Valentine (by Carol Ann Duffy)

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring,
if you like.
Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

Name (by Carol Ann Duffy)

When did your name
change from a proper noun
to a charm?

Its three vowels
like jewels
on the thread of my breath.

Its consonants
brushing my mouth
like a kiss.

I love your name.
I say it again and again
in this summer rain.

I see it,
discreet in the alphabet,
like a wish.

I pray it
into the night
till its letters are light.

I hear your name
rhyming, rhyming,
rhyming with everything.

peklat

akala ko kapag nagkapeklat na, ibig sabihin gumaling na ang sugat mo. hindi ko naisip na ibig din nitong sabihin na ang pagtakbo nating ito ay hindi katulad ng paghahabulan ninyo noon.
hindi naman kita hahayaang madapa. babagalan ko ang pagtakbo para makasabay sa'yo, hindi ako magmamadali, basta't kasama kita sa finish line.

Emo (by klasmeyt April)

1 A compulsive affiliation with digital broken hearts and double-x prefixes and suffixes attached to screen names. (xxpaoisdeadxx is heartbroken because his ex-girlfriend cheated on him.)

2 Hemorrhage of blunt emotion from bands with forty-five-letter names. (His Lullaby of a Last romance That First Died In Autumn)

3 Eyeliners, excessive black rubber bangles, and one-sided haircuts with bangs to obscure vision from one eye. Hoping that they won't be seen if they refuse to see. But their vandalized shoes scream heartache. (On his sneakers: How can I say I love you back, you never made me happy.)

4 Depression at the slightest provocation. Failure to recover from a major catastrophe. Self-destruction. (You need to be a fake to understand the way I feel. You left. And then: xxpaoisdeadxx signed out)

xvii

this is one of my faves from neruda..
i find it really sweet.

XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.