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Seafoam Sparks
curious caravans, wallflower disguises
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Wallflower Disguises
Salutations! I am Reese, and I have too many feelings.
Tatooo Vegas

It's mostly about boys in here. I'm sorry.



7th-Aug-2014 01:44 pm - More of this, I guess
Sailboats
Careless as they come

Instead of a bank account,
She keeps her money in envelopes
And envelopes in boxes
And boxes in a trunk
Left unlocked underneath her bed
And I wonder
If she would ever grow up
Alice
When poetry gets too complicated, I have a hard time discerning good poetry from substandard ones. I am not well-read (I mostly just read non-fiction these days), and I only know so much. But I've been writing a lot, and I want to share it with anyone. Just anyone.

This is something I wrote this morning, while it was raining heavily and I ran out to confirm if I wasn't just hearing things. It's hardly polished, and I might edit things here and there. But I just feel compelled to post words in here right now - words that aren't all set to private.


I Apologize For My Selfish Love for Rain

I keep confusing
The buzzing of the air-conditioning
For the sound of rain
Each time I have to run out
Just to double check
If the ground has slightly changed
To a darker colour

I check if the drops on the leaves
Aren't magic morning dew
Aren't the aftermath of a sad occasion
Causing the flora to weep bitter tears

I check if the drummings on the roof
Aren't hammers gifted by the sky
Aren't pearls flung by a raging wife
Aren't frozen peas from a bag
Cut open by a knife

I check if the damp air
Is not so because I'm angry

For all it's worth
It's because / the water
has kindly met the Earth

And once I have rushed out,
Felt the drops fall on my palm
Watched the sky
With a hawk-eye
Until stirring settles to a calm
Is only the time when I allow my heart
To celebrate

P.S. From my previous entry, "hawk eye" makes its way back here again. For I like it.
4th-Aug-2014 05:44 pm - On Convulsions, and the word "Cute"
Boy is Mine!
I was asked to write something for an online magazine regarding any "Aftermath" story in my life. The premise was to start with the aftermath, then proceed to explain what actually happened. Here's what I came up with. 100% truefax.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

14 years old and at the brink of being truly validated as an adolescent, I was kneeling in front of my wooden trunk with a heavily stapled envelope in hand. Inside it was a print out of a Yahoo Messenger chat log. Between myself and my then high school crush.

- - -

My whole life, I grew up in an exclusive Catholic school for girls. Yup - uniforms, sock length rules, lesbian phases, and all that jazz. After the rush of getting our period, the "class interaction" was one other much-awaited milestone in our secondary education.

The "interaction" was a tension-filled whole day affair that involved mingling with a class of boys from another exclusive school. Having been surrounded by girls our whole lives (outside of the occasional manong guards and school aides), the prospect of the opposite sex sent us all in a delirious frenzy.

The fated day finally came, and a crowd in the common bathroom was a telltale sign that we wanted to look our best. As the boys walked into our auditorium one by one, we girls slowly judged each individual based on physical attractiveness.

We were all partnered up by class numbers, and things unfolded as scheduled. We mingled, ate baked macaroni from a styrofoam box, exchanged our class tokens, and we all walked away, both boy and girl with a prized piece of paper at hand. Class directories. The holy grail of cellphone numbers and YM addresses.

A month after interaction, our class still cannot stop talking about boys. A classmate has even carved a cellphone shaped niche out of our mythology book, just so she could text her crush during class hours. Things got friendly over Yahoo Messenger, as the boys initiated nightly group chats with us girls who were mostly game to participate. Suddenly, we were rushing home from school to get to our computers. All of us watching with hawk-eye precision for the moment when our individual objects of affection would go online.

I developed a notable friendship with this one boy from that class whom I never noticed before. He wasn't particularly good-looking, but our witty online banter could rival anyone else's. Late night chats and a barrage of text messages led to subtle hinting on our childish, mutual interest for each other.

One night, we were having a hilarious exchange over something I now forget. I said something he found “real charming”, which resulted to him flooding our chat box with the words "CUTE" in all caps, sent 46 times to get the point across.

Having ZERO experience with a boy returning even the vaguest hint of interest, I was ELATED. Reading those words over and over made my head spin & all the blood rush to my cheeks. "CUTE" never sounded so happy, right, and wonderful. I immediately ran to the couch, buried my face in the pillows, and kicked the air like I was having convulsions.

I printed out the conversation to immortalize the unexplainable feeling of kilig that came over me at fourteen. But in paranoia and fear of being discovered, I heavily stapled it inside an envelope & shoved it in my secret trunk - defeating the purpose.

L O L.
14th-Jul-2014 06:16 pm - Shh
Sailboats
I want to write, and spill over these words so carelessly. But for now, I keep them in my pocket.
Safe until the season of shedding skin.

Cause once these words have lost its magic upon ceaseless revisits and repetition, I begin to need more.
29th-May-2014 10:16 am - Hill and Hope
Alice
Such commonplace things are shooting stars. They cross the canopy of the night by minutes, by seconds, when people forget to look up.

But first, climb up a hill. Walk through bullrushes and weeds and count your paces. Let your ankles receive the scars that a climb can only promise. But let the scars never stop you from taking a step, and then another.

Until you find yourself nestled by the curve of the moon, look up. Look up and see the blazing stars that seem to connect like dots of an activity book. Cause in your place is the only place where things seem to click like a puzzle.

Back in space, deep in space, things are lightyears away.
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