Marcus Lomboy.
Friend, brother, son, student, listener, thinker, creative, writer, poet, spoken word artist, performer, artist, emcee, storyteller, logophile, semi-professional class clown, bibliophile, sartorial enthusiast, sandwich connoisseur, shower singer, transformer, spitter of hot fyah.
Hip hop, poetry, music, art, graffiti, menswear, robots, ninjas, tacos, iced tea, bacon, sushi, sandwiches.
'91 | Toronto, Ontario, Canada by way of Quezon City, Philippines

I get my energy, from my inner G.
My greatest enemy, is my inner me.
Work hard. Play harder.
Walk with me.

29/30: “The World.”

wordsinajar:

I remember that one time…
It felt like I had the world sitting silently in the palm of my hand.
I confessed my secrets
Like I could shout them to the edges of my fingertips
And turned it on its ear just to see another day rise.
Peeled the sky’s skin just to whisper into its spine
While the cumulus clouds curl themselves into a crescendo
Splattering the oceans’ currents and the earth’s colour
All over the universe’s blueprints.

And then I asked it to read me one last poem before I go.

To sing me a lullaby
Hum me a harmony for my thoughts
Pencil me a dream I can trace my future to
Paint me a sunset I can remember
Remind my smile that it is a sunrise
That my hopes are infinite
And my hands are change. 

28/30: “Tell Her.”

wordsinajar:

“If hearing her voice is one of your favourite things about being alive,
You should tell her.”

But I can’t help but think
That everything I could say
Would never be able to really tell her. 

That I couldn’t copy the penmanship of her soul
That I could only sculpt a shadow of her
No matter how hard I tried
To script the songs in her skin
And the stories in her scars.

That I could never write her a poem
Beautiful enough to bear the honesty
Of the butterflies she’s birthed in my stomach.
The most I could do
Would be to crack her lips apart
In a smile that said sunshine couldn’t shine like this.
Nor could the warm come close to her.

That I can bear to write you less
Because I live you more. 

So every time my thoughts copy the Sahara desert
And the only mirages are of her,
An oasis in her eyes
And shade in her embrace,
She jokes that I should write about her.

And all I can say is…
“I’m sorry but I can’t.”
And I don’t have the courage to tell you why either. 

25/30: “Arts and Crafts.”

wordsinajar:

Sometimes…
I feel like I’m nothing
But your favourite arts and crafts project.
Good intentions stapled to bits and pieces
Of all the daydreams I’ve had about you.
Papier-mache’d my hopes
To your reassurances.
That abstract painting
Hanging lopsidedly on the battered wall.
Suspended off the nails you dug into my back
Like you were trying to display
Your masterpiece from my shoulder blades.

Transforming my skeleton into your art gallery
Floors you’ve tried to plan
Into the blueprint of my bones.
Modelled my spine into the Tower of Babel
Standing straight until it touched the heavens. 

Then God decided to send me down a peg.
With you.

Angel in Lucifer’s honour roll.
Smiling like black was in season
Rejoicing at the bleeding of my ball-point
Because all it ever gives birth to these days
Are the blackest of love poems.
A black hole on paper
Just asking to be filled
For one more time. 

24/30: “11 Things I Find Attractive.”

wordsinajar:

1. A girl who’s not afraid to smile and laugh. Because there are days when the sun refuses to wake up and leave its covers.

2. A girl that can recommend a great book. Not good, but great. A girl who loses herself in words…and turns them into her own world. A girl who finds knowledge and lessons in her library, showing the value of words and how they can affect someone. How they can make someone feel. How they can make someone remember. How they can make someone forget.

3. A girl with a sense of style. One that can wear dresses. Because if a person’s image is their introduction to the world, then I want a girl that can say more than skinny jeans and Ugg boots.

4. A girl that knows and shares good music. A girl that lets her soul sing along to her favourite songs. Finds freedom in the high notes and finds pieces of herself in her music.

5. A girl with ambition. Because I can fall for who you are but what about who you’re trying to be?

6. A girl with a voice that can make songbirds jealous. Because I’ve spent too much time trying to tune out the fault lines in the cracking of vocal chords and the tides in their wavelengths that I’ve forgotten how to listen.

