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Aldrich

Philippines

Published Work

Project Your Voice! — a contest

Hey, there!
Sooo, yes! This is my first contest!



Welcome!
This contest is inspired by The Bubbling Pen's #supposedtobe contest. (I am working on my entry to that contest)

Categories:
    1. Poetry
    2. Prose


Prompt
Project Your Voice! — Write prose or poetry that raises your voice on a range of personal to global issues e.g. racism, gun control.

Full Details                                    * = recommendation to increase the chance of winning
Again, this contest is inspired by The Bubbling Pen's #supposedtobe contest.
So, simply put, here are the qualifications:
    1. Entrants must use 1-5 lines from my poem, Less Than the Birds.
    2. Tag: #ProjectYourVoice must be in the title

The line/s may be placed anywhere in the piece. Since Less Than the Birds speaks up for an isolated issue (which is our school administration's...

sit with me

let the sunrise
do its thing
the phosphorescent glow
resembles the light that
shafts through these cracks

my soul bears
a recurrent disaster
the destruction
of self-fulfillment,
relationships,
education, and
even the will
to yet witness

another sunrise.

unmute | #supposedtobe

Every witness was trying to speak up, but the megaphone only lies inside his heart, never once used to amplify his voice, but always to echo grudges within his chest; loud waves were bouncing off from chamber to chamber — trying to escape, but there was no convenient way out — up till he turned to himself and asked, "Until when can we savor silence behind the noise I think we often hear; until when can we savor the blindness behind the sight of wrongs I think we often see?"

Short Story: The Shadow of A Glorious Past

I am panting. I pat the wall, and shakily sit on the wooden floor. I sigh, and close my eyes.

Adrenaline continues to pump into my veins. I wipe my face off sweat and something... eerily warm. I take a look at my right hand, and see a crimson red substance. I stare at it blankly, uncomprehending; and yet, the feeling of dread settles in the pit of my stomach.

A pungent smell hits my nostrils, and I am tearing up. I lurch forward, and I attempt to hold it in, but I cannot.

I vomit.

At the same time, I realize that the substance on my hand is blood.

Blood. Warm, fresh blood.

I feel dizzy — dizzier than I have ever been — so, I let go of the sharp knife I never even noticed holding.

I stop vomiting, and weakly stand up. The floorboard creaks under me, breaking the screaming silence. I shudder. I look around, and my...

Project Your Voice! — a contest

Hey, there!
Sooo, yes! This is my first contest!



Welcome!
This contest is inspired by The Bubbling Pen's #supposedtobe contest. (I am working on my entry to that contest)

Categories:
    1. Poetry
    2. Prose


Prompt
Project Your Voice! — Write prose or poetry that raises your voice on a range of personal to global issues e.g. racism, gun control.

Full Details                                    * = recommendation to increase the chance of winning
Again, this contest is inspired by The Bubbling Pen's #supposedtobe contest.
So, simply put, here are the qualifications:
    1. Entrants must use 1-5 lines from my poem, Less Than the Birds.
    2. Tag: #ProjectYourVoice must be in the title

The line/s may be placed anywhere in the piece. Since Less Than the Birds speaks up for an isolated issue (which is our school administration's...

Less Than the Birds

This is a special poem I made, so please let me know your thoughts!



I was rummaging around my consciousness
Trying to analyze places where
I might have misplaced a thought
The permutations of my brain pieces displayed
Visionary consultations from mankind's innate wisdom

As I transition from synapse to synapse,
I heard synopses of youth's vulnerable voices.
The spaces were getting tighter
As the Oxygen was providing me a life worth
Less than what I was taught about its worth

because at one point or another
the voices were getting softer and softer

I was seeking with both eyes closed
For I might as well be apprehended
In this fragile hold to humane service
And a compact grip to egotistic power
A soothing turbulence to the nescient ear

I noticed a gradual decrease
The decibels that turned to negatives
Introduced a signal of lamentation
The squeaking and screeching of
Whimpering terrains of mouth-cuffed sentiments

I was just in for...

Ready-Set-Go... to the Death Bed

The Enemy:
    He's all settled for the flashing lights in front of him.
    He's all into the crowd losing their voices screaming.
    Now, he's all in my veins and I'm about to pop off.

The Rule:
    Be fast.
    Be quick.
    Be smart.

