eccentric mundanes
Aide | A Christian | Writing prose in poetry | quirky | PH

     Sometimes, I feel like there’s a need for me to pamper myself with my own bare hands. When you touched me, I feel like all the parts of my body conspire for each of their functions to familiarize with the jolt you’re giving me. And I sometimes allow my velvet palm to roam around my body to warm them up — or at least, to make me feel alive. The first time you press your skin against mine, I no longer consider them mine but yours already. I felt like parts of me have been truncated off of my body that I feel alienated and betrayed by them a bit. This was the moment when my hands involuntarily tremble whenever the thought of you caressing me after having a long trip was the only way to calm my self. This was when my legs quivered when your hands are crawling from my thighs up. This was when my lips are shaking whenever I dream of you kissing me in the midst of the night. I can’t control them anymore and you are the very thing they want. I’m sorry if I’m using them as an excuse of me not wanting to admit that I want you back. But this is just to know you that I don’t feel nestled in my own solace without you.

(Source: peculiarian)

16.10.14  11 notes  reblog
lit  # thewritesguild  # spilled ink  # thoughts  

Mahal ni hindi ko alam kung bakit mo ibinigay ang lahat. Ni hindi ko alam kung bakit hindi mo naisip na iyon ay akin na. Na sana wala nag bawian pa. Araw-araw hinihilod ko ang marka ng pagdampi ng mga malalambot mong labi ngunit ang halik mo ay kumikislot pa rin sa mga bahagi ng aking katawan. Pumapailalim pa rin sila sa mga balat na minsan nang nila’y naging tahanan. Sa ngayon nanatili pa rin akong magpakatatag para sa atin. Dahil kasama ka pa rin sa lahat ng aking inaalala kahit tayo ay wala na.

Mahal. Ibinigay ko rin naman ang lahat. Ipinagsiksikan ko ang mga haplos sa iyong katawan na walang ibang alam gawin kundi balutin ng pagmamahal ang mga parte ng iyong pagkatao na hindi na nangangailangan pa nito. Lipos ka na sa pagmamahal. Isang bagay na kinatakutan ko kung maaalala mo pa ba ang uri ng pagmamahal na ipinamalas ko sa’yo.

Mahal. Kung sinabi mong binigay mo na ang lahat, ngayon ba’y nasan ka? Masaya ka na ba sa piling ng iba at ako ba’y nakalimutan na?

(Source: peculiarian)

13.10.14  9 notes  reblog
‘‘ Dahil isang beses, may nagsabi sa akin na ang hindi marunong magpatawad ay hindi makapagsusulat. Kaya mahal, sa pagkakataong ito, sa huling pagkakataon na magsusulat ako ng tula para sa’yo, gumawa tayo ng kasunduan: patatawarin kita pero patatawarin mo rin ako.
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pagtahan at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pagluha.
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pananahimik at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pagsasalita.
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko pag-alis at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo pananatili.
Patawarin mo ako sa hindi ko sa’yo paglimot at patatawarin kita sa hindi mo sa’kin pagpili.
——  Ang Huling Tula na Isusulat Ko Para Sa’yo ni Juan Miguel Severo
12.10.14  13 notes  reblog

These are the moments when being fine bothers me:
     I woke up with the feeling of wanting to wipe my tears off of my eyes again. But my pillows weren’t soaked with my own tears and I feel fine. And I told myself, “Hey, it’s been so long that you haven’t cried yourself out. This is gonna be a great day. You are fine." I walked down the stairs and the couch is empty. My grandmother who used to lie down all-day long is not there anymore. She suffered and died from breast cancer last year. At times, that unpleasant smell still crawls in my nostrils. It is not that nice but it reminds me of her. I miss her so much. Time really flies so fast. I rode a bus and the seat next to me is vacated and occupied from time to time. My childhood best friend who moved to another city is not there anymore. I don’t have any shoulder to lean on. I feel alone.
     Then I realized that all my life, I am longing. And I sometimes wonder if people are really made for that and why can’t they experience utter happiness; why nostalgia seems to interfere when we’re already at places we’re supposed to be? Maybe, we people really long for suffering. We burn an enormous amount of effort nursing and stirring the residue of the past — maybe because it is the only way to remember how much we loved and how much it made life worth living. Maybe, we want ourselves to be vulnerable for someone to pick us up because we can’t carry our weights alone. That being broken at times makes us more attractive for people whose on the same page with us. I am still longing for the things, people and feeling that I know won’t be at my reach anymore. But this drives me to create beautiful memories alike or more than those moments that jolted my bones. And I hope, somewhere out there, someone also longs for me too. Proving that not all people who you long for already drifted away. That some are just coming your way. 