7. Honesty. Critical and encouraging, but never condescending or babying. Handle me with boxing gloves, makes me stronger. Makes me better. Makes me WANT to be better.

8. Smooth elbows.

9. A girl that thinks. Introspective. Has a throne in her mind and wears her thoughts like a wedding dress.

10. A girl with an open mind. Who will embrace ideas the way her arms open like a home for me. But will stand firm in her own…against the storms and the floods.

11. A girl that can cook. Because I will auction off a part of my heart for a girl that can cook rice and peas, jerk chicken, and is willing to enjoy food as much as I do.

23/30: “Fell.”

wordsinajar:

I once told this girl that I fell for her…hard.
And she didn’t believe me.

Couldn’t fit it in her logic
To picture me tripping over my words
My tongue tied
Shoelaces living a life of their own
A backpack full of all the possibilities
And worst case scenarios
With only an uncertain response waiting for me
And my naive heart to break my fall.

And so she asked me…
“What really happened?”
And I said…
“I passed you in the hallway
Turned to look at you and smile
Then tripped on a bag and fell.
But it’s kind of the same thing.” 

22/30: “Run.”

A poem I wrote and performed for a city leaders conference in Mississauga.

wordsinajar:

When they used to ask me
What I wanted to be when I grew up
I always wanted to say…”Happy.”
Wanted to say “Anything but a coward.”
“Anything but a failure.”
“Anything but a person that settled
For everything they are now.”

But I’ve realized…
That happiness is not a destination. But a state of mind.
It is not the ribbon at the finish line.
Or the smile you stitch to your face in the morning.
The absence of the audacity you once had
To dream and be something more
Than what they said you can accomplish.
Or the empty promises to yourself
That you’ve built an empire out of.

Like the 9 to 5 that looks too much
Like a collection of could haves
And “I wish I was someone else!”
And looks nothing
Like the daydreams you used to call reality.
Or the “I’ll do it tomorrow”s
When you said the same thing five yesterdays ago.

So do not let your dreams run away.
Do not sweep them under the rug
Every time the fire inside you
Just wants to peek out and greet the sun
Like an old friend.

Let your aspirations sleep with your thoughts tonight.
Because if you listen close enough…
I promise you can hear your pillow talk.
Whispering sweet nothings in your ear
Seducing your body into doing things
That you brain was always scared to do.

Like live!

Give chase!

Run!

Past the “I don’t want to do it right now.”
Past the impossible. The rejection.
The bend. The break. The shatter. The whirl.
When everything is going wrong.
Past the five minutes
After you learned you weren’t good enough.
The five minutes after they left you.
For the ten minutes immediately after
When you realized it just wasn’t right for you.

Run!
Like the single mother
That wakes up and feels her children’s dreams
So she says “I gotta do something.”
Like the man
Who wakes up on a weary Monday morning
And tells the weekend to wait a while
While he sneaks his soul from its slumber.
Like the girl
That dreams of being a doctor. Or an engineer.
Or an athlete. Or a president…Or a difference.
And she won’t take no for an answer.

Give chase!
Run!
Like you had the heart of a giant.
Like your soul couldn’t help but sing the gospel
Right out of your bones.
Like your footsteps could make the city shake
From the passion pumping through your veins.
Like the six year old in all of us.
That wants to shake the dust.
And sing their skeletons in the success
They finger-painted onto their refrigerators
All those years ago…

Dance! Sing! Paint!
Hug your mother!
Call yourself beautiful!
Run.

For a sunrise worth waking up to.
For the nights
When heaven on earth looks a lot closer
Than we’ve ever thought possible.
For the next wave.
For those who can’t help themselves.
For your six year old self.
So they can look at you, smile, and be proud.

So when somebody asks you what you are,
Not what you want to be,
You can finally say…”Happy.”

20/30: “Body Image.”

One of the poems I wrote for our Word UP poetry and theatre production in December.

wordsinajar:

Everybody knows…
You can’t trust the words of your bathroom mirror.
So quick to crucify your imperfections
Against your insecurities.
So quick to pounce.
Always tells you your hair doesn’t look nice.
Never tells you you’re beautiful.
Never tells you you’re handsome.

