Self-Portrait as Bougainvillea 

I mean, let’s face it: I am not the easiest person 
to love. When I was a child I crashed my father’s 
radio after my foot got tangled with the cable 
having jumped over it like the cow did with 
the moon. Hey diddle diddle, come here 
you little shit, and soon my legs were riddled 
black and blue. Where do you go when life
becomes a series of ruptures and how
do you name yourself then. I learned early 
to wear my thorns close, having been told 
to be softer again and again. What I know about 
gentleness is someone dipping their fingers in salve 
and touching my bruises where they bloom. Would 
that this hand cradle my body warm. Fuchsia clings 
to the days bright and brief. How long can I keep 
to myself and embrace all that’s beneath. Look how 
a petal darkens and curls inward upon landing on 
a small puddle that reflects your face. What are we 
supposed to do when the skin that holds us break.  
What are we but a foliage of things that ache. 

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T. De Los Reyes is a Filipino poet and author of the chapbooks, And Yet Held (Bull City Press) and Woeman. Her poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in Room, Salt Hill Journal, ANMLY, RHINO, Narrative, Hunger Mountain, Birdcoat Quarterly, among others. She is the designer of Nowruz Journal and founder of Read A Little Poetry. She lives and writes in Manila, Philippines.