dear a.g.,
yes you, mr. most boyish smile with those
round brown eyes, and long lashes.
once you figure out this is about you,
you can freak out, because i get it.
i’m asking myself questions too.
why does this exist? why is it a poem?
am i a creep for writing it?
so keep it to yourself, and i’ll let you in
on a secret. this poem is more about me
than it is about you. that more than breaking
my own heart, i’m pissed at myself
that i didn’t talk to you more. that i didn’t
have the guts to ask why your eyes were
on me the whole time. well, most likely
i was hallucinating. because now you’re
on the radio, you’re in movies!
that killer smile is on all these big screens!
yes, you’re even further away from me
than when we met as awkward teenagers
taking a high school fashion show
way too seriously. either way, i do hope the dream
you’re living is the one you’ve always had.
if it’s not, i don’t believe it’s any of my business.
i have no right to assume i know anything about
who you are now, or even back then. and i’d hate
to waste more of your time, so i'll cut to the chase.
back in that busy backstage room, all the lights
pulsed white and the noise from everyone
around us billowed out into thin air,
because you were all i tried not to think about.
because you looked really cool.
because i thought, this guy’s so cute,
he’s making me nervous.
but my voice was stuck in my throat,
only because i didn’t believe i could ever
be worth letting myself feel anything.
so, let’s settle things. i’ll ask the question
that’s been killing me all of these years,
ever since i was 16. the question i wish i asked
as soon as i noticed your eyes, bright brown,
and almost curious—looking at me.
did you find me cute too?
ang sugat
Nahihilo ako sa lasa
ng magdasal.
Tila dugo sa dila
na maalat bago matamis;
at napupuno ang tiyan ko
sa sarili kong
mga kasalanan.
Kaya't nang kagatin
mo ako sa labi
walang mas tunay
kaysa sa masaktan
nang ganito:
kung saan ang Diyos
lamang ang may alam
na may pinagkaiba
ang parusa
sa isang pangako.
the cut
I get dizzy on the
taste of prayer.
Like blood on my tongue,
salty before it’s sweet;
and my stomach fills up
with my own
sins.
So when you bite
my lip
nothing is more true
than to be hurt
like this:
where only God
is the one who knows
there is a difference
between punishment
and a promise.
二人だけ
雨が降るまで
くちびるに
寂しい言葉
を今咲かせる
Only the two of us
Until the rain falls
On our lips
Lonely words
Now bloom.
some truisms from six years of making playlists for every month
huh.
it’s been ordinarily maddening, that
i can’t get this boy out of my head.
but i think i’m okay.
i guess i’m fresh, funky, and
functional, when these late nights
get crazy, and those even later nights
get fresh.
you know, if i could time travel
i’d go sightseeing with boys
like you, who listen to me.
where, i’m giving in, breathing out.
where, i could tell myself i’m doing better now.
where you could hold me, yes,
hold me!
hm, so much music in October.
oh, dear god, I listen to too much music
well, i have a lot of favorite songs
because i’ve been listening to
music my whole life.
besides that, here are
some things i’m learning:
the sewing machine,
the guitar, and how to
fix my sleep schedule,
because to recover myself
demands a dare
to search for my ghosts.
so bring in the august poetry,
look into the cartography,
the parts of a whole,
what’s missing, what’s missed,
and everything will be okay.
yes, music is finally hitting again.
though i think
i’m getting ahead of myself here:
when shame is the opposite of art,
when it’s all too late,
when days go by,
you find a way to change.
you find that humor beats self loathing.
because yes, there are mysteries
for a reason, but
existence is still as innocent
as falling in love with some guy,
when you were like 15.
The Hanged Man
“How are you?” Well,
I blame myself that I need someone
to ask me that question before I realize I’m
exhausted. I’ve been reading tarot recently,
to teach myself something. But the longer
I shuffle the cards the less familiar I become
with my own hands. Fate is small and enormous—
It makes me claustrophobic. It’s not conducive
To the confusion and the pain.
And I’m just looking for the exit. But everything,
all the rooms and the edges, they all look the same
to me these days, especially now that
I can stop the moment someone tells me to stop.
There, I’m done. I’ll take all the small steps.
I’ll reply to this email. I’ll drink more water.
I’ll workout in the mornings. I’ll seek a support system.
I’ll take my medicine to the point that I’ll ask myself
why I’m me, so it wouldn’t be lying when I say I’m fine.
I can’t answer that kind of question anyway. Not
without my whole life flashing before my eyes, not without
feeling sick. Because it shocks me. I don’t know what to do
when you ask, when you choose your words with care,
when all the cards fall unto the floor, and you’re right in
front of me. Suddenly there are no lessons to learn, suddenly
I exist, like a punch to the gut. I keep telling myself
things could get just get worse, so I have no choice
but to endure it, but how do I even begin
to handle you looking into me?
After Summer Rain
While I wait
for the rain to stop,
insight escapes me
because my past started
to extend into a bigger
picture. Just recently,
for forever. Was it real,
the tremble, or was it alive,
the swallowtail?
I am waiting for it to stop,
neither resting nor dead,
just enough for it to be safe.
Why did joy only exist in
a memory?
A swan weeping
in its own private
moments. Every friend
bearing infinite shame.
A mother’s mother is
looking for her.
Yes,
real prayers do not fail,
but sometimes we are not
ready to return to ourselves.
But I forget the details, like
an angel’s name in a dream,
the dog chasing the frog,
and the sister’s soaked
shoes.
While I wait
for the rain to stop,
I somehow choose
impatience. I must bring to
you your blue baby’s breath
flowers. Which just means
I nearly forgot
you were glad to see me.
June 30, 2025
[Chapbook] Apophasis
This is the creative manuscript of my undergraduate thesis, which I am uploading on here to read for free :)
About the Poetry Collection Apophasis is a chapbook comprised of 24 poems that makes use of a variety of forms including fixed forms, tables, dictionary entries, and free verse. Its main poetic procedure is to utilize an empty space for every mention of the word "God." In doing so, the representation of God was challenged amidst discussions of sexual trauma, (dis)embodiment, and unreality.