My Everything

She could give you everything

you want and surely,

she would still have something

left for herself;

I don’t have everything

you want,

but I would give you my everything

even if that means

nothing would be left

for myself.



II Senses IV: Say My Name


Say my name out loud
until you forget
all the other people
who have ever felt
your heart
through your skin,
and heard your thoughts
through your screams;
just say my name
and I will be in your dreams.


Game of Thorns

Thorns never meant to harm;

but they could dig

through your skin and slowly

eat your soul

like the words 

I would say to you

the moment you make me

realize I have had enough

of your games.

Love Gallivant

~ gallivanting about the city,

asking strangers to take photos of me |

dyeing my hair even darker,

looking in all the wrong places for a lover.



I got rid of all my petals

Only to find out

I just wasted my love.




“She is adorable,” she hears her whisper to him for the nth time.

He smiles and whispers back.

“I know she is.”

It doesn’t affect her anymore. She knows he still thinks the same way about her. She knows he still sees her as the most adorable little girl he has ever met.

…And she knows that her adorableness is the same exact reason he has decided to stop loving her.


Shitsubou is a collection of fictional excerpts that prove how painful and beautiful love can be at the same time. (c) Diana | Toast and Tea Together

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Senses XVII: How Much I Love



I can no longer count

the many times

I have to stop myself

from saying I love you.

I love you

with a love

bigger than

the moon and the sun


wider than

all the galaxies

hiding above the sky;

higher than

the sun could

ever, ever rise;

longer than

the miles

a bird could learn to fly;

and deeper than

the inner core

of all the planets combined.

I love you more

than the many times

I don’t remember

how to breathe;

I love you too much

I have to stop myself

from saying it

every time we kiss.

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You Used To…


You used to love the idea of being next to me

Laying in bed with your arms wrapped around me

With your lips on my bare shoulders

tracing every vein constricted within my skin.

You used to love the idea of listening to my voice when I was sleepy

or when I woke up before I took a sip of my morning coffee

while you lay in bed staring at me

trying to memorize every part of my naked body.

You used to love the idea of interlacing your fingers with mine

when the warmth of my palms had always made you feel divine

when calling your name sent shivers down your spine

and you kept wanting more because you knew that by then you would be fine.

You used to love the idea of watching me doze off

into deep slumber until you were sure I could never get away

when you never really had to worry about it even when life gets even tough

because I would always be here waiting coldly under your warm velvet duvet.





He called her name
from outside the room
as if it was a specialized endearment
he made for her

She pretended to sleep
just to see
if he was coming to get her
yet he didn’t

She wasn’t aware that
he was calling her
just to say goodbye
one last time

What’s more heartbreaking
than knowing she was slowly
being unloved
without her being aware of it?





Positively in Love


Note: I haven’t written any creative feature posts in a while, and I’ve just thought of writing and sharing this one.

When falling in love, there are two voices in your head. One is positive, and the other one is negative. This is the second part of my two-post series about falling. First comes the negative. Here is the positive. Read it, enjoy it, smile for it.


I am an optimist when it comes to falling in love. It does not matter how many times I get my heart broken, for as long as my heart feels that spark all over again, it does not stop until it gets reciprocated. And in the event that it doesn’t really get what it wants, it slowly heals itself until the yearning totally vanishes in the air.

Over the New Year, I fell in love in so many ways. I was in a different city with one of the most amazing people I know. Everything was new to me — the place, the experience, the person I was with. I tried my very best to remain emotionally and mentally stable, and so I found myself being silent in most occasions…

…but then, I got out of control.

I lost myself.

I lost myself in a big city.

I lost myself in you.

I didn’t expect everything to turn out so great. It was too good to be true.

You are the most incredible person I have ever seen. You are beautiful inside and out, and I don’t regret having you in my life. Never will I ever feel regretful, not even when things just suddenly fall out of place.

The thing is, I may be feeling something for you now, but I can’t tell you just yet whether or not it’s going to be forever.

I know my worth. I am aware of it, and I am pretty sure you also are. I am worthy of so many things in life and love. Just like you, I am worthy of all the best things the world could offer. I am worthy of happiness, of being loved back, of being pampered and nurtured. I am worthy of being respected as a woman.

