I’ve signed a contract.



the paper was poured

with words,

stained by blue;

by blues.

There are million reasons

to not let my hand move

and to not let the ink

embroid changes,

so huge changes,

my heart’s not equipped

to reject



It wasn’t your surface;

It wasn’t the way you shine;

It wasn’t your glimmering dust;

nor your striking sight


I lied.

It was you,

it was everything about you,

my typical confusion.



I’ve signed a contract.


“I like the moon. It wasn’t hard to be enthralled by its beauty even from immeasurable distance.”



For some

and for some people,
it does not need to be breathtaking;
no, it does not need to be a
grand entrance;
no scenic sights
nor pleasing beats;
for quite a few, it is merely
collecting all the happy thoughts
gathering all the wails and cries
with shush and whispers

and for some people,
it does not need to be breathtaking;
when burning brightly
or collapsing;
it is merely
kneeling on your knees
with undisturbed heart
and soothed bones
that undeniably aches
solely for its

“My home lies within a heartbeat on the cross.”


2017 Denouement

A year ago, I stepped into a life I never imagined to have, or a world with a question mark of what was to become.

I can still remember the lens with fireworks bokeh and the seemingly endless sparks with glistening dust in the nightly skies. I can still remember enjoying each scenario while looking at the people around me noticing nothing but the curve attached to their lips and magical sprinkles caught in their eyes. Little did I know, I was unknowingly walking to a year of lessons, realizations, what if’s, what could have been’s, temporary notions, unnecessary attachments, understanding that college isn’t just college, bumpy roads, sequence of emotional ride, failures, falling, standing up again, letting the wind, anxiety, happiness, commitment, hate, love, unsaid feelings, adult-ing, thank you’s, welcome’s, goodbye’s, promises, surrendering people to God, reminding myself to love like Jesus, a year of poetry, of song writing, of writer’s and reader’s block, up to finding the will to pick up the pen and paper again, to strum the guitar once more, to see the brighter side of life, wandering, wondering, chapters of untold stories, building walls and letting the cracks be there, embracing the people who stayed and saying thank you for those who are no longer part of the story, series of I hate you self and yeah, I’m proud of you too Marose but most predominantly, a year of “Yes, LORD.”

One thing I learned, it was not all about the “Sukuan mo na” of this world. It was all about the “Isuko mo na” of God.

So to the one who’s reading this, God will set fire deep down the cavern of your soul–your spirit. He already conquered the battles for your heart and set it ablaze with His love. In the midst of being lost, the soul will always follow the path to its home–its safe haven. Let God be your safe haven. He is cheering for your progress. You survived a year and you can do it again because He is with you. We did it. We survived a year of haywire rollercoaster ride with some free travel to mars and back with side trip to pluto while eating some bitter, sweet and sour gummies toppled with cheese—cause everything’s good with cheese—and onions. How was that right?

Joyful new year, brave warrior. We’re proud of you.


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“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord, Your God will be with you wherever you go.” –Joshua 1:9

Hey 2018, God is with me, I am ready.


He is;

my first dauntless step,

away from the comfort

of the four-cornered cage;


He is, as well

my favorite

looking back bend

–over and over,




He is;

a beautiful adventure,

that makes me

want to try;


He is, also

the smell of my bed

where I find rest,

eraser of cries

and they said;


tend to

follow the


to its


“Lead me







Intersecting Point

i saw you looking
tracing your fingers to the sky,
with the whole scenario,
there was
something missing.
your eyes
they have no shimmer.

i want to
refurbish the radiance
but you were seemingly drifting,
into an infinite galaxy,
into a black hole of thoughts.

i whispered,
i prayed,
that you’d look past
the constellations
you were trying to make
‘cause the One behind those stars
is making the ‘you’
that will outshine
the battle within you.

“meet Him at the intersecting point of you and the stars.”



she wants to stop her car
to fetch him out of that
seemingly endless road;
he was standing
under the cosmic nightly skies,
gravely searching for something
maybe unlustrous stars–
ones that longing for home
to furbish their gleams;
in his tee was faded dirt
in his eyes were tears
sluggishly falling
his arms were unhurriedly failing
–failing to protect everything
cause he also needed saving
she was about to open the car door,
when she saw Someone walked near him,
the familiarity of this Man
feels like comfort
feels like home;
she heaves a sigh,
a calmed one;
her hands started igniting the engine,
certain to move forward
cause he was now found,
by the One who also found her;
“Soon enough, the seemingly endless road would be over.”
She uttered.


(n) a low rumble of distant thunder
pronunciation: ‘bron-tld (brawn-tide)

—I am the thunder. And these are my brontides.


