malumanaynaawit-blog - Tumblr blog

[malumanaynaawit-blog]

rotten candy

I came in crashing like a rocket with which

the target landing is precarious

(silly girl always looking for tenderness.)

i forget you, thankful for the decay of days and gaps in our breaths

when i felt the feeling fleeting, and held a sign above my head that says "DEFEAT"

i hold the center of my chest and mutter,

"we were never really here"

14 Jan '19

[malumanaynaawit-blog]

An early morning thought

I could bug you, if i wanted to, for you

Are there

Right where the throbbing green thing

is present beside you

But i'd rather take in the earliness of the day

And the bright-orange drunkenness of the room.

You don't deserve my thoughts,

My thoughts from 6a.m.

You don't deserve anything I think about you

(Yet when i wake i find myself wondering what you're doing)

but right here lying in someone else's bed

i'm wishing we were something else instead.

25 July '18

[malumanaynaawit-blog]

ambiguous machine

You're a hardened romantic

a poet sleeps inside of you

you tread the world carefully so he wouldn't wake

(--- keep that steady belief, son)

and if i ever mistaken to give you my words

i know you'd crush them with your bare hands the poet will slightly tremble

then the rain will seep into my skin

and the clouds will follow me home.

[malumanaynaawit-blog]

The Night Migrations

This is the moment when you see again

the red berries of the mountain ash

and in the dark sky

the birds’ night migrations.

It grieves me to think

the dead won’t see them---

these things we depend on, they disappear.

What will the soul do for solace then?

I tell myself maybe it won’t need

these pleasures anymore; maybe just not being is

simply enough,

hard as that is to imagine.

---- Louise Gluck

[malumanaynaawit-blog]

closed book/unwelcome tenant

Fate was never my friend. I understood that when people came and, without notice or permission, etched their names like vandals in the dead of the night. 

Even more god-awful is the way they manage to sneak in you and take shelter. They take up your time, your head space, crawling in the crevices and spaces where you tell yourself they’re not welcome. But in the end, there’s no one to blame but you. The most sinful part is the way you let them take up that space...and tuck them in until they’re too comfortable to sleep, and they wake up the next day. And the morning after. And the day after that.

That’s what happened with you. Like a rat skilled in silent pursuits of invading areas, you tucked yourself in. Months later, you’re still there, living, still staying. And I don’t ask you to pay rent. 

Because we’re friends, I say. I got to know you. You got to know me. The bond made through playful conversations, music, jokes from the bowels of the Internet’s rear, and the talking, talking, talking -- all of these seemingly shallow things have managed to unfold you, without me noticing it. One day, I finally did. 

Your pages started to unfold to me, but since you were reserved, not in a thoroughly-wide open, but a little, careful peak. It seemed hard to look through you (and now that one Beatles song about looking through someone will get stuck in my head now), considering your barriers. Is there a wound? Could it be healed? You don’t seem to bother talking. Maybe you’re purposefully blocking the thought. Maybe you’re watching TV up there, on the undersurface of my brain. 

So I keep my voice from sounding out interrogations or curiosities. I realized, like how a person looks closely at another’s eye and realizes their true eye color, that I am better off in the warmth of the darkness with my feelings. You’re better off in your couch up there, watching a movie while drinking beer...and make sure not to spill some on the carpet, please.

I’ll be still and silent about you.

The book is better off closed. And that’s okay.

(Last night, I slept to the sound of the songs you like.)

[malumanaynaawit-blog]

before the next full moon

That familiar feeling again...helplessly longing for something that is out of reach. The same set of thoughts cling to me like kids on monkey bars, toying with my capacity to imagine and play dream sequences in my head -- sweet, beautiful, sometimes unholy. I will be like this forever until I bleed, or take my medication (maybe it contributes to all of this), I’ll be forever like this like a woman imprisoned for life.

25 April 2018

[malumanaynaawit-blog]

“If you really want to become a manager, you have the rest of your life to crunch numbers and balance spreadsheets. For now, spend your youth devouring literature, watching movies, and writing amateur love poems that will later make you cringe when life has made you cynical.”

--Leloy Claudio

[malumanaynaawit-blog]

a mini introduction

Here lies a myriad of feelings and sentiments either collecting dust on my phone’s Notes app for the longest time, or coming directly from my mind’s eye. Hi!