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Bhong B. Martinez

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Poet in disguised
by Bhong B. Martinez   

Last edited: Friday, April 18, 2003
Posted: Tuesday, November 26, 2002

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Written for the so-called cyber relationships

POET INDISGUISED
bmartinez

I am not a poet… never will be. But with weather like this…anybody can be one. Coupled with the gloomy effect and the splitter-splatter of the falling rain…. I do the same. Inside my heart is full of swaying effect seem drunk from too much pain I have to hide. The poet has lost the desire to just be one with here thinking and her aesthetic side. I lay crumpled like a paper… hoping the falling rain to wash away every bitter pain I am feeling. Does he know about my hurting? Does he cry his eyes out in mocking silence? Does he cover the traces with an empty laughter? Does he think about me when he said those words? Miles apart…I can’t tell what’s inside his mind… his eyes doesn’t give away the right clues…. not even a dangling hunch… but I can read between his lines… “I can’t just take everything for granted”… yeah… he can’t take everything for granted BUT ME. My fingers glued ready to strike the keyboards any minute, but I sat in front of you motionless… any minute the tears would collide. I let out a deep sigh… these are the signs… I muttered to myself. I am slowly losing him. “If you want I can set you free…just tell me” I hit the keys with these words. Seconds and his words read “Here we go again.” he seemed so tired of hearing things from me. I am tired also hearing myself seeing “me” putting pressure to myself. Maybe I am a one helluva paranoid freak when it comes to relationship. No one can blame me. I’ve been thru worst. I met him thru you…now don’t give me the hint of losing him thru you. I understand what’s there to understand. I feel what he doesn’t want me to feel… I fear all the worst possibilities all with you in between us. You are the silent witness, the only bridge that put the ocean-away relationship into its miraculous survival. I still believe “nous somme vivienz”… I let out my final wrestle with my thoughts… ended up typing “I am sorry…” chicken-shit scared…I muttered. Half of me died in anger for being a pathetic-panic stricken-cow…the other sympathized and gave thumbs up sign…while you stared at me motionless, awaiting for my tears to fall…like the usual…pptttfff… I can see him typing something…ooops…. “I am sorry too Baby”… the tears retreated back to my tear glands…. while my shaking fingers start keying the second words simultaneously with his typing. “I LOVE YOU”…damn, simultaneous…. And I can feel both of us smiling…and laughing soon hugging…the emoticons showed it all. There in front of you we fought, kissed and made up and will fight, kiss and make up again. I am not a poet. Never will be …but with you and him…I am myself… bold, explicit…undaunted…like a poet. With him I don’t have to be in disguised… he unveiled the thousand disguises I used to wear…with you, we loved, will love and will be forever… you are the poet who created my words…dictated by my passion…flowing with my desire to love and be completed by him. Yes, we are miles apart… but through you we are one. The poet has spoken thru your own realm.


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Reviewed by shawn 4/29/2003
touching in the emotional conflicy of holding on or letting go.
Reviewed by Chris.....aka Joe 11/27/2002
very nice article from my Baby

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