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If you see this

You were visited by the magic kitten of rest. Reblog to have a good night’s sleep.

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We were looking at that gallery alone. I felt how entranced she was when she stared at every railing detail of every print, a photographer. A photographer with probably a hundred or two pictures of me in her camera, half of which I’m with her. We both remembered that fact as we walked away from the exhibit, unspoken. So I held her hand, and she hesitated for a moment, but locked into it anyway. Then we heard a speaker turn on, and it took us both back - a few weeks ago: her birthday gift, standing beside me in the front row, my favorite band jumping in front of us. The world was silent, it was just her, my tears and I. All I needed. As we return to the real life we look at each other with wide eyes, because we both know what we just felt. Ang nice naman :( 

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I was out of breath, heavy and lost after having to climb three floors with weak lungs and detached shoes. My temples were pulsating. I set my bag down, grumpy as every other morning, with my eyes glued forward so as to repel eye contact. I got by as I usually do: scanning the classroom through peripheral vision and gathering data. How many people are present, how many people to avoid, are there people to greet, should i just sit down and keep to my little shell until she arrives, the mandatory morning analysis goes on. That particular morning, I felt relieved to answer one of those questions with, “Yes, she is present,” and so after setting my things down, I immediately walked to her - reclined in her chair, arm dangling, with books and other negligible objects on her desk. Negligible, in the fact that all that mattered was that she existed at all at that morning. The eye contact I’ve been afraid to have, I was glad to finally spend by looking at her. The closer I came, the wider her expression. She smiled with the warmest smile I could ever dream of, the kind that washed away the wastes of my soul and involuntarily made me smile back. The room lit up, The sun shone through the blinds and over her ash brown hair. Finding the very peak of it, as if it couldn’t get any better, we laughed at the idea of seeing one another. Out of nowhere I found our hands to be dangling by her desk together, entangled. Her hand was just as warm as her smile. No words. She’s all I need.

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My forehead down to the bridge of my nose grazes the side of your face, then remains there. We don’t speak, but the ghostly voices behind my throat haunt me, hoping to haunt you. It’s endless, it’s overlapping. It’s the most peaceful chaos I’ve ever been glad to feel. “I couldn’t be anywhere else,” and, “You’re all i need,” and, “You’re home.” You pull me closer, your hands play with my ears. I’m deeper into your skin and i hang my arm over your chest. You’re all I need, you’re all I need. 

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I’m curled up, you’re stroking my hair. The pain within my core alleviates, it’s as if your hands were magnetic enough to attract those lead filings. The helmet of broken nerves around the right side of my head don’t short-circuit nor spark. They don’t pulsate, they don’t squirm.  I feel your static align them into reflecting, alternating, soft, vibrating waves. The arctic monkeys visualizer, but calmer, sine and cosine. This scar is an electric fence, although I am pained whenever any foreign living material is to trespass. Home is to feel the sentience of the people you trust - one of which, you are.

You stroke the back of my neck down to the bone where my spine begins.  I wouldn’t be anywhere else but here. For a moment, I thought you were about to leave. The sharp, anxious pain drove me to mentally verbalize: No, I need you. The motion of your hands continued on, I cooled down. That moment was the exact moment I put all the pieces together. I need you.

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i recited for our gender studies period in cae and my classmates cried lmao

Mrs. Carpeso asks for our opinions and sentiments towards the “dear mama” letter by Michael Namikas If i were to say, in this room, that I'm straight, would any of you believe me? (all my classmates say no)

I relate to michael in such a way that, “I really don't care”. I come out every day. I introduce myself to boys, I say, 'Hi. I'm gay.' I also feel very close to the part about - san francisco being tolerant - (points to the word 'san francisco' on board) I came out to my mom in an aeropostale outlet in san francisco, while picking out several pink shirts.

By the time i came home from that LA trip i had already come out to the rest of my family, all except nanay. When I was in grade 6, I hated pink - now all my things are pink - i was picking out those shirts in an effort to make nanay - not mama - think i was straight.

So, was pink your “closet”?

No, I use it to my advantage. I wear pink because society sees it as a 'girl' color, and if you were a lesbian you would be wearing black, or something, a butch. I wear pink because it empowers me.

So i would constantly let nanay know, at times, that I'm gay. She'd say, “Don't hang out with boys,” I say, “nah it's cool i dont like boys.”

