on july 13th, 2013: George Zimmerman
a florida native with a history of violence
was found not guilty for the ****** of unarmed 17 year old African American boy Trayvon Martin claiming self defense

on may 8th, 2012 African American, Marissa Alexander:
a florida native with no history of violence
was sentenced to 20 years in prison for discharging a warning shot out of self defense from the wrath of her abusive ex- husband

marissa,
i often wonder how you felt on july 13th when you heard the Trayvon Martin verdict
did you feel the heaviness of invisible shackles weighing your hands and feet down like you had stepped into the 1600s?
did you feel a surge of anger burn through your throat like i did for you?

did you ask yourself if you should’ve continued letting your husband play picasso on you?
Letting your body be his work of art as he splattered blotches of black and blue making a tie-dyed canvas out of you?
because the jury treated the bruises you wore as if they were the plague
saying beware of a black woman who protects herself
it takes 20 years of solitary confinement to cure her of this disease

marissa,
are you afraid of the skin of bullseyes your two children were born into
knowing that society will use them for target practice every day like they did for you?

can you not sleep at night out of fear anytime your child pulls a hood over his head
that he is marking himself as sacrifical lambs to our legal system?

did you tell your mother the next day to burn your babies black hoodies
because on July 13th it was made known
being black and wearing a hood means danger
that being black and wearing a hood means you have a hunger for ******
that being black and wearing a hood means you have cosigned to a persecution?
and yet…we all seem to forget the ones in white that fit the same description

marissa,
i hope you’re starting to see America has OCD
wanting to color within the same lines, with the same two colors
segregating black and white
neglecting to realize that blood and blood shed never bleed out in the same two colors
just look at the crime scenes of Trayvon Martin and your ex-husband

marissa,
from now on when you bite your tongue while eating
don’t spit the blood out
leave it, let it settle, then swallow
and let it be a reminder of all the trayvon martins, all the emmett tills, all the james birds, and all the little black boys who died for standing their ground like you tried to

marissa,
i know you feel like god abadoned you
as if he stabbed you into the back and sent you on a suicide mission
but please
know you are my symbol of hope
you are my hero
the woman i wish to emulate and be
you are the one i pray for at sunday night dinners while holding the one hand of my black mother and the other hand of my white father
hoping one day america can sing free at last and actually mean that
hoping one day america can be blended and still be considered alright
hoping america will stop painting pictures in only black and white

Marissa Ann was a firecracker of a little girl.
For her, there was no fence too tall to climb, no bully too mean to face, no street too busy to cross.
She was all tangled hair and toothy grins.
And she'd yank the book right out of my hands and say, "Gabrielle, we have more important things to do than read."

In the jungle of our lives, Marissa was a lioness, queen of the pride.
I was a mouse not indigenous to these parts of the second grade.
The world was a terrifying place, and I had no problem cowering in the corner, knee-deep in a pile of Nancy Drew.
I tried to stay huddled behind my words, drowning in the ink, attempting to let the pages be my armor.
Marissa would not let me.
When I allowed bookshelves to be my shields, she came guns blazing, and kicked them all down, then stood me back up on my feet.
She'd grab my hand and pull me head first toward adventure.

Marissa was tough, and everyone knew it.
There was not a soul alive brave enough to pick on Marissa Ann.
But me? I was an easy target.
The other girls said I was "weird" with my enormous wire frames resting atop full cheeks, and my frayed jeans, a glowing reminder of my mother's lack of wealth.
I heard the whispers on the playground about the chubby girl who read, (can you believe it?), chapter books.

Brianna was a demon of a child.
She'd bat her pretty little eyelashes and everyone would melt.
She had the entire second grade class wrapped around her tiny little finger.
She'd corner me on the soccer field and do everything she could to remind me that I was different.
But one day at recess, she was nowhere to be found, until I made my way through winding halls, back to the warmth of our classroom.

There sat Marissa with a devilish glint in her eye, waving me over to sit in the desk beside her.
Behind us, a sniffling Brianna, looking forlornly at the teardrop stains on her pink lace skirt, her mouth pulled tight into a perfect straight line.
I looked back at Marissa with a curious glance, then intertwined her hand with my own.
The sound of stifled sobs behind us and the warmth of her skin on mine sealing an unspoken vow between two girls with puzzle piece fingertips that only fit each other.

When I see marissa
I just wanna kiss her
Shes a hottie with a bodie
And i wanna get naughty
When i see her purple hair
I wanna touch everywhere
Shes hella fine
she looks like a dime
shes all mine
I wanna take her to my red room of pain
she can play the game
it will never be the same

School was always humuorous to a degree in my opinion because of the underlying idea
that the more damaged you were, the cooler you were in the eyes of the rest of the school.
I have heard numerous conversations that began with something along the lines of, "Oh, you
think YOU got it bad, well my dad blah blah and my best friend blah blah and my life is hell."

