I Think I Made You Up & other poems
By: JC; Barcelona, Spain
I Think I Made You Up
I think I made you up inside my head.
An earless flower that could listen
to everything in life I have said.
I think I made you up inside my head.
You’re the bodiless wind that my skin
is wrapped with; dearly embraced, indeed.
I think I made you up inside my head.
You’re the mouthless moon with a sweet grin
I see at night, when everything’s dead.
I think I made you up inside my head.
You’re that lifeless pillow in
my bed I sleep with; talk with; dream with.
Keys
I kept going back
hoping to find the keys
to forgive myself
I kept going back
wanting to find the keys
to my healing.
I kept going back
wishing to find the keys
to find a new me.
Then,
I stopped going back.
and the keys appeared;
After all this time,
it was all in me.
The Poetic I
“I’ve lost it;
It is taken by the wind,
It is taken by time.
I’ve lost it;
It is nowhere to be found.
I miss it,
I long for it. Will I be able to get it back?
Will I be able to hug it again?
Will I be able to?”
So many sentences you’ve read;
Many unanswered questions you’ve seen.
But have you ever asked what I mean?
No, you haven’t,
Yet!
I hope you don’t leave me
The way the autumn leaves abandon their body;
I hope you don’t forget about us
The way a seal forgets things so fast.
JC would like to share an excerpt from his forthcoming book, Liame:
He often told Vero, his high school sweetheart, that his life had changed. But not in a dramatic way. It wasn’t that he no longer craved the simple, almost idyllic life of his small town in Pangasinan, Philippines. He still longed for the taste of bagoong, the salty, pungent flavor he grew up with. He missed drinking water straight from the gripo, and the thrill of asking neighbours for permission to climb their fruit trees—plucking ripe mangoes, santol, and star apples until he ate so much, he risked a sour stomach or mild indigestion. He could still imagine the sting of his lips turning pale from dipping them into too much suka. If he were to return home, he knew these things would still be part of him, as natural as breathing. Yet, something had shifted. There was a subtle change in him that he couldn’t quite grasp or explain. It wasn't a rejection of his roots, but rather an awareness of how much he'd grown. This feeling, this quiet transformation, remained unspoken. He kept it inside, even from Vero, unsure if anyone else could understand.
JC is a Filipino poet and writer based in Barcelona, Spain, whose work bridges cultures and languages. Writing in English, Tagalog, and Spanish, he explores themes of history, diverse perspectives, and the intricate workings of memory. A passionate admirer of classic literature, JC draws inspiration from timeless stories that delve into the human experience and the passage of time. He is also a passionate educator helping his students discover their potential especially in language learning.
Artist Links:
His book He Through The Seasons: Life in Poetry: https://amzn.eu/d/0Jlw92d
Main Instagram account: https://www.instagram.com/mr.jerihco/profilecard/?igsh=MW95dXJ6a2Q0dmFsdg==
Language teaching accounts:
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/speakwithecho/profilecard/?igsh=MWF3Z3YxMnZrZjhocg==
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/share/kjam36W9RW4CU61f/?mibextid=LQQJ4d
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