That window you hang on the wall
That makes sure you don’t get too confident.
Because everyone knows…
You can’t trust the words of your bathroom mirror.

And all you really see…
Is the mask you put on in the morning.
A stitched together smile
And cheeks
Painted with all the pigments of your perjury.
Hanging your confidence on your bones
Hoping no one will ever notice
How much you hate looking like yourself.

Too wary of your face looking back at you
For not being arranged the way models are.
For not looking like what everyone wants to be.
But where is the acceptance in your honesty? 

Forgetting the fireflies in your bloodstream
That fly every time you do something you love.
Overshadowed by your lack of melanin
Your spine made of gelatin
And the styrofoam squeaking in your skeleton.
Struggling to bear the weight
Of their gazes when you pass by them.

And all they see is your mask.
The fake smile stitched to your lips.
Not the fireflies. 

19/30: “Your Smile.”

wordsinajar:

Your smile…
Your smile is a near death experience.
Because with that one flash
That one split second in time…
I can see my whole life flash before my eyes.
With you.
Passing like grainy home movies.
Projected onto cumulus clouds
So no one can ever rain on our parade.

18/30: “Loved.”

wordsinajar:

We kissed like a solar eclipse.
But we loved like a sunrise.
Loved like constellations speaking to the sky
In whispers only the ocean can understand.
Loved like a summer’s eve
Warm with the anticipation of more to come.
Loved like autumn.
Loved like Fall.
Fall like falling in love.
Loved like jigsaw pieces.
Fitting into each other’s arms so perfectly
Into the warmth of our jagged flaws
Like we knew we were never
Going to be a better fit anywhere else.
Loved like a needle.
Going back and forth
Stitching all of our scars into stanzas.
To the symphony of two hummingbirds
Singing each other a lullaby
In the hollows of their chests.
Loved like we were never broken.
Loved like we were never going to break. 

17/30: “Chase.”

wordsinajar:

Inside all of us, there is a light.
Beaming red, pulsating, flashing like an alarm.
Bright and unblemished.
Fighting to reach the surface
To greet the sun like an old friend.
Smiling naive in the glory of a childhood dream
Bright and wide-eyed. Passionate. 

It is the drive. Determination.
What no one can ever take away from you.

The fear of failure.
The siren call of success.
RUN! CHASE! SPRINT!
LEAD!

Do not let your dreams leave you behind
With all the expectations you’ve loaded on your back.
This is your chase.
This is not the teacher telling you what to become.
Not the parent that gave you everything.
Not the void you’ve let grow over time.
Not the 9 to 5 you dread.
That you’ve settled for.
Just so you can afford all the things you don’t want.
Not the dull afternoons in front of a screen.
This is the bubbling inside of you
That makes you want to build a future
Worth waking up to.
The reason you smile at the sunrise
And bid your bed goodbye.
The chase you’ve neglected.
Until now.

Run! Chase! 

16/30: “Repair.”

wordsinajar:

No matter how hard we try
We always fall victim to the cannon fire
And the shotgun shells spread in a lover’s mouth.
Choking on the gunpowder and the turmoil
Lodged in their throat, every time you kiss. 

Trying to convince ourselves
That the unlocked door was an invitation
Not submission to fate.
That the stories painted on the plaster
Were lessons, not warnings.
And only the walls have become stronger with time. 

But we can’t help but fall into habit
And be the naive little martyrs that our heart
Can’t help but transform us into.
Martyrs for Love.

Fashioning ourselves as carpenters.
Trying to repair the broken home inside of her.
Plumbers, trying to seal the leaking faucet
That she’s ignored in her eyes
And the flooding pit of her self-esteem.
Electricians re-routing the surge in her chest
Just to see the fire light behind her eyelids again.
All in a home that has been broken for far too long.

But this is no longer a home.
It is a body. A vessel.
A contorted and twisted wound
Bleeding all the wrongs it’s ever felt.
And you know you can’t love her
The way that she needs you to.
The way she can’t allow you to.
While you try to love her as much as you can
So that she doesn’t have to live inside her skin alone. 

