FALSE AWAKENING 

with the puddles on my pillows
i silenced myself
under the light of exhaustion
recalling the uncertainty
of finding meaning
in the way we are understood;
perhaps it is indeed alright
to be without words

ah, darling, perhaps
it is in the way i wake up
in the last three days
a fondness for lucidity
in the wrong time zone
in the wrong country—

an awareness of myself spilling
over long periods of longing
for an absence
i do not have a name for

the ache has started again

forget it; somewhere across all oceans
there is a better shade of morning.

 

THOUGHTS AT THE EARLY DECAY OF NIGHT 

sometimes
the only truth left
is sleeping naked
on this frame-less bed

sometimes
looking at mirrors
is a reminder
of the prisons that we are

sometimes
looking at reflections
is feeling our faces
like iron bars

look at us walking and enduring
the phantom pain of all pulled milk teeth

look at us walking and enduring
the weight of all bearable things

look at me darling; i am—yes—
i am overthinking again

how do i shut down
this exquisite brain?

maybe i’ll sleep through this;
will you hold my hand?


J. P. BERAME is a twenty-something poet/photographer/producer based in Manila, Philippines. Visit her at existential-celestial.tumblr.com.