a confession

for quite some years now, there have been friends who have, in one way or the other, told me that i have an addiction. admittedly, i had a previous addiction, you know, the killing kind to the mind and body, but this is a different addiction. and whenever they point it out, i would strongly disagree, saying that whatever i am doing is a part of my craft, a payment that i have to hand over as i hone my art. but for the past 3 months now, i have began to realize that my friends were quite perceptive. or perhaps it was I trying to be blind to the obvious. and the addiction?

i am addicted to women. ha! and quite sad actually, but redeeming at the same time to accept one of the truths about my life.

since i was a kid, i was the observant kind. i had my normal childhood, playing with the other kids, whether real games or imaginary ones, but if there is a camera somewhere, a camera of god perhaps, reviewing it would see me sitting down and just thinking away. i was not a loner, but as a child i learned to savor my solitude, and a good thing that i learned that because that acceptance of being alone has helped me a lot these past few years.

and i spent quite some time of those years observing women.

perhaps i am a voyeur of sorts. old women, young women, mothers, maidens, the highs and lows, the beautiful and the ugly, the silent and the meek, the abused and the domineering, and everything else possible i have observed about women. and i should say that my poetry is full of them. perhaps the adjective is "reek", that my poetry reeks of women i know, i tasted, i met, i left, i lusted over, women i have hurt, intentionally and otherwise.

and what an addiction.

i do believe in god. why? because only god could have drawn the schematics, the portraits of whom women are nowadays. nah, im not trying to get some brownie points at you by saying that i do adore women, but it is the truth.

without women, where would i be? what would i be? of course, i should make it clear that women have not been responsible for any of my evil deeds. but i would say that they have been, in one way or the other, a source for some of the purest things about me, my poetry for one.

it is my wish that before i would leave this plane, i would be able to give back what women has given to me. if not, then die attempting.

to the women of the world, i offer you my words, my heart, and my voice.

and my love, whatever remains of it.