This, nonetheless, doesn’t mean I am going to give up on you. You are a part of me now, and I am a part of you. I am just going to take my time learning about you and growing with you. This time, I am not going to rush things, in hopes that taking my time to love and get to know you does not lead to slowly drifting away from you.

No, I am not going to stay away. I will be here even at times you do not want me to…because you, my darling, are also worthy of being loved without you having to give it back. You, my sweetheart, are the absolute best, and you, among anyone, deserve the very best.


End of the series. Hope you read the first one!





How Do You Court Your Muse?

When I started my blog four years ago, I didn’t really have anything specific in mind that I wanted to write about. I was still in college studying two majors at the same time — language and literature. I had a two year hiatus and blogged on Tumblr every once in a while. I didn’t really pay more attention to writing anything concrete for a certain audience or readers on my blog as I focused more on writing critical analyses on Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, Sigmund Freud, and many other foolish human beings I came to love.

I must say I had so much fun learning about how f*cked up these people were. I learned so much that I loved writing about them. Well, that was two years ago. When I finished college, I left everything I had learned behind and just decided I wanted to teach little kids, read children stories and do other mommy duties that I don’t really have to do.

I was supposed to be a writer, a columnist for a magazine, an editor for a publishing house, a linguist, a researcher and so on. I had so many things I wanted to do. I wanted to study the historical and structural feature of a certain language. I want to learn more theories and try to apply them. But my laziness and inexperience led me to teaching.

Teaching was fun in the beginning, but everything I did at work became like a ritual and I wanted to get back to writing. A friend of mine asked me if I could help him out with his website, so I started writing lengthy feature articles once again. He actually asked me to write 500-word essays three times a week, but I am not the kind of writer who adhere to a certain rule which always makes me end up writing three times longer than the supposed length.

I could write about something or someone for days. I am very talkative in the form of written words, but I have to admit it doesn’t make any sense sometimes. I feel like the reason I can’t stop writing once I start is, I am always trying to explain things in different ways. When I got back to blogging, I started writing short poems to tone it down.

I got inspired by Pablo Neruda and Edgar Allan Poe, and took a bit of it from Emily Dickinson. I honestly think the latter’s poetry made my brains bleed for a long time while I was in college. Seriously.

Loving someone who doesn’t love me back makes me think of the moon and the sun, and the stars hiding behind the clouds on a stormy night. It makes me think of the existence of black hole and how vast this universe is. It makes me think of nature and the origin of everything that breathes. And it makes me think of how unfair it is to love him without getting his love in return. It makes me think of so many things that my feelings get messed up with my thoughts. I need an outlet to release everything that makes my heart systolic. Poetry fortunately helps me vent out all the repressed emotions I have..

I have been feeling demotivated to write lately, and all I have wanted to write are sad poems. I am stuck at the second chapter of my manuscript. And I have been stuck for ten days now. I don’t know about you but for me, when I have a writer’s block, it usually takes me three weeks or more and I hate it.

When I woke up this morning, I found myself sitting in bed and facing the mirror with a cup of black coffee for thirty minutes or more. I was just sitting there like a robot, my back against the head board while my legs are crossed. It was very silent and so peaceful. I thought of the many words and sentences I could have written for ten days. And right then and there, I got my muse back.

It’s not as weird as how other people court their muse, but this is how I do it.

How Famous Writers/Artists Court Their Muse according to Diane Ackerman‘s A Natural History of Senses.

Schiller kept rotting apples under his desk and when he needed to find the right word for his poetry, he would just smell them. I tried this in college, but only to keep me awake during an all-nighter. 😀

Dr. Samuel Johnson and W.H. Auden drank lots of tea. The former was reported to drink twenty-five cups of tea in just one sitting.

Victor Hugo, Benjamin Franklin and many others worked naked.

Benjamin Franklin and Edmond Rostand wrote while they soaked in a bathtub. Did you know Benjamin Franklin brought the first bath tub to the US in the 1780s? I didn’t know!

