"When you hit rock bottom, you can either dig yourself a bigger hole or go up."

I’m starting a quote for this post because I am admitting that this is possibly the lowest of lows with this life of mine. Sharing every detail with you will be too lengthy and is not part of my nature, but at least a heads up for this will be pretty okay.

For months, I have been trying to climb my way back to the surface with all these bugs, heavy rain showers and low pressure areas, and successfully, I have reached a lengthy height from the pit. But yesterday, life, gravity and possibly also God decided to put me 500 ft below again. I couldn’t help but feel so down that I just had no reason to smile or whatnot. It’s hard, climbing all the way up. Before that happened, I already had my plan of action, but of course, unexpected circumstances, such as this, happens.

In all honesty, I am still determined to continue with the climb, and I even got a bigger reason now to do so (and no i am not pregnant lol). It’s just that — it’s frustrating, saddening and depressing to think about that unfortunate circumstance. I was this close to hitting my first target, but yeah. I think I’d have to climb again.

I guess my friend is right. I am an arsonist in the sense that when I do something, I do it all out to the point that I just hurt myself in doing so. Giving your full energy, attention and effort isn’t bad, but sometimes, limitations have to be set — especially for me.

As for this, I am seeing this as challenge and a lesson, also as God’s way of imparting a lesson. I trust that His plans a a lot more better than mine and that he won’t give me an obstacle that I couldn’t hurdle. Trust is all I need for this. More trust, more faith and more hard work — with a few limits for the last mentioned.

But still, all these efforts are for Him, my family, my future and myself at present.

Bring it on.


It hurts to pick up the pen, it hurts to go near the keyboard.

Yet looking at an empty notebook page hurts more; it hurts more not to write

maxwelldpoetry; The Heartbroken Poet

Soon, if not now, you’ll look back at the days you were in clubs and bars looking or finding someone to talk to, to flirt with or maybe even score. Those are just temporary bliss, and your hangover will even stay longer than that. It is a memory that will slowly fade, for our brain is programmed to do that to make room for new memories, but the moment you do become happy, I promise you, you’ll know exactly how I’m feeling right now.

Nobody knows the true and exact meaning of happiness, but one thing’s for sure: it can only be felt by the heart.

Grow Up With Me
Keaton Henson
And while picking from pillows each feather,
let’s both stay away from the edge of the bed,
forcing us closer together.
"Violence does not always take visible form, and not all wounds gush blood."
Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 
A message from Anonymous
Who is your first friend you ever made in college?

Vienne, and after all these years, we’re still tight like super glue.

After almost a month or two of not being able to open this account, finally, I had the chance to do so. For the time being that I wasn’t able to check this blog, I made a new one over Blogger.com. I honestly thought that it could suffice my want to blog something, write something or whatnot, but I was wrong. My journal didn’t suffice as well, since they’re filled with sketches that I’ve been trying to do. 

But now I’m back and I feel like my sanity is slowly coming back as well. Truthfully, I missed Tumblr. Staying on its pages for hours ‘til end and just talking with friends and seeing some things that amuse me. But for now, this will forevermore stay as my online journal. Updates may not be as often as they were before, but I’ll still try. There’s no harm in trying anyway.

So yeah. I guess this will be the end of this post. Tata for now.

Untitled Poem No. 2

It sickens me
when I try to grab a pen and  paper
and scribble my thoughts like before.

How free I was then
before you walked in my life.
But I have to admit,
it was pain that made me function
with my ill-writing poetry —

and sappy love stories —

and mushy thoughts.

It was pain that kept me going,
it was the fuel that I needed;
the creative juices;

the discharge that my mind needed;
the food for my muse, the air for her lungs
her life —

it was everything.

All that changed on the day I met you.
Sad songs didn’t seem to bother me anymore,
although I’ve always had a liking for that.

Love songs suddenly meant a lot,
and with every thought,
every action,
every word,

all I thought about was you.

Your arms slowly caging in to me
to wrap this ill-framed physique;
lips slowly coming in like the zoom
of a camera on a wonderful film.

Just like that, metaphors, similes
and everything else in between crumbled
the same way my poems and proses did.

Because all those metaphors and similes and
everything else in between
suddenly came to life —

and it was you.

I’m in awe of your power over me
and frustrated with what you did,
for how can you be the lowest of my writing,
when you’re the best thing that happened to me?

A message from djelevatedpoet
Hi! Great blog My question is: What motivates/inspires your writing? What makes poetry such a beautiful art? What is it about writing that you love?

Hi, good evening! Thanks for the questions, but sorry for the late response, been terribly busy. Anyway:

1. What motivates/inspires your writing?

Basically it’s the happenings in my life, both awful and good ones. I see an “inspiration” if you may, to write something out of the things with life’s situations.

 2. What makes poetry such a beautiful art?

Poetry is like art: it doesn’t have to rhyme, it just needs to makes you feel something.

3. What is it about writing that you love?

There are actually a lot of things to love about writing, but the best part about it for me is you can express yourself and just be in your own skin. No need to impress anyone or what not — just write to your heart’s desire.

Love isn’t a Friday night type of affair
or even a Saturday morning with someone
in your bed.

Love is like a Sunday morning
with the light gently hitting your eyes
on a hectic Monday.