I can’t write right.

Sometimes I can’t write,

my mind’s being deceived.

Not sure if it’s right,

don’t know what to believe.


A blank piece of paper

stares intently back at me.

I can’t even bother

to write meaningfully.


It’s as if every inch

of creativity has been taken.

Maybe I just need a pinch,

or  a life-changing awaken.


Take me back

to those days,

when I don’t lack

the words to say.


A few drops of inspiration,

something to set the mood.

Using my imagination,

to write something good.


Perhaps, my talent is missing.

But, I can’t seem to discern why.

I used to long for writing,

letting every word go by.


I am thirsty to create anything

that will leave your literary soul

hanging, banging, jumping, craving.

Will I achieve my goal?







Have you ever had the feeling of not being good enough? That you’re never worth it?


Well, this day is one those days. Where I feel as if I’m running away from something that’s not there; something abstract, invisible. Lately, I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions. Questions mostly about self-hatred, dispute, and scarcity.


“Why am I not good enough for writing?”

Is one of the questions I ask myself. I have always been fond of writing ever since childhood. I used to make fan fictions for my friends, one-shot stories, and even “imagines”. Currently poetry is the bloodline of my writing “career” (if you can even call it that) and I still feel like my poems are shit. They’re absolutely no good, not well-constructed, a mess. Yet, I see other people my age who can write beautiful pieces with or without breaking a sweat–still, the point is, that if they can do it, why can’t I seem to? Is it because I don’t actually have the talent? Or maybe I wasn’t just really gifted with talent of writing? I guess I’ll never know. While typing this, I feel sick. Because I can’t use fancy terminologies or fix my train of thoughts appropriately and because of that, I know I lack the important skill of writing.


“Why am I not good enough for painting and drawing?” 

This one’s pretty obvious to me. I am aware that I am not great at painting (and drawing for that matter) yet I keep doing it. Just shows how much how hard-headed I am. This is kind of upsetting because I genuinely enjoy painting and drawing but my passion for it isn’t enough to fuel my creativity to be able to make mesmerizing art. I’ve realized this thought as I was watching a person paint a realistic painting of a person, with shading, lighting and everything, which is one of my greatest weaknesses. I kept comparing myself to her over and over; “how come she can do it perfectly?” “how can she do that?” “why can’t I do it?”. In fact, I can’t paint without a base or copy–which she can do just fine (but if I do it, my piece will surely turn out as trash). Sometimes, I can’t help but doubt my love for art. Maybe art’s not meant for me after all, considering all the weaknesses and cons I have whenever I make one.


“Why am I not good enough of a student?” 

As a student, I frequently ask myself this question. Why I’m never able to be the best top-notcher, why I can’t perfect an easy exam, why I can’t recite in class properly, why I can’t perform speeches or performance tasks in front of people. I’m always anxious, queasy, easily pressured even when I’m not supposed to be. I study all day and night because I want things to get done the soonest. Once they announce quizzes, exams, homeworks, activities, I do them as soon as the words leave from my professors’ mouth. But still, I don’t get the grade that I think I deserve. I even once considered myself to be homeschooled because people terrify me (since I go to a bigger school now than before). I feel them judging, criticizing, stabbing me in my back. I can hear their whispers, the roll of their eyes as I walk past, the uncomfortable shift of the world as they turn to look at me. I lack social well-being. In relation to this question, I ask myself, “I think I’m only good at memorizing stuff. But that doesn’t make me smart, does it? They have a difference, I know.” And I admit it to myself in the mirror. I’m not smart, I can only memorize–and there’s a goddamn difference.


With these questions, I tend to question myself and my abilities. In line with this, I scrutinize myself in the meanest way possible. I am my own enemy. Either I meddle with these demons, or I break free. There is no in-between. But meddling with them is much more fun because I don’t see one positive thing about being talentless. I want to be good enough, to be worth it, to be okay. Will I ever?

Having that said, I hope you find what you truly love doing, and being good enough for that. I hope you find yourself worth it, amidst the negative things that are choking you. Stay strong, reader. Stay strong, self.





The broken sink.

A few weeks ago, I woke up around afternoon. It was a weekend, and I had no school. Usually, when I wake up in the afternoon, I directly take a bath to keep myself fresh and afterwards I would have a late lunch.

