Your piano is poetry and I
sing it with little fingers. Wrinkled
hands in brazen color dance
on keys like a palm-sized spider
fists that learned to be gentle only
to cradle a cigar or two
in basketball afternoons
It’s all over Facebook, you and him
still pictures of smiling faces popping
beside scandalous phrases in a growing forum of banters
You were names making noises in an argument
that is heard beyond your bedroom door
and each word is like a slap on the face that is already red with shame.
I tried to make peace with myself whenever I hear your name
because it was like bad news on TV, it sounded like murder,
only in your case, you don’t have a knife;
you don’t need it.
Years pass and I soon learn that your name is synonymous with bitterness and distrust,
something that tastes like acid and boils in the mouth
and churns inside the stomach
Several years ago, I wanted to live like a ghost.
I wanted to be air; to exist but not noticed, to breathe without a sound. To sit and observe without being an obstacle. To be a thing. To stop being human. Humans are scary.
They’re born with flesh, tender and raw. But the truth is they’re time bombs waiting to explode from their innards. Humans are their own destruction. I watched them seethe with anger and greed and envy and desire and burst into dire passion. I see them nibbling ears and gnawing necks and slowly, friendly bites turn into large chomps as they eat each other up in a whole. I look at them as they pass with their souls silently dying away, thinking that they’re placed in the wrong side of the world. Trusting them is like putting your life in the hands of a soulless, insensitive butcher.
I remember the times when I watched my friends helplessly rot in their own murky puddle of indulgence. There were lies. There was witchcraft. There was abortion. There was polyamory. Everything happened right under my nose and I thought I was too weak, too frail to even lend a hand out of the quicksand. I ran away. I ran away and hid.
And so, several years ago, I tried to live like a ghost.
Droplets trickle down our skin,
Cleanse our weary souls within
It was a long ride; the road turned slippery wet after a full day with the blue sky. The sun caved in. It’s time for the clouds to pour out their sweat. In the afternoon, during the sunset, we watched the tall buildings disappear into little dots. We’re going home.