Author: poetryfest

Earth Theory/Earth Strings are the structure that binds us 3rd dimensional beings from a one dimensional standpoint or plane that is operating on a vibration or frequency. It is more than a theory in all actuality, as everything is energy and everything (including human Beings) operates on these tuned frequencies. These strings, just as in string theory is used in space time or the universe, is measured on an Earthly level, where us humans are and our vibrations flow through.

#consciousness, #humans, #human consciousness, #spirituality, #vibrations, #frequency, #stringtheory, #physics, #ascension, “#higherself”

I’m being followed—
by a creature more horrendous than you could ever imagine.
If I stop, it will seize me.
I see it lurking out of the corner of my eye,
lurking, waiting to pull me into the abyss.

It doesn’t only haunt the dark moments.
It was there when I started my new job,
a shadow beneath the stairs.
Even in my happiest moments, it remains.
When I dare to smile, it creeps closer.

Sometimes, it catches me—
and the agony is beyond comprehension.

It will never leave me.
I must learn to endure it, for it is stitched into the fabric of my soul.
And so, we must coexist.
Perhaps, in time, its sting will cease to paralyze me.

You balance a basketball on your index finger.

I can see that he is mesmerized,

BY YOU,

He is spinning just like the ball—

Pinned in place;

A spherical vortex of need,

Held fixed by

Centrifugal force.

With a smile on your lips,

You surrender the ball to

G
R
A
V
I
T
Y

Then by feint, pass, layup,

YOU SHOOT,

And effortlessly release it to kiss

The backboard, where it balances,

TEMPTING, TEASING,

Before, with a swish,

It flirtingly slips its way

Through a skirt of net.

He is mesmerized.

He hopes to SCORE.

Slumped and etched into your memory,
You were a swan in a pool of blood—that did not belong to you
It’s magnificent thus inevitable

Blood
Bathes
Broken
Bodies,

Brutally
Butchered
Beneath
Blackened
Beams

Veins of betrayal coursed over the fallen in a crimson sea, Held captive of the souls draped in the scene.

Dug inside yourself witnessing the ecstasy of mourning and weeping, them. Since the chords and strings accord with the selves own self

Passion
Perpetually
Puzzles me

And,
Prickles my
Patience
Poisoned to
Perfection

My lungs rise and fall, emerging ashes to smitten flames.
Sins of the flesh decide one’s fate, o’ fall through the chorus of chaos slipping past the ending trials that scream,
‘Vencere aut mori’, Conquer or die

There’s an alarm that is ringing

Neither dove nor lamb
Neither agent nor executioner
Red sky at night, abiding by every rule
The sun breaks its arms in agony
‘Will they all die?’, I ask
I think they will
Now that, Faqqua irises
Have a diet of tears
Healing in hiding
And the news, adept
At naming spaces after
The sound they make

But I must read a door
Even in error
Somewhere
A breath, a screech
A howl at humanity
A torn open flux
As big as I can
As small as I can

I’m just carpentered
With the gauge of
This time, this fleshed time
This distance from blood
The smokes, they don’t touch
The flowers in my drawing-room
Part of me, leaking out
into a pool that once looked like me
As all the flowers die
At Rafa
And sulphur coloured hate
So symmetrical,
Descend
To bury this setting outness

Why otherwise,
My heart would function still,
My body, move
My soul still in place
At the thought of
How little it belongs
to me even the death
Of burnt children.

The sunflowers died of over-
watering. I remember

searching for love in all
the wrong places—

city halls, anime conventions,
jai alai matches, DND

sessions, but I am sure
I am Asia’s Warsaw

without you, yes,
a Manila. Dressed for

a call-center interview
with my smoothed NBI

clearance inside a clear
envelope, I commute.

In the afternoon, a downpour
sank half of the rotunda.

In my mind, you are tall
offering an umbrella

while I was eating pan de coco
sipping my coke in a plastic

bag. A black Mercedes
passes by & a deluge

of floodwater gets in our
mouth. Next year,

I will be promoted
to TL, while you change your mind

again & shift to Accounting.
We rent an apartment

by the LRT & collect
ugly dolls.

Javi, you make me feel things.
I’ve felt them before,

but feeling them again
makes me feel cute.

You don’t have to tell me
which rib to pluck

so I can suck myself.
I am on it.

6

“you need to put your meat on those bones”
my mother, washing my hair in the bathtub
shakes her head at the ribs poking through skin
bronzed from playing games in the sun
too much energy, too high a metabolism
she feeds me my first lozenge
round and smooth with an aftertaste of womanhood

8

“with those long legs and tiny hips, you should be a dancer”
a family friend smiles through envy
pushing me toward a childhood she wished she had
telling me my body is wasted
on other sports
she hands me a lozenge
I can feel its weight on my tongue

11

“doesn’t it scare you to be in a swimsuit in front of all those people?”
the thought had never crossed my mind
that sports could be a place for gawking
there’s an athlete under this skin
whose muscles are aching to grow
envious of breasts that get all the attention, unwanted
and instead of high protein diets
I take lozenges shaped like the eyeballs in the stands
that I can’t not see

13

“you’re never going to break 100 pounds”
the doctor laughs, writes down my weight
with one hand, with the other hands me a lozenge
I taste a surge of pride
numbers something to be conquered