But that afternoon when I woke up, I saw something unusual in our bathroom. I was about to take a bath when I saw the sink, where I brush my teeth, was broken. Or shattered; but not wholly—I would say at least 1/2 of it (the photo of the broken sink can be seen below). Along with that, I saw a note left by my dad. Which was weird, because he does not like leaving notes unlike my mom.

What made me forget about the broken sink was the content of the letter/note. He said he was sorry, and that he would replace what he broke. Why? Because my dad never liked saying sorry that much. He usually takes pride in what he says. But I felt happy because he took the chance to say sorry so he won’t upset us—especially my mother. I know hearing something like having your dad breaking the sink is a funny story, I mean, it is. But I didn’t think of the situation like that. Not at first.

Because of the small gesture my dad did, it melted my heart. It made me feel overwhelmed and it kind of made me teary-eyed (yes, I’m THAT emotional). I think what’s important is that sometimes we get too caught up in our own problems with others that we tend not to be rational. I think usually it’s not important if the person makes it up to you for their mistakes—what’s important is how the person says sorry and you feel as if they mean it. Sometimes, it’s true; saying sorry can make things okay.

No, I did not need for my dad to fix the sink for me to forgive him. I’m not even bothered that he broke it (well, mainly, because I can still use it). It’s because I forgot for a while that he even broke it because he owned up to his actions—a thing he does not normally do (not in any way that I understand, though. Usually he would own up to his actions by doing something else for you without you even knowing that that’s his way of saying sorry. My dad isn’t really showy).

Alt er love.

I don’t know how to put it in words. I don’t know how to explain it.


….I miss being in love. 

I’ve always denied the fact that I do miss it. I know that I’m a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need anybody else just so I could call myself a “somebody.” But frankly, I miss those days where I felt like I was loved by someone who I thought was the best person ever. It’s been years since I’ve had my last boyfriend. And no, it’s not him that I miss; it’s the feeling itself. The feeling of being in love. The feeling of being invincible.

I’ve never actually had any problem with being alone. In fact, I enjoy the thought of it. But whenever I go outside and see couples being happy with each other’s company, I’ve never felt more ashamed to be alone. I felt like they have the upper hand just because they have someone by their side; someone who loves them.

Then again, whenever I’m alone, I also feel like this is what’s meant for me. Because I tend to be inconsistent, rational, and very anxious. I’ve planted this idea in my head that maybe I’ll just be happy by myself–where I watch TV shows all day, go on Twitter, hang out with my friends, studying hard, being with my family, and enjoying my own company with no attachment to any boy.

I’m afraid. I’m afraid of being in love again. Because I don’t want to be a burden to my partner. I don’t want him to feel like he has someone to take care of every minute. I’m scared of being attached to someone who made me feel like I’m their world when in reality, I was a mere part of it.

I’ve also known that when you commit into a relationship, you also commit yourself to heartbreaks, fights, feeling of emptiness, love, lust, sometimes sex, happiness, loyalty, and so forth. But sometimes, I can’t help myself to think that maybe I only want the good parts. That maybe I don’t want to experience the bad again. And I know, that that’s selfish of me to say.

And I’m hard-headed. Because I’ve always known that love isn’t like what you read in books and what you see in movies. My life is not a cliche, and it will never be.

So….I do miss being in love. But I know to myself that I also can find happiness within my own company and that love will present itself to me and I don’t have to rush. That someday, in some place, there’s someone out there who will love me and make me happy. And he will break my heart, too, in some point. Because it’s inevitable. And I’m sure, that if he loves me for eternity, or if he breaks me forever, I won’t regret it; because I chose him and I allowed him to be a part of me. And that’s a choice I’m willing to make again.

Until then, I shouldn’t rush things. Rather, appreciate the company of myself, of my good friends, of my family,  and of the things that make me happy. And I’ll stay in love with the life that I have right now..with or without someone.

I loved the person I fell in love with. And I know he loved me, too. And so I thank him for allowing me to love him and because of him, I know the feeling of not just being in love, but also having that love thrown away–and I still loved him for that.



So, it’s been a while since I last posted here. I miss writing, being inspired, being transparent.

