you cry in the car, the spaces between
traffic comes and lane markers,
the only soundproof place in the world
with no one watching, no one waiting
to become judge and jury, ridicule you
for the makeup dripping down your cheeks
and the way your eyes gleam when your
heart is broken. they say you are a run-on
sentence, but you prefer the word FAILURE
just like that, in all-caps, screaming so
loudly you can never forget how worthless
you are, how you must do everything yourself,
how the world does not love you and you
dont deserve to love yourself. a story's not
a story without a hero, and that's not you, that
will never be you. you are not the villain either -
you are the creature at stage left that dies of
an offhand gesture. you are something absurd
that no one wants. you are the sacrifice. you
are the barren wasteland and the thirsty ground
made fit to love by the blood of others.
(r.l.c.)
BINABASA MO ANG
To Be Determined
PoetryBook 4 of seemingly endless poetry (or should I say possibilities?) Some poems are real life, some are not. Think before you assume.