    Be calm.
    Be positive.
    Be safe.

    Take care of your child.
    Wear your armor.
    Don't let the cockiness leave its nest, or else
    You'll never see yourself fly.

Things to do:
    Set your start.
    Step up the game.
    Hold tight.
    Don't let go.
    The stirring wheel is your dream,
    Hold it tight.

    Now, don't forget.
    Set your destination, too.
    My enemy didn't so
    He ended up with the crowd.

    Now...

Palpitation Cup

it finally stopped.

the pace of uproar
in my red machine,
the vibrant brokenness
patted on my skin.

as this engine
races in sympathy,
as it pumps blood
around my body,
i relived.

    the drag
    that pressures my lane
    the shaky lag
    corresponding pain
    has driven me back to my haven

a resting place
in my chaotic embrace
a desperate wheel
bound by holy reel
the life of a slow but furious risk-taker

now tell me.
why am i wearing this suit
of red and black?
why is my courier in this race
patented with reds and blacks?

isn't life a palette of iridescent racetracks?
    a customizable labyrinth of paths?
    an experiential discovery of racers
    of different grayscale suits?
isn't life more than just a race?

and so i sat
and i rested
and then this dark rivalry
finally stopped.

 

appear, disappear

i got no words
and i got no rhyme

i got no context
in this poem

empty.
that's me.

bedtime goosebumps

they say reality is a large Asia
from the corner of satan's eye —
a doomed area
where my monsters lie

but, every night
i face my room
with all my might
i face my doom

why does my soul
turn into an overhaul?
this void i feel
is almost numbness unreal

and my chest,
an auditorium that swoons
with echoes unheard
and illusive runes.

i wear my mask every night
to comfort the side of my bed
where tears are shed
into emotional dread

i only look forward
to a time
i'd find myself
unmasked.

live the book

the ambiguity
in a superficial,
often closed,
point of view
flourishes not
and
magnifies not
the letters behind
the secret code
of social understanding
and empathy.

a ballroom for two

dance with me.
your soul meets mine in harmony.

you've always known
the rhythm the music plays
the steps perfect for its ways
you just never have had

the right person
to dance with.

a slave i once was

i didn't know
the world could be
my owner.

untie the leash.
let me escape.

i'm tired barking
with full vocal force
but empty volume

my throat hurts
trying to hold you back
my hands hurt
trying to make myself

unchained.

bicycle, monopedal

i didn't want to let go
of my pain
as it's the only thing that
attaches me to my disdain
the distasteful, unpleasant
memories of blanketed,
daunting terrains

i didn't want to let go
but i didn't want to go back
either.
so, there was an invasion
of hurt,
and internal disaster.

it filled the void in my soul.
quite disappointing.

i held on to the hurt for
a long time.
but the energy it took
to hang on to the past
was holding me back
from living my life.

i've learned.

when your heart
is broken open,
new light
gets in. 

embrace it.
learn to let go.

you cannot move forward
having only a foot ready
for a new beginning
and the other
on the brakes.
 

A letter from the future

cut the shit.
stop shutting your door
to the beautiful world.

there are beautiful people
knocking at your door
welcome them.

and stop dusting off
the welcome rag
to those who have other doors
to knock.

i am happy with the world.
i am happy with the people.
but that's because
i chose to see
the beauty in struggles

will you still throw stones at yourself?

- self, 2020

a 'Good Night' to darkness

i hear loud voices
at the back
of my head
reverberating
distant noises
of high frequencies
and deep memories

it's deafening.
so i chose
to let go of my ears
and use my eyes instead.

then i see
demons.
then i feel
nothing.

BONFIRE

it’s burning;
my eyeing for redemption
has gained strength
and is more potent
than ever

but why does solitude
surround me again
wrapping me together
with the dissonant
sound
of anxiety

and the wholesome
presence
of discomfort












 

lovely venom

i can still feel
the touch
of your chest
to mine

the love you left
to me alone
the vice that spreads
virus to my bone

i was dumb
it never ceases
i didn't know
you're poisonous.

Extraordinary in the Ordinary

U-TURN

this trip to optimism
has taken a massive drift
i'm afraid the wheel has another master
and though my hands are on
the wheel has had its own direction
back to sadness and grief
from once a happy trip.

the hope i once had
is what i'm now hoping to have.