But first off I want to greet each and everyone of you a late Happy New Year! I want to thank you for allowing me to post whatever I feel like posting (and writing for that matter) and I’m grateful that I get lovely feedback from you all.

Now unto bigger matters; thank you. Thank you for allowing my blog to be alive as it is. Keeping my poetry, stories, and whatnot in their own context. I can’t wait to share a lot more of my works in here, for you. (and well, for me, too.) I can’t wait to post every idea that strike up in my head as soon as possible.

It’s lovely that I get to dump every idea here in my blog. It doesn’t let my ideas rot for so long or get lost. And that’s why this blog of mine is important to me; and I hope to some of you as well. I want to let you know that I always listen to your suggestions and read your comments and feedbacks so I could continue improving this blog.

Now as a new year starts over the horizon, I will not let this blog change its purpose—and that is writing and sharing whatever it is that I can provide. Thank you all for allowing my blog to be alive.

Can’t wait to share new ideas soon with you all. 🥀




Just a reminder if you didn’t notice that I happen to have a FAQ (frequently asked questions) page! You can know more about me there and ask silly things! 
Click here for my FAQ page! 💛 (or click the logo of WordPress found below the title of my blog.)

A magnet attracts a non-metal

I let my walls down 

For a guy who wouldn’t bring me up.

He said he likes girls who like pink;

But I’ve always liked black.

He searches for the sunrise, 

While I await for the twilight.

I let my feelings flow

For a boy who wouldn’t let go of his past.

I love his smile,

But he hates his own smirk.

He prefers his coffee plainly brewed,

I want mine with milk.

I spend my time alone;


He spends his in a bar;


But lastly…

I was attracted to a magnet, 

But I was non-metal.

I knew I stood no chance.

I still had my hopes,

My wishes, my dreams.

But, alas, I accepted it;

He will never be mutually attracted to me.


Pagod. (Tagalog Poem)

Dapat ipikit

Ang maririkit

Mong mga mata;

Ipahinga at saka muling magsimula.

Ihaon mo ang yong kamay,
Sapagkat ito’y nangangalay.

Huminga ka,

At ipahid ang mga luha.

Utak mo’y nangingilo

Litong lito, hilong hilo.

Pagod sa buong araw

Na pag-aaral; hanggang sa ito’y umapaw.

Bibig mo’y nanginginig,

Di maintindihan ang tindig.

Maputla at tuyo,

Mula sa buhay na kinalbaryo.

Mararamdaman mong

Nawawalan ka na ng pulso.

Makakibo, ay di magawa

Pagiging uto-uto ang naging pag-asa.

Pagod at lungkot

Patuloy na sumulpot.

Mga pangarap ay dumidilim,

Nararamdama’y kinikimkim.

Pagod ang nagsilbing kumot
Kasama ng kaba at takot.

Sarili’y di inalagaan,

Buhay patuloy na pinabayaan.


Will you?

“You’re worthless,” 

My mom said.

“You’re stupid as fuck,”

My dad said. 

“I’m alright,” 

I said.

“Stay strong,”

They said.

“Hold on tight,”

My brain said.

“Wanna rot and die?”

My heart said.

Am I truly worthless?

Or maybe not.

So I took the blade,

And put it on my wrist.

Blood spilling,

Tears falling,

Heart breaking,

Tired of living.

This time,

I cut deeper.



Oh, the pain,

The agony, 

The hurt,

They don’t all go away.

Tell me, God, 

Is this how it is?

Swallowed by the 

Words of others.

Tonight, I plan

On dying, leaving,


Will you miss me?


Our common humanity.

Why not accept

What is the obvious?

Are we, people—

Always so hard-headed?

For one God 

Created us all;

Beneath the skin,

Lie our souls.

Stop the 


The discrimination,

The racism, the superiority.

The  homophobic acts,
The rape culture,

The act of violence

And injustice.

Goddamn it, people!

When shall we stop?

When we are all dead?

Wake up, open your eyes!

This is not 

What we are 

Supposed to be,

Are we not? 

We are human beings,

Designed for greatness.

Designed for good,

For integrity.


Yet, we have thrown 

Away God’s gift.

What a shame.

Until then,

Our common humanity
Is a fiction; 

A demoralized truth.

For its people,

Are not yet ready.

For the people,

Are living in stupidity.