I decided to get a little personal and share with you guys something I have never actually
told anyone in entirety yet. I am pretty sure the whole story is still only here in my brain.
I will, out of respect for these people, change their names.

It's October 31, 2012. It's about noon, and all of us sixteen to twenty-two year olds are just waking up.
Brianne woke up probably a few hours ago already to tend to her son, Aaron. He is adorable, one
and a half, blond hair, blue eyes. I have been living here for nearly two months. I am supporting her,
Aaron, and myself with food stamps. I get two hundred dollars a month to basically smoke **** and drink
on the government's budget. Trust me, I'm not proud of it either, and if I could I would pay it back.
Since Brianne is a single mother and an adopted child, she has a single-digit monthly rent (I was *******
baffled to hear this) and receives support from her foster parents. Basically, if I want to stay here forever
with absolutely no consequences save to miss out on a life of my own, I can.

Brandon is putting on clown make-up so he can troll the streets as a juggalo. I find this amusing as I always
liked to mess around with ICP fans, but he's a really cool kid so I let it go and I even help him perfect it.
I notice he has a bottle of Stolichnaya in his backpack and it's practically full. That, to me, is temptation.
I ask if he would mind me taking a few drinks here and there from the bottle and he says it's fine, so I proceed
to get a nice one p.m. buzz. It was always my favorite drunk, very light, and airy, almost like you're still asleep.
Something bogs you down, but it doesn't bother you, somehow it makes you lighter.

For the rest of the day, we hook up with a few friends, go out and trick or treat in the pouring rain, get soaked
and wait for two hours under an overpass while Brianne goes and gets her car. From there, we proceed home.

At this point, everyone is over at Breanne's and we're all making dinner and drinking beer and having a good time
(Aaron is with the grandparents tonight). I guess I started getting angry about the recent events (for about a month,
everyone in our group with the exception of Brandon have been slowly losing items...but they're obviously being stolen.
At a point, a few of us did some research and determined the only person who could possibly have stolen
a good deal of these things has to be Brandon) and I decided I was tired of sitting on the news waiting for no one to make
a move after a solid two weeks of being certain that we had our guy. So I called him out... and proceeded
to begin burning bridges slowly and very surely for the next few days. I am pretty sure a fight would have broken out
if Bri hadn't taken me into her room to relax. When I finally do, it turns out I woke up the upstairs neighbor,
her baby, and everyone in the house has left save for my friend Jeff and his girlfriend Marissa. This concludes night one.

I later learned that Brandon was not actually the person who was stealing from us (unless of course
he just happened to not get caught when we found out who had done most of it) and I feel bad for bringing the whole
thing up because I would have liked to stay in touch with him. We got along swimmingly and he actually did have
a lot of interesting things to talk about. Smart, nice, hilarious... Well, maybe he'll turn up one day.

The next morning, I woke up to find the house empty save for Jeff and Marissa in the next room, but where I am,
it simply appears empty. I don't know what happened but I intuit that I have been sleeping all night without
my girlfriend. This upsets me and I begin to weep like a confused child, which is exactly what you do when you're
helpless and too drunk in the brain to figure out how to pull yourself out of a helpless situation (trust me,
I own the handbook). Marissa walks in and begins to explain to me that I had scared her too much and she slept
on the couch and that she had left to go pick up her son. So I realize I need to calm down, but I can feel
Jeff is not happy with me in the slightest, considering he will not come and talk to me (this is extremely painful
because he is probably one of the best friends I have ever had, with a mind that vastly exceeds that of everyone
I have met save one other, and he's a different story). They leave and I decide to stay in the house all day.

This is a very bad idea. I stay home, watch re-runs of a show I have seen billions of times, and considering
that Brandon and I are no longer on good terms, like a complete *******, I drink the rest of his *****.

In walks Bri, it's around 7. She's not happy. She proceeds to tell me that the night before I asked out a friend of mine
and she said yes. And I was a bit shocked because I couldn't remember it at first. Then it all hit me.

A few days before, Aaron called me "dad." Now remember, this is not my child. I am dark, dark, dark, and she had this kid
about two years after we had any past relationship. I am extremely worried in my mind and I realize I am headed toward nothing.
That I am stagnant and can not even afford to go back to school. This scares me, so I drunkenly asked out Tanya.

Tanya...we had been friends for about five years, and I had tried to get with her so many **** times... she was like
one of those girls you see and you're instantly reminded of an anime character. Tall, thin, beautiful hips, perfect
proportions, lovely hair, eyes, voice, and a personality I can liken to a Disney princess/black metal lumberjack.
The kind of girl who has a tough exterior, but inside, she just wants someone to tell her everything is going to be ok.

