I Am Puerto Galera

I have deleted the past—
the masks, the noise, the fakes that laughed too loud
in digital parades of borrowed light.
I swept them off like sand on my shore,
washed clean by tides that know no lies.

Not out of anger, but to heal—
to feel safe, to be whole,
to breathe again beneath my own sky
and tell my tales without trembling.

Now, I write not for applause
but for the soul who truly listens.
My stories are pearls in a bay too deep
for shallow hearts to ever find.

I share what I know, what I lived,
with those who carry truth in their bones,
who walk barefoot on the same earth,
salt in their veins, sun in their gaze.

No longer bound by chains of likes and hearts,
I am the breeze that whispers through coconut trees,
the wave that roars with honest thunder,
the silence after tourists sleep.

I am Puerto Galera—
not just a name,
but the pulse of islands,
the keeper of forgotten winds,
the storyteller who finally speaks free.