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About Rz Fortajada

Rz is a 20 year-old Organizational Communication student of UP Manila. Poems are rare for her, as she believes in inspiration being elusive. She spends her free time sleeping in the library, then spends her sleepless nights writing self-centered blogs and reading.

For chronicles of her life in painful detail, and other off the wall topics, visit her blog at http://alifeinrandomorder.blogspot.com/.

Questionable Intentions

I never meant to write today, but there’s always something about you that compels me—to write, and do various other things I’d never thought I even wanted to.

I never meant to read, but there’s something about a sappy movie at five in the morning that compelled me to.

I never meant to know, but I now that I do, well I guess I don’t mean to know how I feel about it.

Because really, I never meant to feel anything about it. (It’s the movie, I suppose. I unfortunately am a hopeless romantic.)

And if there’s one intention that I at least got to keep, it’s that
I never meant to tell, and I never did.

Stage Fright

I’d rather hide behind the curtains
I don’t want to be seen.
I’d rather watch, dim the lights,
or man the ticket machine.

But I would sing in the shower
when there’s no one to hear.
Oh I could be a rockstar
if not for this fear.

You see, I dream to entertain
with swooning fans at my feet.
To get up on that platform
and lose myself to the beat.

But I shake and I cringe,
I run away from the spotlight.
It’s just this terrible, weakening
incurable stage fright.

undefined

I wish I could say it like an old song goes
but the thing is,
I can smile without you
I can laugh, and sing–even dance a little, too

but the other thing is,
I do feel sad when you’re sad,
and what wouldn’t I do just to see you be glad?

I wish I could tell you,
say it like an old friend would
because I can’t help but bother
quite more than I should

So my point is…

I may be undefined,
obscured by lines I never drew
but simply said, I care
perhaps that much you never knew

And I think it’d be a waste
of a perfectly lovely smile
if you wouldn’t even try to use it

Maybe the right one hasn’t found you
but it doesn’t mean nobody else has

Xing

You weigh everything, that’s what you do—
the decisions, situations, the painful truths.
You think, and somewhere between the thoughts
a choice was made and we both lost—
or so I think.

This one time I wish you didn’t keep your word
that one day you’d take back everything I heard.
But the word’s sticking and days are passing,
hours and minutes spent sleepless, tormenting—
yes, more than I would care to admit.

I made my mistakes, exceeded the bounds
we fought against currents, but something gave out.
Maybe the waves were bigger this time,
wiped clarity out from our once certain minds.

Moving on and walking out
halfway to it I turn around
I drop the bags you yourself have packed
but you tell me again, to just head back
out the proverbial door.

Maybe I’ll camp on a corner somewhere
wait for hope to be shed bare
until it dies a natural death
or until I force myself to forget,
but I might not.

Among the words on endless parade,
coupled with contradicting charades
looking for answers to questions unuttered,
doors closed but windows are left unshuttered,
but we might leave it at that.

Because decisions determine direction
and I lost you somewhere in your mind’s intersections.
You think, and somewhere between the thoughts
a choice was made and we both lost.

wonderful caricatures of intimacy

it’s horrible dancing, excessive drinking, shameless flirting
all in a blur, words all in a slur–yet effective
enough to fool one, or two, or three or more.

it’s a bunch of lonely people
getting by another night
trying to shorten time
until they find light.

sunlight burns, like truth.
passion dies, like youth.

it’s nothing serious, all for fun.
keeping score, and finding none
of whatever it is they all really need.

it’s filling painful g a p s and yawning s  p  a  c  e  s
in and out, around and about.
but after everything, still…

it’s empty.

To The Chain Smoker

Stuck
like the cigarette smell
on my shirt
you are
stuck
on my mind
(and who knows where else).

All it took
was a stick
was a look
was a smile.

Precisely the two things
I told myself to stay away from.

I don’t know why I even tried.
Maybe it was the novelty
the rebelliousness
the aesthetics (oh you certainly had that)
the curiosity.

But it was
(well was it really?)
worth the risk.
Those short drags and puffs
those long conversations
were exhilarating.
Perhaps it was the feeling
of being dangerously alive–
of being.

Until the cigarette burnt down to filter
as did the conversation.

I choked on smoke and words.
I didn’t know how to make it last long.
Too many puffs
too much of words
all at once.

It burnt out
too soon
leaving nothing
but the faint tobacco smell
on my shirt
and you
on my mind
(and who knows where else)

stuck.