“You’re gay?” She'd say, "Bawal mag-tomboy" and i just laugh in her face because, as michael says, “I really don't care.” Wala naman siyang mababago.

I think coming out all comes down to, the outcome of learning that you are loved and accepted. My aunt, she just came home from LA recently, and in my retreat letter, she wrote,  “You are just like your mother. I know you will make us proud someday. But you have already made us proud.” 

outside of class, at a table with my classmates Whether or not your family accepts you, homosexuality is not equivalent to the prison bars that hold you back. Rather, take the bars, turn them sidewards, change your perception and use them as a ladder. You are to reach farther, your success will affect not you but also those that discriminate you and those that experience discrimination. They can do nothing when you’re on top.

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10:15 of every night I’m looking for the moon hoping one of these days I could show it to you the last time that I saw you I’ve been worn out by the noon your hands ardent in mind, but your hands aren’t in mine

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Same

fuck i am so goddamn tired please let it be sembreak oh my god

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Been inactive for a while, so here's a drawing i forgot to post para lang alam niyong buhay pa ako

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I’m next to her. The lights are dimmed, so everything surrounding me seems so dreamy I can’t wrap my head around it. I’m sleeping next to a girl I love. Perfectly close, and I have more room to come closer still, but part of me stops the rest. I’m glad, and the weight of my chest sinks lower and lower into the earth, because I wanted to sleep next to her and she felt the same. She lets me wrap an arm around her. Now I’m an inch away from her neck, and out of pure affection I’m tempted to kiss her, but I keep the distance and close my eyes. The scent of her feels like comfort and some kind of lost home. In this dark, the windows are pitch-black and a muted light radiates from outside the door; I can see the stars. 

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not dead and not sad either but im posting so yall know im alive in case anyone cares

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I wish I get high grades. I wish i get the energy and non-sabogness to get high grades.

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sleeping in the arms of a girl with the sweetest voice, singing the sweetest castilian melody.

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I’m writing this late, but it’s for the subject of this letter that I’ve delayed its writing. The strange feeling has turned into a bitter feeling of disgust. This sickness is quite physical - almost like a cringe, but instead rooting from somewhere in my intestines and crawling up to my chest. It isn’t severe, it must be the equivalent of a slap that fails to give you pain since it only gives you some other person’s hand on your face, pretending to try to give you pain. I felt bitter because you found someone. It does look like she’s winning you over. Coincidentally, you informed me about it the day after I realized I was starting to think about you. It was the exact, unintentional slap in the face for being too late. As a response, any possible feelings of commitment and/or jealousy that were being constructed (and almost completed, actually) inside my ribcage by my self-enforced infatuation were shut down by a sudden rational epiphany: What was I thinking? Nakahanap ka na ng taong nararapat sa’yo. You’re “entirely, most definitely not the one,” but why am I envious? Then the disgust came. It looked like a drop of food coloring slowly conquering a clear glass of water. I just caught myself in the prerequisites of a mistake. Can you believe how stupid I was, trying to convince myself for fun that I could be in love with you? Staring at you, just to test if i could feel some way and then maybe switch lanes, just because I’m a failure with her? Trying to grasp that I almost allowed someone to run me over because of my own emotional carelessness feels like holding a worm in my fist. It’s a creeping uncomfortable state. Of course, I’m sober this week, still in love with my “her,” deeply, but whenever I hear you talk about your “her,” I feel so much shame. Then i notice the accompaniment by a certain gratefulness for being stopped before my mistake could materialize. I’m grateful that it’s fading away, and you’ll never have to know. Last week was crazy, thank you.

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I saw one of your friends the other day and remembered you. It was lunch break, and, during the ritual crisis of finding a table to eat on, we shortly crossed paths. I don’t look directly at people around me when I walk. I normally just peek and google my eyes away so that people’s faces seem blurred, but I immediately recognized her because of her awkward posture that was accentuated even more by the striped sweater she was wearing, as well as her mane-like hair. A shrunken Yo-Gabba-Gabba character, I thought. Not only did I remember you because you’d mention her from time to time, I also noticed a resemblance in the way you both walk.

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I may seem inactive but lmao i got shitloads of letters to people posted in private kasi baka mahanap nila tumblr ko

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my piece for Spoke Art Gallery’s bob’s burgers show in NYC! check out the rest of the gallery here~