15

“aren’t you scared you’ll bulk up?”
my infantile curves finally have a hint
of muscle but still a lot of bone
clavicles that call to men
ribs that poke through my shirt
hip bones that apparently yell “grab me”
all I want is to bulk up, to be strong, to be believed
that I own this body
so I take lozenges with my morning vitamins
wash them down with protein shakes

16

“you’re too small to join weight lifting”
the boys from the football team chuckle
when I grab the 35-pound bar because the 45 is too heavy
they laugh at me from across the gym
then check me out when I walk past
they throw lozenges at me with their gazes
and for some reason I eat them, famished

18

“you could be a model”
my boyfriend, my first love
thinks this is a compliment
like I haven’t spent my life wishing myself better
than magazine covers
knowing that the body I want isn’t celebrated in Vogue
but this lozenge still tastes sweet
tastes like calories I’m suddenly aware of
tastes like winning

20

“don’t worry, she’ll lose that weight once she gets back into shape”
my dad to my lover
watching me at a college swim meet
I have gained weight from stress
ten, fifteen pounds all to my belly
and some days I rub my hands over her and forgive her
her shame, her second helpings
and some days I turn my head from the mirror
won’t let the man who loves me touch her
protecting her from the lozenges I’ve come to expect
whose flavors seep from my pores in spite of myself
that tell her that she is not worthy
even though this body
shatters records, makes men weak,
can lift more than some of the guys now
the lozenge tastes stale but still I eat it
wash it down with water from my Gatorade bottle

21

“eat a sandwich”
I’ve lost the weight and gained it back in sheer muscle
in prowess
my stomach is tucked back and rippled
my bones are covered in muscle, sleek
and wanted and worked for
my ass is small but muscular
and I’ve weighed more than I ever have
and I feel better than I ever have
but crop tops aren’t as cute
over abs as they are over hip bones
bras aren’t as sexy
over pecs as they are over breasts
and I replace the lozenges I’m given with vitamins because
my body doesn’t need to fit
your narrative
your expectations
your size 00 jeans
it just needs to fit me, and it does

23

“you’re wasting away”
mental illness comes in waves
sometimes it leaves things in its wake
and sometimes it takes things with it
I’ve lost all the muscle
I’m the lightest I’ve been in my adult life
I am a carcass, a shell of the power
I once possessed
but at least I’m getting my fill of lozenges
from people who say “have seconds”
I’m told they taste sweet
so when I hear concerns I taste compliments
when people look me when I don’t want them to
at least I am seen
when men touch me without permission
at least I know someone will touch me
I belong in magazines again
all knee caps and cheek bones and floating ribs
sinews of pain
corpuscles of withdrawal

24

“I am beautiful”
me, to myself in the bathroom mirror
naked and crying and smiling
I’m still learning how to spit out lozenges
that taste like compliments
but sit heavy like judgment in my gut
I haven’t looked at a scale in months
I haven’t looked at a nutrition label in months
I drank bougie coffee the other day
and didn’t have to pretend to feel ashamed
of the calories or of the fat
I am beautiful without others’ expectations
I am beautiful without my own expectations
I am learning to eat whatever I want whenever my body wants it
and I never save room for lozenges

Go to work in sweatpants, they are so lonely and long for your body.
When’s the last time you wore them? Show them the love they show you.
Don’t you remember the way they hug you,
the way they slip around your curves, the freedom they give
to stretch and grow. Put them on,
and slide back into your satin sheets.
Admit that you and everyone else in the world
have given morning people way too much power!
Call your boss Mike and say you will be late,
by several hours. Your only telling the truth,
those liars drown in their dress clothes,
clock in,
start breakfast
and stare at a computer screen
stealing company time just like every other liar,
but draw the line at sweatpants!
Call Mike, tell him

you are not how you are perceived.
Don’t dress up to show the world your shell, you are still in there,
you are always the same on the inside.
Beautiful, cautious and loving.
Don’t choke yourself with that tie.
Don’t straighten your hair for those who need type 1.
Life is full of curls,
our progress is made of endless
swirling lines stopping at split ends, where
choice is the only thing remaining.
So choose sweatpants!
Ignore the glowering look from Mike.
Mike smells like unfettered ass,
every day,
five days a week
and one day
his wife and kids will leave him
for the questionable
things he posts
on facebook.
And when that happens,
you better believe
he’ll come to work in sweatpants.
Because we all need to lick our wounds sometimes.

It’s a small luxury to love yourself for a day.
To be happy where you sit and
comfortable in your own skin,
is to be happy with who you are.
Be proud of who you are.
You are greater than societal norms,
office rules,
and hair texture.
You are so much greater
than you have ever believed.

-JAB

In a cracked mirror, reflections distort,
Shattered identities flicker, a dissonant sort.
I search for the truth in the shards that remain,
Yet every glimpse echoes my struggle and pain.

In the depths of the glass, shadows twist and creep,
Echoes of anguish that drown me in sleep,
Monsters emerge from the cracks in the night,
Their whispers surround me, eliminating light.

With each jagged shard, they claw at my mind,
Haunting my thoughts, leaving solace behind.
A chorus of darkness, a symphony grim,
In the depths of my soul, the light starts to dim.

Yet in this cracked mirror, a flicker remains,
A glimmer of hope amid suffocating chains.
Though darkness surrounds me, I’ll gather each piece,
And confront the abyss, seeking comfort and ease.

The shadows may linger, but I learn to stand tall
A spark from the ruins that ignites through it all,
With every reflection, I piece back my heart,
Finding beauty in brokenness, I’ll go to great lengths.