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[engravedthoughts]

Anaïs Nin, Delta of Venus, originally published: 1977

[engravedthoughts]

i need to write things down—

my thoughts,

the ones that nestle within my chest,

the ones that keep me awake at night,

the ones that cause my sudden flinch while deeply asleep,

even those that make me feel lost and nowhere to be found—

to feel that i fully comprehend them

and sort the scattered.

i feel like i am everywhere,

and i need to write things that disperse my thoughts

so i can spurn them back piece by piece until i'm full again,

until i grasp that all these are a part of me.

— jaév, “i need to write things down before all these became unknown, and all i am is a stranger to myself.”

Illustration by @brunomangyoku on instagram

[engravedthoughts]

i feel like the pain i carry doesn't appear in visible wounds or the need for bandages and gauzes. it’s not the kind that spills blood or leaves scars for the world to see. no, it's different, lurking in the hidden patches of my skin—a wound that doesn't turn into ugly marks.

it’s the kind of pain that lingers within, silently gnawing away without leaving any visible marks. there are no outward or telltale signs of distress that one might immediately notice. but, it brews beneath the surface—an unseen remnant of the battles underneath. it's a pain that doesn't scream for attention but silently consumes.

maybe there are pains that stay.

there are pains that we learn to tolerate.

pains that we outgrow.

i don't bleed, but if it manages to seep through, it might be too late by then.

— Jaév, “there are pains that linger as indelible imprints.”

photo retrieved from: Things you wanted to say but never did

[engravedthoughts]

i dreaded the day of finally

staring straight into the eyes of

this hallowed and dark emptiness.

now it’s here, as though having

a luridly melodramatic confrontation,

except it has me by the neck, for real.

i can’t afford to endure any more discomfort.

to feel the desire to just disperse

with my heavy sighs, just so i could,

for once, feel weightless.

this feeling of having your bones

being broken before it even happens.

this feeling, of handing you your flowers

before it even touched the ground,

six feet under with you.

a feeling, of seeing depictions of you

in a casket before you even feel

how it feels to not feel at all.

but why, now that it’s within me, am i afraid

of finally getting a trigger to pull the gun

pointing at my head?

why, now that it has wrapped me around, am i struggling to be freed and stay alive?

isn’t this what i wished for?

isn’t this the time i’ve been waiting for?

— jv orongan, “maybe i was lying when i said i wanted this all to end.”

artwork by: revol4357 on twitter

[engravedthoughts]

under this skin

is where you can find

patchworks ripped off

from me by all the people

i come across with.

each one of them

brought a part of me

to some places i long

but haven’t been to.

as though strings

were attached to them

connected to me

and now i am all chained

by these, stretching

from where i am

to some unknown places.

— jv orongan, “maybe that’s the reason why i long for places i haven’t been, because a part of me is with you.”

artwork by: instagram.com/citlali.haro

[engravedthoughts]

how did i become responsible for an existence i never asked for and assent to all the anguish that comes after it?

— jaév, “and why would it be a sin—not wanting all of this?”

[engravedthoughts]

should i be scared with all these repetitive thoughts and heart-clenching heaviness? or should i be delighted because a part of me says that this is what i’ve been waiting for? a trigger to take off the ever-ticking bomb inside my chest and finally burst?

— jaév

[engravedthoughts]

now i understand. why emptiness weighs the heaviest—just like the black hole pulls the strongest—is because it is something that needs to be filled the most, endlessly.

and now it all makes sense. why, when i feel nothing, does it feel heavy with all this wanting and trying?

isn't it ironic how the emptiest could feel the heaviest?

maybe that's just how it is.

maybe that's just how i am.

maybe i am to swallow all that there is and to turn them into something heavy.

maybe blackholes are meant to devour everything—even the most destructed and dysfunctional ones—to subsume them into a million celestial bodies bound to fascinate those who are purported to witness them.

and maybe the black hole in me doesn't. maybe because it is meant to annihilate every magnificent thing in me and end up as another baggage i shall carry.

— jv orongan, “everything i write ends up being about how empty and heavy this chest is.”

Follow my facebook page, Painting of Words and my Instagram Account @paintingofwords_by_jaev. Thank you beautiful humans! 🥹🫶🏻

[engravedthoughts]

i don't want to get to the point where everything piles up in my chest and it all just bursts one day—leaving me cracked open and unalive.

— jaév, “i just want something to get this heaviness out of me.”

illustration by @revol4357

Follow my facebook page, Painting of Words, for more pieces.

[engravedthoughts]

i haven't achieved anything yet, but i'm tired as though i already spent enough lifetime a human could behest.

— paintingofwords_by_jaev

Hello beautiful humans! I'm also on instagram! I post short pieces there. Follows are deeply appreciated! 🖤

[engravedthoughts]

it's there—like a loitering blackhole cautiously tiptoeing its hefty and far-flung steps enough to cover my body—reposed, doused yet desiccated, and excruciatingly torpid. it dawns in my dismal chest, achingly sowing like a deluge in a heath in complete loll, yet it all still feels solid. as if i hadn't experienced enough violence under this forlorn skin—never had enough trampings. maybe it was never the answer—the constant tracing of incarnadine lines hoping to slip the hurting out of these wrists grown by too many lilies, tainted as their roots touch my crestfallen veins.

so, there was me. a ghost that comes out of that weary body, stitching the paper cuts i have made in pursuit of leaking all my sorrows like liquid mercury. maybe one day this will no longer be a routine. maybe one day this will all stop and leave me be—my body lying in the prairies and among the yellow perennials. maybe one day i will learn to feel and embrace these and not write them in scarred hands and calloused fingertips as though they're greek tragedies and ancient war relics that are bound to be told.

maybe one day, i will stop writing poetries of insincere apology for these scars.