After about two hours of pleading with Bri to let me stay, I finally send Tanya a message, and we hang out for the next
two days, whence I whisper in her ear that everything is going to be okay and we proceed to have quite passionate ***
for those nights, where I discovered the secret to making a woman ****** with my tongue (tip: if the underside of your
tongue isn't completely torn apart, you're doing something wrong). But alas, I could not stay.

This is the part I dreaded, because I know I have to go back to Jeff's house and ask him if I can stay there for a while.
And I got the answer I expected.

The words he used...

"I'm *******...extremely ******* at you, and disappointed." It was like a father saying it to you. And him and I
have a very interesting friendship built on such an extreme understanding that I knew exactly how badly I had been spiraling.
I began to leave and he gave me a slice of pizza, with that slight smile that told me "just go find yourself, we'll be fine."

I hobbled off into the night drunk, with one piece of pizza and all my food at Bri's, which could have lasted me another few days,
easing the transition into homeless. And it could have prevented a horrible occurance that took place the following afternoon. I
was crying, because I knew I was dying, but I didn't want to ask either of my parents for help, because this was the first time
I was out on my own and I was far too proud to give up and let the world make me its victim. So I walked...

Sixteen ******* miles...

To the next town. Took me all night because I was dodging traffic, easing into trees, avoiding on and off ramps, trying to stay
away from any police that may exist on the road. When I finally arrived in the next town (where I knew I may have one contact)
I decided to sleep until the morning came so I could have the energy to find my next venture.

It was five thirty am. I had 3 hours until sun-up, I had just walked enough to be burning, and there was plenty of whiskey in my veins.
I had left my sleeping bag with Tanya hours earlier, wishing in the park that I had not been so naiive as to think I would be allowed
back in the house. So I pulled out a pile of ***** clothes and put them over me like blankets, in some random corner of the local
park, under some bushes, hidden from cold and sight, with great hope...

Fifteen minutes pass. My eyes shoot open. I am freezing. The sweat has dried and frozen to my body. This is hell.

I grab my things and with the worst effort I can ever remember myself mustering, I drag myself to the toilet.
When I open it, the first thing I check for is cleanliness. It's spotless. I am so relieved. I sit in the corner of the room,
which my knees to my chest, head in my hands, wrapped in a leather jacket I had gotten from Jeff (ha, he really is my
guardian angel, though he would laugh to hear it).

I catch winks, occasionally looking up to check if the sun is rising. When it finally is, I get up, change my clothes (I had
ONE clean set of clothing and it had been rotting with the rest in the backpack) and immediately head to a thrift store where
a family friend is working.

On my way there, I notice in a little parking lot near the store a sight I had never actually come across but I always thought
would be the most amazing luck, and it was timed in such a spot in my life that it was the ultimate miracle...and a curse in
disguise.

In front of my eyes (this miracle appeared in my path as I was walking looking down, so it startled me) was the worst possible thing
for me: A half finished fifth of Smirnoff, and a half smoked pack of Marlboro 100 Reds. I open the pack and sure enough, the celophane
protected every cigarette inside from any water damage. I am ecstatic. This is not only amazing, but highly unlikely.

So I down the bottle in one go and take the rest of the smokes with me.

When I arrive at the thrift shop, it turns out I am there on a day when my potential savior is not working, so I get her number from the clerk
and head over to a payphone and realize... I have no money. So I decide to go on a quest for dropped pocket change.

Before I even leave the parking lot, I see a young man, no older than 23, sitting on a nice red classic-style Corvette and he's
reading William S. Burroughs. So naturally, I decide to strike up a conversation with the young man. Turns out he's the nicest guy
and his name is Jordan. So him and I got together and decided to go out for a game of disc golf (some may not know what this is;
Imagine frisbee but with a golf theme, so you need to get from a tee pad into a basket. Really fun, centering, and extremely popular
with potheads, Californians, beer-drinkers, and hippies) and before we go, he asks if I would like to snag a few beers first.

I tell him a piece of my story and he can tell I am down on my luck and broke so he decides to help me out. He buys us both some beer
and we proceed to disk.

Turns out he's an ex-****** and has been through quite a bit of hell himself, so we find that we're in a good position to help each
other make some better decisions in life. After the game, we go over to a payphone and he gives me money to call my friend.

Buzz (this the only name I am not changing because her name is ******* badass) answers the phone and unfortunately informs me that
though she would take me in any day of the year, she just moved in to a house with one older lady she takes care of, and its a single
bedroom apartment, so there is just no way it can work.

So I go back to his car and tell him the news, and he says he thinks he may be able to put me up for a few days until I can sort
everything out. We go back out to the store and grab ourselves a fifth of *****.

