Eyes

by Christian Rai Soriano

September 14, 2018

People, they notice the length of your stretch marks, the white hair on your head, the size of
your biceps, especially if you have abs. They notice the abnormal curves, the size of person’s
chest, pinch-able buttocks, and the list just goes on and on.

But do you know what people can’t do? They can never notice the ghosts haunting my head,
they will never know the scars of a rapists’ hands, people will never know that my knees are
bruised from falling, that no matter how hard I try to talk to somebody, the voices in I head
gets louder and worse, my ghosts uttering the words “give up” and “lose”, like a novena that is
prayed except, this one’s a curse. A curse so heavy no kiss from a handsome prince or beautiful
princess can lift, and by the way, lips don’t hold the spell to lift curses, it hold the spell to hurt.
Maybe the reason why snow white woke up after being kissed by the prince, was because the
prince’s breath was so bad, the curse couldn’t withstand it, or maybe their teeth bumped, I
don’t know, for I’ve only kissed my father, and mother, a brother, and a dead sister, the pages
of a dusty book, and the old pillow drenched from the downpour of my eyes, I’ve only kissed
things that I know couldn’t hurt me.

That’s why I made a mistake for kissing bottles and bottles of alcohol and filters of cigarettes,
as if these were the mark of your lips. Waking up beside a stranger after sex, like having coffee
in the morning sunlight blessing my tainted body, overviewing an ocean of happiness I can’t
make myself to swim in, I’ll drown

I was on my way home after getting high and drunk, I saw a church, went inside and drank
holy water with a cup, yes I’m still classy when I’m drunk, I sat and saw an old book that
looked more like a rug, and in it was written “Who do you say that I am”

You are a traitor, a hypocrite, a fool whose love was never cherished. A fictional character, a
hoax, just another story of a man from a chapter of a boring old book. The reason for the
weight of my baggage, the continuous stream of blood flowing from my heart. you are the
reason why I cry every night forever hoping that the sun will shine tomorrow, but the sun
exploded. It exploded into bits and pieces, into fragments of happiness it radiated sadness, like
the day I drove myself into a light post.

Somewhere, somehow, my tears created a song, it lead me to a worn out bridge, it’s time to
jump along with those who came before me, I am already at the edge, I hold no fear nor
grudges, as I closed my eyes and prepared for my escape, like stepping into the realm of
Narnia, on step is all that it takes, until the wind carried a whisper, “Who do you say that I am”
you are the Lord God, you are my God, whose limbs were impaled because of my sins, whose
life was sacrificed in exchange for this filthy soul of mine, the weight of your thorned crown
carries everything that I’ve broken, the things that I’ve done, but you never stopped smiling.
Like how a vine embraces a tree, you never relaxed your grip, for all of the bottles and
cigarette butts I’ve kissed, it was you who still believed the words coming from my tainted soul,
my tainted lips. You were the voice that told me it’s okay not to be perfect, that, it’s okay to
tear with the rain, to roar in pain along with the thunder and lightning. You told me, that I
didn’t have to be okay, that I didn’t have to smile my way through this teeth wrenching pain.
You told me, that it was okay to be afraid of the dark, that it’s okay to self-heal a broken heart.

People, they notice the length of your stretch marks, the white hair on your head, the size of
your biceps, especially if you have abs. They notice the abnormal curves, the plump of your
lips, the shape of your hips, the size of your chest, and pinch-able buttocks. People will start
noticing the cracks of the identity you have made, and through the cracks they shall see your
pain the damsel hiding in distress.

But God saw the worth of a broken vase

It is done.

Sometimes I wonder which will hurt the most, a bleeding wound, or a bleeding heart. A
bleeding wound will heal and form a scar, but a bleeding heart will only hurt, there will be no
scars only tears to drench the pain, a pillow as a substitute for band-aid, a