(Source: peculiarian)

2.10.14  15 notes  reblog
prose  # thewritersguild  # spilled ink  # thoughts  # personal  # lit  
‘‘ I am made of these:
fractured smile,
creased skin,
half-mended scars,
distorted spine,
and duplicitous face.
I have a habit of
reopening past wounds
and I don’t want you to
stop me. Don’t deprive
me of something that
made me happy because
memories are for keeps
even if they are jolting my
insides and kept me from
being asleep at night.
I am brittle and I am
not malleable so don’t
reshape me into vessels
because I’ll always feel
unfit for changing me
into who I’m not.
I am frangible; so please
do handle me with care.
—— frangible, abr (via peculiarian)
26.9.14  30 notes  reblog

     These days, I am kind of obsessing with lines, creases on skin, contours and orifices of the body. I’ve been trying to trace the patterns and paths they’re traversing themselves. And I ask myself why can’t I be either linear, spiral or anything that exudes me being supple like them. The reason why I’m trying to jot the evidences that these little things have something to prove is that I’ve been wanting to connect every fiber in my body with yours. I wonder how these parts of my body can be an extension to yours. I’ve been honing my jawlines strong enough for the people to see that I’m tougher than what they think. I’ve been trying to widen these kind of chinky eyes for people to at least see how sullen they can be — that they need another set of eyes to conspire what their irises are trying to see beyond what our peripherals are capable of seeing; the universe. And I’ve been trying to at least accept the fact that my pores are getting larger because flowers are gonna bloom from it. These are the ornaments that people can’t accept because they probably consider them the things that make them ugly. But it’s tedious memorizing how many times you said that you’re not good enough for anyone, that there’s no enough spaces in your thighs to write all these vandals you’ve been hiding under your skirt to keep your insecurities from the world. And this I will promise you: on the coming days of my obsession on studying how outlines and patterns are up to serve a living purpose for the helpless, if I didn’t still see any of these imperfections heal under my clothes, I’ll heal your first because I can get use to these scars in a span of time. But I need your love to be a catalyst for that. Feed me.

(Source: peculiarian)

31.8.14  35 notes  reblog
prose  # spilled ink  # thewritersguild  
‘‘ Your story is already painted
on your skin so you don’t need
to have any stranger to color
the parts of your body which
shades have faded through
seasons. You belong to the
renaissance era for you adapt
to whatever transitions you are
in. You are a chameleon. And
what’s good in you is that you
can still see the beauty on a
sinister place. The contour and
your exterior is a form of
expressionism and your face
that’s worth a thousand sailing
ships depicts impressionism.
You are already a masterpiece
emulated from your forefathers.
You are a pastiche and you are
already beautiful with all of
these hues and colors splattered
on your body. Your story is
already painted on your skin.
Don’t let anyone repaint you.
—— Pastiche, abr
19.8.14  103 notes  reblog
thewritersguild  # wotmc  # poetry  # prose  # wordofthemonthcontest  # spilled ink  # allanegory  

I’m sorry if my hands
were not as velvet as
they were when you held
them. The moment I
describe them to you
was when I still feel
temperate when he was
curling his promises
in my palms. It was
when I deem them
as the most beautiful
part of me — pinkish and
soft. Almost delicate,
for they only recognize
the hands of the one
who made them feel
home in their own body.
And I sometimes wonder
if they envy the heart which
is nursed the most by all of
the people who famish for love.

I’m sorry if the lines in my
palm don’t align with yours
for they can’t see what the
universe comprises — its
galaxies, the stars and the
constellations, for your love
for me was just another piece
to make me feel whole; you
are not an entirety to be taken
and be fused with who I am.

I’m sorry if I can’t let you
fix me because my former lover
told me that I am already beautiful,
seeing past my flaunting scars.

And what I can’t forget the most
out of all the mystic and flowery
words he said was the first and
also the last line he uttered.

That I am already poetry even
if the words are just starting
to form their lines.

