eyes that feel, body that aches

Depth. Warmth. Mystery.
Too much. Too much of it. 
Sometimes i feel like I’m going insane.
For questioning—
the how i feel quite intensely
with no proper reasoning.
How the outsides quickly mirror the insides,
how the dreams manifest in real life,
how the symbols contradict
only to synchronize in time;
and how you never seek for signs
but have them knock on your door
way too many times.
How you sometimes deny
the magic and the fire
as it burns you to death
and to be rebirthed with its own light.
Dying and living—and a loop that is never-ending.
The crying to bed at night
and the waking up with swollen eyes that feel its aftermath.
No, I don’t see it.
I don’t see why.
But i was given two sides of the coin of life.
The duality of which, i have to master in time.
No, i don’t see it.
I don’t even get it.
But i was given this depth of feels to be felt,
and maybe not yet to understand
the sudden body signals,
the splenic insights,
and the ancient whispers of light.
No I don’t see it.
But the eyes that feel and the body that aches,
has always been right.

Way back when i was four

Tears can’t help but fall,

For these wounds I’ve been trying to ignore;

All coming from a wrecked core,

That has been messed up way back when i was four.

That vivid part where i heard i wasnt enough and I wasn’t capable.

“It’s okay… It’s not their fault”

Lines i kept believing all along.

But heavens and hell do know,

How i wanted to blame them for it all.

But the heart, oh this heart, even though torn,

Keeps on choosing to see the beauty of it all.

I need to face this though.

This shadow of blame and frustration

That haunt me each moment i got stuck in this scary dark room of my emotions.

I need to face this though.

And stop performing well in this fake show

Of being okay with this situation.

I need to face this, and gather this black shadowy smoke,

Put it inside a bunch of colorful balloons,

Let go of its strings that i hold,

So they could fly above the sky,

And watch them fly away and become so tiny in my sight.

Looking above, I’d sigh and smile,

For choosing to face the shadow that got me terrified.

And only time, darling, give me time,

I know i will heal, at the right time.

Tears can’t help but fall,

But I’m not holding it in anymore.

A Poetic Message for the Visionaries

a work of art and a work of heart

Recently, I’ve been having this constant visits of ideas that pull me into creating more and more inspirational videos that promote love and authenticity for the most part. This one is a spoken-word poetry entry that I made for the visionaries out there who dream big and are so passionate about life. Hope this inspires you to stay true to what your heart is telling you to do and to embrace your visions without any inhibitions. And please, enjoy the flow of the visual representation. 🙂

Of truth, of letters, of you.

It’s not true,

That i have forgotten about you.

On warm Saturday evenings and even on cold Sunday mornings, I think of you..

although, most times, I don’t really want to.

What is true,

Is that i wrote letters for you.

Letters of love and loss,

Even of yearning to be yours.

What is true,

Is i keep a photograph of you,

The one where your eyes sparkle,

Like the stars i gaze upon whenever i miss you.

So don’t believe me,

and my egoic denying of the truth.

Instead, believe this poem,

and my allowing of the heart to pour

all the love it has for you, through my words that will stand the test of the time—if time is ever true.

For my words become powerful,

when written by a heart that mourns,

A heart that suffers—but a heart that chooses love nonetheless, no matter what, and in spite of it all.

Image source: Pinterest

A shot of blur

Blur, I might but you’d still see.

Not with the eyes but the one’s within;

Trick, I try but you’d still feel—

How magical the heart that beats art for a living.

Slow down, you can, and trust it will be.

The dawn will welcome you before the sun shines brightly.

Believe, you should, no matter how blurry.

See, if everything is clear, how boring would that be?

A time for art, a time for poetry. I believe that today, more than ever, is the best time to create. To do something magical as you tap into your truth. To make something out of nothing—or that one that sparked inspiration from within. Yes that’s it, that’s the seed you need. A seed to plant that will grow over the years. And who knows, maybe, trees will multiply and duplicate until it becomes a forest 🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳 a forest of your authenticity, a forest of your own unique art.

Most of the time, I don’t understand everything. And boy, this mind loves to question and know all it can dive deep. But as i capture this motion blur, i learned that it’s okay if it’s blurry. That I’m fine even though I’m not on point. And that it’s okay to not know. That figuring things out and analyzing every inch of details might only give me stress and wrinkles and maybe some disease. And no, I don’t want that. And being okay with a blur gave birth to this short but meaningful poem. Hope you like it ♥️ and if you don’t, well that’s okay as well 😁

Over-flawed skin, pure strength within


She perused all her parts,

there she saw a woman full of scars.

Scars that mirror the wars she fought

and flaws naturally scattered in all sorts. 


No filter could fit, to really cover them zits

But don’t you know she’s loved for it?

Loved for these scars she can never delete.


A manifestation of absolute valour,

with her vibrant eyes focused on the colours

she never capitulated though odds weren’t in favour.

Battled ’til the end, despite carrying no armour.


She’s truly a woman with an “over-flawed” skin,

but such, with pure strength within.