D.H. Lawrence climbed naked up mulberry trees. He had a fetish for long limbs and rough bark and he believed that it stimulated his thoughts.

Alexandre Dumas color-coded the paper he wrote his works on. He used rose-colored paper for his non-fiction, blue for his fiction and yellow for his poetry. He would also eat an apple under the Arc de Triomphe at seven in the morning.

George Sand wrote on her desk after making love in bed.

Voltaire used his lover’s naked back as a writing desk.

Robert Louis Stevenson, Mark Twain and Truman Capote wrote while lying down. Capote declared himself as “a completely horizontal writer.”

Thomas Wolfe, Virginia Woolf, and Lewis Carroll wrote while standing.

Samuel Coleridge indulged himself in two grains of opium before writing.

T.S. Eliot liked writing when he had a head cold.

William Gass walked around photographing for a couple of hours before writing.

Amy Clampitt wrote sitting behind a window, in the city, on a train or by the seaside

Mary Lee Settle worked on her typewriter when she woke up and still groggy.

Fascinating, isn’t it? 🙂


Ackerman, Diane. 2011. A Natural History of the Senses. Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group.

Hold Her Hand.


Do you need me to hold your hand?

It came out more like sarcasm than actually asking if she needed help.

No. I can do this alone.

She turned her back and walked as fast as she could. She didn’t dare to look back, scared of seeing him walk away.

She didn’t need him to hold her hand. She wanted him to. It would have been nice if he did.







Tell me where it hurts,” he said as he held her legs with both of his hands. He caressed her back and kissed the back of her left ear and down her bare shoulders. He caught her off guard, and she couldn’t say a thing. It wasn’t her body that was hurting. It was something inside her. It was in her center. Pulsating, yearning, and burning. It was her heart.



Silver Lining


“Are you okay?”

He said as he studied her face. He found her sitting alone in the living room, with one of her hands rubbing her temples.

“I am kind of…depressed,” she replied briefly.

He didn’t have to ask because he knew she had been depressed for a while now. He noticed her isolating herself not only from him, but from everyone else they knew.

“I know. But why?”

She sighed, and he noticed her purse her lips as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words to say.

“I don’t know,” she muttered even though she knew he wouldn’t believe her. She, herself, knew what was wrong and she was having a hard time trying to find a way to express it.

“I think I know. Stop being constantly sad. You should feel better.”

He did his best to cheer her up but none of all these made her feel a lot better. He felt like everything he said never made any sense to her. She had always been like this — difficult, complicated.

“You only have so much time in life. You should spend as much time being happy as possible–“

“–in real life, we get sad,” Her voice was too soft, yet full of angst and sadness.

“Emotions are a choice,”

“For the cold-hearted, yes.”

She always had something to contradict him.

“Silver lining.”

A bit dazed, she raised one of her eyebrows.

“Anyone can choose to be sad or to be happy. You just got to embrace the silver lining.”

“I can’t find the silver lining.”

“You are not starving on the streets, and you are not in a country in a civil war.”

He turned his back and started to walk away from her.

“Fine. Go away. You were never here anyway, and until now, I am still breathing. I don’t need you! I will live!”

He turned around and smiled at her.

“Silver lining.”






“I want you to touch me,” she whispered so softly that she thought he didn’t hear her.

“No. I can’t. I am not the one for you,” he looked at her with dead serious eyes.

She was in so much pain and all she wanted was for him to touch her, hold her and squeeze her tiny body into his arms. She wanted to feel his chest and listen to his heartbeat — to find out whether or not he really didn’t care about her anymore. She wanted him to pick up all the remaining pieces of her broken heart and put it all back together.

Yet he couldn’t. He didn’t want to ever touch her, not in a million years, not even in a parallel universe. He didn’t want to ever lay another finger on her because he knew that the moment he did, she’d crumble down all the more until there was nothing left of her.




I Am Not The One For You


I am not the one for you. You deserve someone better, someone who isn’t me. I know you still think that I will change my mind, and that you believe that one day, I will see right through your heart and realize that it is you whom I want to be with for the rest of my life. I know you still wait for that day when my heart starts beating for yours. I know you’re thinking that it is just the wrong time for me, and that the right time will come for both you and me to be together.