That I am the poetry itself.
And for now, I am gonna live
by his haunting. I am contented
with this. I am sorry.

to the person who was trying to fix me but this is really an indirect letter for who I thought was the one, abr

10.8.14  23 notes  reblog
spilled ink  # thoughts  # thewritersguild  # poetry  # prose  

    I’ve been living with this pain for more than two years now. It never left; it subsides but it’s still there whenever I need it. Rekindling the fire within my heart is reminding me both of how I was loved and how was the aftermath choked me inside. I can see you on people who I got attracted to. But the thing is, they are not you. I want to squeeze and mesh them all and keep ‘em in my pocket so they can be with me wherever I go. But I can’t do it. I tend to look for you in every person that I had a sparkling affection with.This is what I learned when  we parted ways: a broken heart, looking for another one akin to its form, to fit its pieces doesn’t guarantee a perfect match. The shards are uneven. Chances are, you’re just gonna push each other away for you both feel like you are not worth it and you’ll never be good enough for anybody. That you can still taste the person who’s been haunting you, in his/her mouth. And that he/she’s not gonna fix the creases on your skin. That you’re incapable of loving. So better immerse yourself with the love you need; the one you need to rebuild yourself, the kind of love that can only be found on the facets of your body. Until someone comes whose heart is already healed. The one who will pacify the inching pain of your incompleteness. The one who’ll courageously fit the pieces, no matter how unfit they are.

(Source: peculiarian)

27.7.14  26 notes  reblog
prose  # spilled ink  # thoughts  # thewritersguild  

     Everything seems falling apart. I thought that after finishing college, and finally getting a job, I’d be emotionally stable. So I will worry just about how much I can give to my mom and how to suffice my tiny cravings. But things just keep getting blurrier on my sight. I have so much insecurities and issues with myself. I know what I want in my life but I just can’t picture how would I make them come true. I still have regrets and second-guessing in the choices I make and I sometimes despise myself for being fickle-minded.  can still remember how other people degraded me and told me that I can’t do it. That I’ll never be good enough for anyone or anything. I remember how hard it is to hear insults and you should practice pretending not to hear those on a regular basis. And that’s the thing I’d never be used to. I get annoyed with people for shallow reasons. I have a hard time rekindling my faith because I felt like I’m losing my faith to humanity right now. I can’t even think as humane as I should be doing provided that I am a professional right now. As much as I want to tell my friends that I miss them, I don’t. Because I know that nothing would change and that they’re already happy with the set of friends that they have. I don’t need to be comforted because I can’t the sweetness of words anymore because all I want to do is a perfect place, time and a shoulder to cry on. All I can appreciate now is my family. I’m too tired writing and figuring what makes me sad.  I’m too tired to sleep because loneliness seems to seep in every time I’m taking a break from my busy mundane life. I’m also too tired to wake up because I’m almost despondent. It feels like there’s almost no reason to live at all. I just had like a pinch of possibility in me. I just want to stand in between. I still don’t want to die. I want to be awake and do the things that make me happy. To be with even just one, who can really accept me for who I am.  To muster the courage to stand on my own. To make myself choose to be happy.

(Source: peculiarian)

13.7.14  15 notes  reblog
‘‘ You have the world under your
feet. Don’t let its weights rest
on your shoulders too long.
Instead, take this city by storm
and conquer yourself so you
know how to get up when
you stumble. Burn bridges when
needed. If you have to cut
someone from your life, do it.
You have to know your self-worth
so the pain from haunting of
people from the past subsides.
Trees bloom by pruning and
so as humans too. We don’t
have to try hard to have branches
because we are connected in
one web or network. Moving
so much can affect each other.
Don’t frustrate yourself for
strongly desiring for things
not at your reach, for it
proves you are thriving
to survive in this life.
Chase your dreams even if
you don’t know where to go.
Paths, detours and crossroads
will surely conspire to lead
where you’re destined to.
—— chase, abr
10.7.14  16 notes  reblog
poetry  # spilled ink  # thoughts  # thewritersguild  
‘‘ I am made of these:
fractured smile,
creased skin,
half-mended scars,
distorted spine,
and duplicitous face.
I have a habit of
reopening past wounds
and I don’t want you to
stop me. Don’t deprive
me of something that
made me happy because
memories are for keeps
even if they are jolting my
insides and kept me from
being asleep at night.
I am brittle and I am
not malleable so don’t
reshape me into vessels
because I’ll always feel
unfit for changing me
into who I’m not.
I am frangible; so please
do handle me with care.
—— frangible, abr
29.6.14  30 notes  reblog
thewritersguild  # prose  # poetry  # spilled ink  
  1. In times when sadness keeps on seeping in the spaces and gaps of your days, try to consider these things. It's okay not to fight. It's okay to be left behind. It's okay to be laid down on the floor while seeing everyone else getting their backs up, not knowing where they're heading to. Just feel how much you weigh and try to muster the strength you need for your take off. This is the time where you got to let the trivial thing you shun to get in to you. Just let yourself be tossed away in the current of melancholy that's been inviting you in. But don't stay too long. There are days when you'd smell petrichor even if there's no single drop of rain. You wish that nostalgia would be much more than longing; that there is still turning back. The lives of people that encompassed the facade and the entirety of your lives have echoing fragrance and you're the only one left in the places you've visited and built together. And it's okay to hope for a reconnection if that's the only resort for you to feel rejuvenated. It's okay not to be furious when you get mad. It's okay to just cry than to react in a way that the society demands you to. You don't have to conform with their not-so-affordable standards because you can be reckless in a serene way. It's okay to feel exhaustion for the goodness you've been giving people that's just been thrown away. Just believe that you can heal people even if you're not together anymore because someday your benevelonce have seeds that you planted in their hearts and they'll bloom in time. In case you run out of parts of yourself to put your finger on it upon being asked what part of your body you like the most, remember that you never run out of beauty and the world never runs out of assets like you. Harbour yourself a haven and realize that it's just inside of you.
21.6.14  90 notes  reblog
reminders  # prose  # spilled ink  # note to self  # thewritersguild  # things  # thoughts  

