everyday I lose parts of myself
and there is still no victory music for surviving
the war in my ribcage or the
hurricane in my bones
these funerals are more of the quiet kind,
there are no words spoken, no wailing
and the angel that lived somewhere in my body
grows smaller by the day
more transparent in the sunlight.
i miss your face,
as well as mine,
and my fire-alarm heart.
adulthood has never been one to wrap
its arms around me in grace.
i am stumbling, awkward
eyes too wide and heart too
eager to please.
there was a fire in this heart,
once upon a time,
but the stories have come and
and i am afraid they have taken away some
part of me i cannot recall,
some organ i never had a name for.
Originally published on alike.com.ph