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"There must be another life, she thought, sinking back into her chair, exasperated. Not in dreams; but here and now, in this room, with living people. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice with her hair blown back; she was about to grasp something that just evaded her. There must be another life, here and now, she repeated. This is too short, too broken. We know nothing, even about ourselves."

- Virginia Woolf, The Years (via afortressaroundmyheart)

(via lifeinpoetry)


Miss Nerisa del Carmen Guevara at the World Poetry Day Celebration, “A Walk Through Words at the Gardens” at the Ayala Triangle Gardens.

“My Shanghai Love”

To find love

Decipher the lines on faces

Look for a face that reads:

I am here.

Find a face that shows you shelter

Eyelids like archways

Leading into small gardens.

Black door of the iris leading

To the soul.

Chimes of sunlight


Come home

Come home.

(for Maningning)

I think she added a few lines during her performance, or she did repetitions on some lines for emphasis/to extend the poem. Either way, it was still beautiful. 



i should sleep. i should sleep. i should. if this repetition can carry me to my bed, sing me soft lullabies, lull me into mindless sleep, then maybe i can find repose in the quiet spaces of the night and corners of my dreams. if saying pain, pain, pain for a thousand more times can dull this percussive sensation of in my chest, if repetition will make the magnitude of this pain meaningless then i will be saved for one more night. 

01. free association

that stabbing pang of loneliness in this closed chest. not arrhythmia. not the lack of oxygen into my veins. but the clear realization that i am lonelier than ever. and that i keep falling short of people’s expectations every time. and that i am worthless. this functional heart is pumping for no reason at all. for no reason. i am dead. it’s been a long time that i felt alive. i assume i must be dead. but this is getting old. this is sheer drama and this is way too old. fuck. but i feel broken in parts of me that i don’t even know. and the unforgiving realization that i can never be whole is settling in the tracks of my veins.

this night is turning out to be much more unforgiving to a soul who can never find repose even in her own bed.

Hold me

like I’m broken.

"How we need another soul to cling to…"

- Sylvia Plath

that little lonely port south out my little island and that sky struggling to stay aloft. 2012 February.

01. Conversations/Confessions

What makes you nervous?

My life. Where I’m going. What I want.

Why should those things make you nervous?

Because I’m not always sure where I’ll end up and whether that’ll be where I want to be.