Homeless Heart

“Home is where the heart is,”
they say.
My heart is lost.
I am homeless.

This homeless heart waits right here,
waiting for someone to take her home.


Forever Drafts

I write and write and write,
endlessly through the night.
For with the words I bleed,
my heart I freed.

Papers stained with tears I shed,
papers hidden underneath the bed.

I write and write and write —
endlessly through the night —
stillborn verses and paragraphs,
remaining forever drafts.

Be My Muse

I can promise you forever —
yes, I really can!

I can make your beauty immortal,
you youth eternal.

Every man will sing your name,
longing or not, they will all the same.

Every lovesick maiden will know your happy tale,
and they will follow your famous love trail.

Just take my hand and be my muse,
together we have the world to amuse!

The Missing Muse

It is night and the moon is cold,
watching another love poem unfold.
For the poet has come around
but alas! His muse is nowhere to be found!

He turns back then and goes to bed
and dreams of verses left unsaid.


I would tell you I had loved you

If we were having coffee,
I would tell you I had loved you.

I would tell you how much I loved
your deep purring voice,
the scent and warmth of your skin,
the softness of your embrace,
the letters you have given me.

But then, I had loved you
for you are no longer that sixteen-year-old boy
and I am no longer that fifteen-year-old girl.
Five years have passed, can you believe it?
We are not the same anymore.
We do not have the same love anymore.

If we were having coffee,
I would tell you I had loved you.
But then, you do not drink coffee.

Oh, how am I supposed to tell you now?

It’s A Moldy Towel, Dude

Magazines say that
you get to know a girl
from the contents of her bag.
So I grabbed my tote
to see who I am
and was shocked to find…

My worn-out lab coat
(how long has this been here?),
A specimen slide of heaven-knows-what,
Returned exam papers from two semesters ago,
A notebook I lost months ago
(so this is where it has been hiding all along —
between the pages of an overdue library book),
A barbecue stick from the banana cue I had a week ago,
Plastic that wrapped the turon from yesterday
(yes, I love bananas),
Packets of ketchup from McDonald’s,
Several hankies
(I thought I lost them),
Crumpled, faded receipts,
and (drum roll)…

A moldy towel.

A Moldy Towel.

Moldy Towel.


Ladies and gentlemen,

I  have an announcement —

I am now a dude!

Eyes That See


Beware the eyes that see —
they drill up to the core,
and know much more.

These eyes will one day speak
and reveal the concealed
for the blind to see.

*This is in response to the The Daily Post’s Photo Challenge, “Creepy”.

A Girl and Her Mirror


Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
who’s the fairest of them all?

Is it she whose face
no paint has taint?
Or she who wears
a camouflage of maquillage?

Is it she whose body fair is wrapped with care
(not even an inch of skin to spare?)
Or she who wears hers with pride
(not even the finest fabric would it dare hide)?

Is it she whose neck and arms
are unadorned with charms?
Or she who wears
litter that glitters?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
here my plea:
In my nakedness,
let it be me!


It lay in front of me—
White and spotless
Like a baby’s blanket.

There it lay still—
Empty and waiting
To be filled with my love.

But I know of no love,
Only sorrow and regret,
And only these I can give.

So now it lay in front of me
Black and blue all over
Like a battered body.

Still it lay in front of me
Brimming with tears
Yet still offering its other side—

White and spotless.
Empty and waiting.