15/30: “Lies.”

wordsinajar:

Sometimes I feel like I can’t help but lie
Because telling the truth is too easy.

Like:
Everything’s going to be okay.
Everything happens for a reason.
And while I can’t help but believe it
I can’t convince you that bad things
Never happened to good people
And I’m sorry you’re an example of it.

Like:
I could never be mad at you.
I’ll always be there for you
When I know that one day…
All you’ll know of me are old messages
And a faint echo of my voice
Telling you every lie you wanted to hear
Because I thought they would help.
But I’m not sure if they ever did. 

14/30: “Running.”

wordsinajar:

She said, “There are two things you never run after: buses, and men.”
At the moment, I had nothing to say.
So I just chuckled silently to myself
Amused at the absurdity of her words.

The second time I thought about it,
I wondered why less women in the world
Have the audacity to think the same. 

13/30: “Party.”

We drank until your speech paid homage to honesty
Cups of camaraderie and glasses raised.
No more slanders in slang and only a taste of truth
We dealt in forgetfulness.

We partied.
No ounce of adrenaline wasted in our veins
Bent our bodies to the beat of the music
Like we would forget out feet on the dance floor.
Along with our worries for one whole moment.
Let it melt into the floorboards like swear and regrets
Shed while we let ourslves free tonight.

We were kings.
Queens.
Love in spades.
Diamonds in our throats.
A lonely hearts club for the damned
And we loved every second of it. 

11/30: “10 Things I Want To Say To A Girl.”

Had things to say. Inspired.

wordsinajar:

1. I wish I could treat your voice like fireflies. And hold it in a jar to gaze at on cold winter nights when I miss hearing it more than ever. Then I would open it. So that the silent cathedral of my room would turn into a concert hall of your words. As sound waves ricochet off walls. Playing raindrop rhythms against my eardrums. To the sight of galaxies of hellos and goodbyes nurtured in the universe of your vocal chords, giving birth to supernovas in your sentences.

2 Your smile is the most beautiful thing ever created, past the secretive smirk of the Mona Lisa. You make the sun insecure, while you mock the phases of the moon with the crescent curves of your lips. And shooting stars flip coins into wishing wells at allotted times to be able to smile the way you do. So smile.

Because 3. You are beautiful. Not just in the contours of your figure or the angles of your features, but in the way you carry yourself…like a queen.

4. See only queens can give birth to men they raise to be kings. The beauty of creation held in one moment of infinity. See the second I was born, my mother’s smile played welcome committee to my existence. She radiated every molecule of love I would ever need, just for the sole reason that out of everybody in the world…I was the one she gave birth to. It was better than winning the lottery. And to this day I can’t figure out what she ever saw in me.

5. I’m sorry. For every magazine, song, picture, music video, website, and advertisement that made you feel like you weren’t good enough. Because if I could. I would plaster your personality over walls, have your compassion play lead roles and have your sensitivity star in the centerfold of magazines.

6. I promise I will do what I can to make you happy. I would cook, clean, do the dishes, do the laundry, even make you a sandwich. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t make you a sandwich. But I would do everything else to show you that not all men expect you to cater to them according to tradition.

7. Never settle for less than you deserve. Or give anybody a reason not to give you all the respect they can give you. Or let anybody convince you you’re not beautiful. Let your light shine. Tell them that beautiful is not dependent on your skin tone or the shape of your body. You are just how god intended you to be. See, too often we find the faults in our genetics and blame them for not being beautiful. But the second you change yourself for some else’s approval is the only time the ugly shows.

9. I skipped 8 because I don’t want another number to be able to judge you with. I refuse to mentally assign you a score for what you look like on the outside. See the only numbers I would relate to you would be…your birthday. An anniversary. Maybe the cost of a wedding ring and a mortgage. But I think I’m getting ahead of myself here. Though at the very least, I would gladly spend…my time with you. See out of the trillions of numbers that’s in the world…the only ones I would want…would be the seven digits in your phone number. Because if time was money, I would spend a precious eternity talking to you about nothing at all.

10. So no matter who you are. Don’t stop being you. Because we would be lost without you.