Out of my ware, every single day, I keep falling for this man—someone whose heart belongs to someone else—someone who I shouldn’t grasp the notion of being with.  He’s gentle, so sweet and a man of chivalry. No one can purposely ignore that. In this universe of parading one’s self, he’s a man of humility. I, with my utmost power, tried my very best to ignore the heartbeats but, I, I failed. And I, I fell.


Yours is the face

That light up my days

It showed me the way

It blew me away

Away from my fears

And all of my tears

Far from despair

And what I can’t bear

Only closer

Closer to Your care


And when it’s time; you must learn to let go of something you’re afraid to lose.


She found the entry point to the labyrinth of trouble when he smiled.


I was told to never look at the eyes, cause those were oblivion waiting for one’s downfall. “You’ve got entrancing hazel brown eyes there.” I uttered.


My pen inked the sheet as my hand started strumming the strings.

Dear, the picturesque sight of your smile’s making me sing.


They said soulmates have resemblance with each other as for the notion that they were angels above fighting the never ending battle. Lost from the war, they were separated into two beings—blindly searching for the other half in their lifetimes. And apparently you’ve lost the battle.

The question is; would you find the other half? Before the world be consumed by sin and hatred?


“How have you been?”

He asked.

Here, still riding the roller coaster of confusion that I have never paid myself to be into.

“Oh, been doing good.”


Some people keep searching for that certain kind of love in this world, a love that can only be found on the cross.


Happiness isn’t about measuring the sadness of infinite galaxy to prove itself.


Tell me;

How would you say that you feel so empty without making people act as if you’re the saddest piece here on earth?

What it is that you will do, when the entire world need saving but no one notice you need it too?

Who are you when you are not wearing that facade, the mask that the world requires you to wear every single day?

And when home doesn’t feel like home, where would you go?

Tell me;

“Is my life another sad story?”


There were moments in my life where I let liquefied emotions, lukewarm faith, easily burned thoughts, lightheartedness and trifling decisions ruled over. Those moments were too easy to label as everything that made me stand on the ground of this present world I am in. All the broken and irreparable pieces of what I was before could be gathered to solidify my today’s being. I don’t want to be eaten by pretense, so here’s the truth; there were moments, minutes, hours, even a fleeting second, I would feel the need to be lost. I was craving for the satisfaction to end everything that keeps on gripping my heart in such agonizing way. I would crave the need to feel numb, un-weary of the howls and cries that could be heard in the midst of a busy street and looking forward to the sound of silence in the core of oblivion and solitude. I would gratifyingly feel the need to be a lonely land, full of mysteries and quietness, full of withered flowers and brown thin branch of trees, health which the drought took. I would feel the need to be in the  darkness, letting it all surmount my space, until I could no longer breathe, until it travel its way to every part of me, to my entirety.  Even up to now; some days, I would feel the need to stop fighting, to just give up and to just let go. I would look in front of me and see how everyone’s doing fine and I am here, still behind, doing well at watching others retreat to their happiness while I am still stuck with my frowns and tears. I was once a flower, expected to jubilantly bloom under the brightly shining sun. How could I? When I was long too withered? Because the society’s says were my constant reminders that I am nothing but a failed experiment to this mutation.

Then, every time that certain need would eagerly want to overpower me, a Man would call with softness in His voice. That’s where the light came in; that was the exact moment where I would feel solid, like an indestructible piece of gem that was hardened by Him. Yet, I answered Him with doubts, and still answering Him with doubts. I thought He would leave. Just like what a lot of people did but He stayed, He stays. As for my heart keep searching restlessly, and the resonating sound of nothingness zealously ignite the desire of wanting to stop, He would gladly hold my hands and would whisper through my ears; “Do not be afraid.” Such words started touching my heart. “Be still.” He would add. “I love you.” And with those uttered words, my being would travel to the age of calmness—where there’s nothing but rest.

He is the rest.  

The Wall

And your gaze fell to the wall.

A wall where you used to write your sanity, and so was the otherwise. From 3am thoughts to 11:11 wishes; from agony to howling; from ephemeral picturesque daydream to the realistic side of everything; from the imbalance system of this world to its dysfuntional-ity. Every surface was inked by the pen—doodled out names of those who left and stayed; written songs stuck on hiatus; blabbering from various beings you once gave surreptitious parts of you; every place and every memoir of people; your late night cries; your giving up nights; your wounds; those scars. Then one day, you just woke up—on the other side of the room, there was an image of Him, patiently waiting to be seen, wanting to be an add up to your masterpiece. But you never did, ’cause you were too busy wondering: painting the other wall with sadness. Wandering: seeking for your worth in wrong places. Now, looking at the galaxy of thoughts you have created, realizing it was no longer exquisite. A sanctuary, now devastated by inkblots and misalignment. You found yourself, standing in front of that wall—a wall where you used to write everything—with a paint brush within your grasp and new set of paints beside you.

Leaving the wall.

Living, again.