin, and where do I end? Perhaps it is too early to think of an ending just yet, but I will try to be frank, just this once.

In the mornings I look out from the corner of my eye wondering, I wonder what goes through her mind, because it had only been recently when I realized that you were as unhappy as I was; yet here you were, holding it together. In the mornings when people fill spaces and spaces fill people with emptiness in our boring, monotonous, life; I find something to keep me going– sometimes she has her hair in a ponytail. There are no words and no descriptions that I could pin over your heart that would illustrate the kindness it has shown me, there are no words and no descriptions for me to whisper into the wind how grateful I am that you have stuck around for what I’m beginning to think are my darkest days so far.

But I digress, and strip my words from comfortable extravagance.

We may indeed have our differences, but I think that’s what has made things so interesting thus far. I frustrate you, you frustrate me; yet we haven’t decided to set each other alight just yet. You know me so well, perhaps better than anyone will ever know me; and yet…here you stand. Firsthand knowledge tells me that simply reminding you that you are worth so much more than you think will not help, but I’ll do it again anyway.

We’re all confused, and we’re all a little bit sad.

And perhaps you may not notice this, but there is something about you that I think draws people to you. Maybe it’s the quiet intelligence (often overshadowed by terrible, terrible Filipino), maybe it’s the open hands, and open heart. I’m droning on.

What I mean to say is, every good thing that happens— you deserve it. You have carried my cross with me, let me take yours. I don’t know how much this would mean to you, but you have earned my allegiance like I can pledge to no other.

So, if you ever need someone with a little bit of missing conscience to set someone on fire?

You have someone to call.


I’m sorry I’ve been this way, and there are not enough thank yous or nut bars in the world that can express my gratitude.


I’ve been scared a lot lately.

Scared of the life I had built around me, memories of dark nights supposedly infused with alcohol are much too clear to me, my being much too sober to look past the dark and dingy surroundings that I had once enjoyed. I’m afraid I’m losing myself in this mess, I’m afraid I had lost myself much too long ago, and now even the facade is beginning to fade. I’m terrified of the looks I used to long for, the carnal longing– I’m terrified that no one will ever see me as more than a piece of only slightly attractive meat, I’m terrified that in time, I’m going to lose everything I have pushed myself to gain. I’m terrified of college and what it’ll bring me. Whenever I think about it, all I see is gray and a dead end, a monotonous in and out and I’m terrified that I’ll be leaving this school that has housed me for ten years. I may not speak of it, but I’m terrified of leaving these people that I have come to consider family, all nineteen of them. I’m terrified that we will all forget each other amidst the changes in our lives and that while they were making themselves a raft to float upon I was busy trading in my words for alcohol and I will be the only one left. 

I’m terrified people will uncover that I am a pathological liar, that I can weave stories without flinching because I am much too proud to admit that I was wrong. I am afraid that the person I like doesn’t really like me, I am afraid of being alone. I am afraid that I will never be anyone’s first choice. I am afraid to fail my test tomorrow but I am also afraid to even try. I am supposed to be fearless, I am supposed to be able to stare death in the face and not move a millimeter….But I am scared.

I have worked months to get to where I am, but all I want to do is lock myself in my room and never come out, because I am afraid the world will find out who I truly am; because she is dangerously close to breaking the surface.

I pretend to be wilder than I am comfortable with, late nights make me uneasy. Large crowds of people I don’t know make me want to retreat; I get scared when I don’t have my parents around. I do not feel a connection to these people, they judge me and they scare me. Who am I trying to convince? I don’t even know anymore. I just want to rewind time, I just want to pretend none of these fuck ups ever happened. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I fucked up and I let it get this bad and I don’t know where I’m going and I’m losing my mind.