Baggages
Did you know – that I bleed in the corner sometimes. Not red, but clear, transparent tears, screaming silence that shatters peace to pieces, but while my head rests in the home of my arms, I pretend I’ve learned something: That life is too short, love hurts too long, and while bruises fade, cuts can keep cutting. So you see this child loves his-self no more than less than yesterday, so where is my salvation, patron? And if he exists, I wish he to be a she, so she can walk me to the dance floor’s center, cupping the heavy heart I’ll trace into her palms amongst those cluttered futures. Muttering melodies into my ears, she’ll give rise to a dormant champion, singing “Nandito ako/ umiibig sa iyo” and that she’s here for the long run, the long haul, for however long I long her type long – forever – because she is precious, sweet like the cream in her coffee, and fresh like a sunlit lotus with a dew drop on it. Until then, I yield retreat to no one. Until then, I am fine, confined within 3 lines and an exit sign because I don’t mind waiting at the baggage claim for security to rest me – not Arrest me by may rest me like 7 days after creation. This Adam needs an eve to himself, underneath the clashing of city lights and salted star sprites that mingle, but this – is my corner – and though it be lonesome sometimes, sometimes I find Moksha. And I am better for it, lifting my chin so slow to break the water from my lashes, I leave. Only to realize that sometimes I bleed. In the corner. Of that room. Where my baggage is.