I am not the one for you. I am sorry, but I don’t think I am. You are an amazing person. I am sure you are aware of that. You can easily find someone new. Other women adore you. You’ve got the kindest and sweetest heart, and I know someone is more deserving to have it than I am.

I am not the one for you. I did not stop talking to you. I just can’t talk to you the whole day. I am not mad at you, and you should know that there is nothing about you that will ever make me mad. You never did anything wrong to me – except loving me. You can do better than that. You can love someone better than me.

I am not the one for you. I want you to be happy with someone else — someone who is willing to give you everything you want. Someone who can reciprocate you as strongly as you do. You deserve someone who doesn’t write you a letter like this, but a letter that will make your heart flutter and make you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

I am not the one for you. I want you to stop waiting for my reply. Stop calling me on my phone. I never use my phone that much anymore. Stop asking how I am, or if I have eaten at the right time, and telling me to drink more water. You are not a doctor, and you are not my mother.

I am not the one for you. I want to thank you for all the nice things you have done for me. Thank you for making me feel better about myself, and for trying to make me happy. If you really want me to be happy, you will let me be, just please release me so I can be free.

I am not the one for you. But if you still think I am, after reading this, then I will just let you be. I will release you, so you can be free.







Heal me, I’m heartsick
I’m hungry and I’m broken
I’m haunted, and weeping
The blood of heaven flowing like a river tonight, tears I can’t fight on my own

“Do you even have plans to get up?!” she yelled outside my room as I curled up in bed, my eyes shut tightly, tired from last night’s crying session. No Vacancy’s song was still playing on repeat.

“Give me a minute,” I mumbled, imagining she heard me.

“Just get up already! We’re going to be late!” she busted trough my door, and took the duvet off my body. I struggled to open my eyes and sat up. She tried to meet my gaze, but I avoided her. I focused on the mirror across my bed. I smiled just a little as I saw my reflection. I looked like a mess. A real hot mess. I was still wearing the same little dress I wore when I went out last night. I wasn’t able to clean my face, so my makeup was all over my face.

“How long are you going to be like this?” she asked with a stern voice. I took a deep breath as tears started to well up in my eyes all over again.

“I am so sorry,” was all I could say. The tears turned into loud sobbing. I couldn’t help it. It broke my heart to even look at her. She knew how much pain I had in me. She opened her arms and squeezed me tightly.

“I have never dreamed of seeing you in so much pain. If I could just take away all your pain, I would,” she softly whispered into my ear.

And right there and then, I felt temporarily safe and healed. I didn’t want to let go. I wish I didn’t have to, because I knew that once I did, she’d be long gone.



Story (c) Diana Marcos 2015

Parallel Universe

Welcome to the parallel universe
where realities are turned into dreams
where your broken heart is always healed
by the ones who actually broke it
where all your wants and needs
are met without you having to plead
where everything seems normal
when in fact you are actually just asleep.



Poem inspired by a recent conversation with someone I just met through trolling on Instagram. 🙂


Early morning - enjoy the little things.:
(click photo to see source)


I’ve been having a hard time

falling asleep lately

for I’ve been busy

falling in and out of love

forgive me

if this is too soon

but I am kind of

hooked up with your smile

forgive me

if I get a bit crazy

but I think

I have seen you before

getting lost in my reverie.




“Will you please stop doing that?!” I yelled at him over the phone.

“Doing what?” he asked as if he suddenly forgot what we were talking about.

“Spending money on things you don’t need. I thought we were saving up?”

“I am. I have been saving up. I just…I just…” he started thinking of an excuse.

“You just what? You can’t help it?” I could feel my blood boiling in anger.

“I really want that game,” there he said it. Games. Games. Games. He’s always about those games.

“I thought you said we should not focus on the things we want? …That we should just focus on the things we need?” I asked furiously.

“Yes. I know. But guess what?”


” I don’t need you…but I want you. What are we gonna do about that?”

…and right then and there, all hell broke loose.


Note: This is just a fictional scene. I promise. 😀 It did not happen in real life, but it could.