      I almost cried when I was at the office. These emotions seem unbearable anymore. It is hard to handle the sadness sitting in my heart while talking to other people and smiling at them. I’m faking it that it almost looks like a grimace. A person in our workplace noticed that I look like I’m carrying the weights of the world. While another asked me why I’m alone most of the time. I just smiled. That is what I always respond to other people ‘cause I’m tired of saying even a word to explain how I feel.The thing is I just can’t bear seeing people walking out the door. One simple departure makes me feel down and it always connects me to the very person who loved me the most (or shall I say, ‘the one who I loved the most’) and left me afterwards. I know that I already got over that person and that situation — but not with the feeling. Because it was the only time when I felt like I’m living at the peek of my life. That I can see things clearly from afar with a glimpse of light. That I feel home in someone else’s arms. I can’t be anymore accustomed to a new way of loving and being loved by other people. I can see my former’s lovers traits on different people. Sometimes, I just want to squeeze them so I could keep them in my palm. But they are not that person. And it makes me cringe that there are still times that it haunts me. That it makes me want to revisit the places and moments we’ve been to when all I do is to cry after seeing that there’s no room for us anymore. But I know that one day will come that I’ll be able to heal myself completely without needing any thought of the past, without regrets and bittersweet memories to harden what’s inside of me. I just need to soften myself in a way that I won’t melt too much. I just have to realize that I am the own remedy to this self-inflicted throe.

(Source: peculiarian)

17.6.14  7 notes  reblog

     Hindi na makasulat pa ang pluma pagkat lumisan kana. Sapagkat sa  paraang ang ngalan mo lamang ang isinisiginaw nito, hindi na ito matututo pang gumuhit ng mga bagay upang turuan ang puso na magmahal sa panibagong paraan; sinanay mo ito na tanging lenggwahe mo lamang ang nalalaman. Ayaw na nitong sugatan at ihain ang dugo para sa iyo. Said na ito sa tintang laan sa’yo lamang. Sa mga panahong gusto kong tintahan ang iyong labi upang ang tanging pangalan ko lamang ang iyong sasambitin, ay ang pagpasok ng tusong kalungkutan na kailanma’y di ka na magiging akin. Gusto kong pabilisin ang bawat oras at araw. Ayoko nang magpahinga dahil mas lalo akong napapagod sa multo ng iyong pag-ibig. Ikaw ang daluyong na hindi tumigil na tuksuhin itong mga paang ang alam lamang ay lumakad sa kung saan ka papunta. Hindi lingid sa aking kaalaman na pag nasa pusod at kabuuan mo na ako, ay hindi mo na aalalahanin pa. Ngunit ginawa ko pa rin dahil mahal ka. Kung papayagan man ng panahon ay gusto ko pa ring ang mga ala-alang ginawa at pinagsaluhan natin ay manatili pa rin — mga alalaang pilit kong hinihimay sa tuwing iniisip ka ay kasunod ang tanong sa sarili kung saan ba ako nagkamali. Maaaring walang kasagutan o maaaring ang mga bagay ay mas mabuti nang hindi hayag kung minsan. Makasarili mang isipin, gusto ko pa ring malaman na umiiyak ka dahil sa akin. Dahil kung sakali mang hindi talaga maari na magkasama tayo, masaya na akong naglalaan ka pa rin ng oras para isipin ako. Sa ngayon, sapat na sa akin ang ganoon.

(Source: peculiarian)

16.6.14  11 notes  reblog
prosa  # tula  # mejo personal  # :(  # thewritersguild  
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