Bunk Beds
I wanted to sleep—
but the ghosts beneath my bed
had other plans.
They stripped away silence,
peeled the night down to its trembling bones,
shaking my small frame
with the weight of their pleasure.
I whispered it,
choked on it,
screamed it—
I'm awake.
But they only grinned,
a secret carved between their teeth,
murmuring, this is what lovers do.
Told me to hush.
Told me to forget.
Told me my body was a bystander
to the crimes it bore witness to.
I said it wasn't right,
that this wasn't meant for a child's ears,
a child's skin,
a child's world—
but they kept at it,
over, and over,
and over.
And here I am,
years later,
staring at the ceiling,
begging for sleep,
while the ghosts slip between the seams
of my pillow and my skull,
whispering the same lie.
Hush. Forget. This is what lovers do.
BINABASA MO ANG
Shy Girl (18+)
PoetryShy Girl is a map of my unraveling. A collection of all the versions of me--fractured, stitched together, still searching. These poems slip between memory and trauma, between hands that weren't mine and the ones I learned to trust. They are about th...
