The Price of Creation
Tortured souls
bend all colors,
twist them 'til they bleed,
paint skies with bruises,
carve beauty from the dark.
They turn black into rainbows,
alchemists of pain,
mixing sorrow with shades
of lemon, honey, and dandelions.
Because their art—
it's not in what you see,
but in the shadows of the canvas,
the one that doesn't cost a thing,
but has cost them everything.
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...