— jv orongan, “but for now, this is all i know.”

[engravedthoughts]

i think we're just like anybody else here in this damned world.

we have to hold on to something, be slaves to something, in order to feel whatever emotion available there is other than the grief and heaviness in our chest. we are just like those people who we sternly admonished ourselves not to become. only we do it in different ways and in different forms. we are in constant need of being intoxicated by what we deem alluring.

what sets them apart from us?

when we, too, are doomed to be strung out to something in order to feel what we think is euphoric from what we have been feeling all along and turn the darkness and the void into technicolors.

we're all distorted people trying to mend our serrated parts with something we think is beseeching for these cracks—with something we think we deserve.

maybe that's what it also takes if we want all that makes us to remain; in order to survive.

— jv orongan

Photos screencapped from: Beautiful Boy (2018) || dir. Felix van Groeningen

[engravedthoughts]

words could hold so much, yet i can only hold them with me without having the chance to toss them out in the air to reach you. how absurd it is that i could go to the extent of writing all these proses but never a single letter for you—never a response to any of your mails and messages. how cynical it is that i could write a whole book of thoughts but never a poem for you—never a piece dedicated to you on how much i long for all that make you.

maybe that's just how it is—that's just how i am and the things i am distinctly capable of with all my thoughts and feelings bared in analogies and metaphors.

words could hold so much. and words are the very thing that i only have. perhaps these i can't let them reach you. perhaps even these i can't let slip away. and perhaps these i can't let go of just like how i have unmoored you.

i don't want them to reach you because they're the only thing i have that makes me remember you.

only these i have of you dressed in words.

— jv orongan, “i want to remember all of you in words i can't tell you.”

My book is available for pre-order. See pre-order details here.

[engravedthoughts]

PRE-ORDER IS HERE! 📣

And a book cover reveal ✨

If you're from Philippines, support my humble beginning as an Author and buy my book. 🥹

BOOK DETAILS:

🌘 Thoughts Bared In Gray Nuances.

🌘 Book Cover Illustrated By: Gwen Gumiason

🌘 Confessional Poetry & Prose.

🌘 With Photographs captured by the Author.

🌘 Number of Pages: 130+

🌘 Book Size: 5.5" x 8.5"

🌘 Paper Type: Cream Paper

🌘 Book Cover: Special Matte Laminated

BOOK PRICE & INCLUSIONS/FREEBIES

Price: ₱399 (excluding shipping fee)

Inclusions: Bookmark & Postcard

Pre-order form:

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First 20 buyers shall receive FREEBIES!

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***Note: The freebies will only be applied per buyer, not per book. This is to give everyone the chance to receive freebies.

SHIPPING/HANDLING DETAILS

— If you are from Metro Manila & Cavite and prefers Meet-up, I can just meet you up and give you the book personally and just pay the handling fee of ₱100.

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TIMELINE

> January 29, 2023, to March 19, 2023

> Delivery Period (estimated): April to May 2023

TERMS AND CONDITIONS:

Please read the following terms and conditions as these are strictly required.

1. Payment First.

— Buyers shall pay first the total amount of the book they purchased as proof of payment is required to be uploaded.

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***Further concerns/questions that I did not mention or any clarifications, kindly message the page, Painting of Words.

Thank you! We may all have a year of healing. 🖤

Always,

JV ORONGAN

[engravedthoughts]

you're still the very first person that comes to mind in every poem i read about how falling in love is the most beautiful thing one could ever have. i don't know. maybe because you were also the very first person to ever make me feel how it feels.

you're still the very first person that comes to mind every time i hear new songs about telling the world how lucky a person can be to find such a rare form of love. i am not sure. maybe because you made love seem impossible to find in others.

you're still the one that i imagine embracing me in every portrait of two happy lovers painted in all colors at full brightness. maybe because you gave all the shades of pastels you could ever give to my once devoid of color life.

love, i was at the point of surrendering everything for whatever it takes to be just beside you. but just like any other poetries, songs, and paintings—my desire and appreciation for art—were rooted in the ruins and remnants of war, where my heart has ever gone.

no good would come out of my chest loving you. there will always be messes and hindrances along the way.

darling, the only love i have is not knowing how to love.

—jv orongan, “a response letter i'll never send.”

[engravedthoughts]

i have to write things down—my thoughts, the ones in my chest, the ones that keep me awake at night, the ones that cause my sudden flinch while deeply asleep, even those that make me feel lost and nowhere to be found—to feel that i fully comprehend them and sort the scattered. i feel like i am everywhere, and i need to write things that scatter my thoughts so i can spurn them back piece by piece until i'm full again. until i realize that all these are a part of me.

—jv orongan, “i need to write things down before all these become unknown and all i am is a stranger to myself.”

[engravedthoughts]

i wonder what it feels like to have a solid wall against which to lean and to affirm one's life choices and dreams. to feel like you have it all, whatever you aspire to in life. that you don't have to work as hard and take steps twice the size of others.

i feel like i'm doing so much and moving so little.

i don't have a solid identity to prepare for. it's like i'm doing things because they're laid out in front of me and not because i chose them. i'm working too hard for some unknown things in life, and i don't even know if the end of this all is something that i want. it's like i'm stuck in quicksand, and all i've done is try to get out of it, but i'm not actually moving.

i'm worse than going with the flow in life because maybe where i am is never above the flowing water, for i'm a rock stuck beneath it.

will i ever get to a point where i can finally say, "this is it; this is what i was preparing for."?

— jv orongan

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