We end up in the park playing music, talking, performing standup for one another, and I begin to realize I am drinking too fast,
so I try to ease back a little. He was playing a version of a Radiohead song I had never heard before

"Everyone this way. Okay, get your hands against the wall. Spread your legs. Don't move."
The doors clanking, some ******* won't shut up in the next cell over.
More slamming of doors, someone rubbing my body all over trying to find my knives, no doubt.
And my AK 47 I conceal, and my ****, and my ... oh ****, I really did have **** on me.

"Move forward. Turn around. Alright, go to bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

"Get up. Come on, slowly... There you go. There's a few more coming in so we got to get you to another cell."

Clank, clank...

"Pick a bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

Something is wrong. This bed is not covered. There is no comfort. It's just a mat. And I have no pillow. This is not a house
of any sort, my bag isnt what I am sleeping on. Something is very wrong here.

I am in jail. Oh of course.

I know the answer before I hear it, but I ask anyway: "What are my charges, ma'am?"

"Drunk in public."

-------------------------------------------------------­------------------------

I'm about thirty miles or so North of inner Seattle. Not a bad place to be. I'm working for a Safeway. It's somewhere around
the first of June. I receive word that Bri has been on ******. And I may have left at a crucial time in her life thinking
only of myself, but I needed to go somewhere I could be productive. Yet my decision left her in a position where she turned
to hard drugs...

I can't help but feel I am to blame. I am listening to the dull, stupid words of my ex boss, Rod, who is telling me
that even though I may feel like I need to help her, there is nothing I can do for her, so I should bury myself in my work
instead. He tells me this in about six hundred different ways before I leave the room after twenty minutes. Well great.
I may have no focus here at work today, but at least I killed almost a half hour of the day just listening to someone
*******.

I am at a loss of what to do here, but I eventually get a hold of her, and after a long time not talking, we come to
somewhat of a closure, and she is beginning to sober up herself. I realize we were both in incredibly hard times, and I still
wish with all my heart there could have been some way I could have helped her raise that boy and stayed and been her
love, and at the same time, still go to college, and progress and get a good job...but I was in a small Northern California
town. There was nothing left, all the old shops were out of business. It was time for me to move on then, and we have
all seen better days for it. She looks incredible these days by the way. She lost an insane amount of weight, and I know
a lot of it had to do with the drugs, but if she truly is sober like she says she is, she'll be getting much better.

A few weeks ago 3 people I used to know and hang out with died in the span of a week. It was a terrible tragedy, and I have been
thinking back on all the names of people I used to love very, very much before they got lost in some way.

There's Lorne Holly, who killed himself after a few weeks of detoxing from crank.

Layla Harmon, who died in a car crash, blunt head trauma, with a drunk driver (I have a tattoo for this, I will never drive drunk).

Heavy Eagle, who killed himself after years of drug problems.

Chaz Lipman, who died in a car crash as well.

Ren Rain, who I am still not sure about...

And of course, Tray Beraldi, who was my closest friend's cousin... I wish I were there to mourne with him...

Last night I got a text from my best friend, who said he couldn't sleep and he barely eats anything anymore, and he feels like his throat
is going to explode, and he cant swallow and his neck is killing him constantly. He has been this way for a year, and he is talking constantly
about getting a gun and blowing his head off. And no one believes him because he constantly talks about it because he is in so much pain.
No doctor can diagnose him so far, he has no idea what's wrong with him, he's been tested all over the place, he has no hope, he's barely
cligning and he doesn't know how much longer he can hold on.

All I really want to say is

Lord? What I have done? I don't pray, I never pray, I don't even know who I would pray to. But WHAT ELSE DO I HAVE TO DO?!

I bring myself across hell and I pull myself from the worst depression I h

I saw you today and you barley gave a nod of your head
The moment your face came into my vision, I froze
I was afraid you could hear the sound of my heart thumping

But you didn't even manage a shy hi
Not even the wave of your hand

How can that be, when I opened every "forever closed" door in my mind to you?
How do you walk past me and not give a care in the world when you stood by my side as I lay close to death in the hospital bed?
How is it you manage to breathe without the slightest of complications when I've passed out timeaftertimeaftertime because I cannot stand the thought of living dayafterdayaftermiserableFUCKINGday without you!
I'M BARLEY HOLDING ON

And you?...

You've never been so satisfied,happy,relieved,whole
******* it, I need you

I cannot breathe.....
...
..
.
H
    E
        L
            P
me.

You're going to read this wrong,
Every single one of you.
Because you are not me,
And you cannot see what I'm saying.

No amount of stressed syllables in these lines can
ever describe what it means.
To me.
Why I wrote it.
Why I let you read it.

You will never understand
My understanding.

And that's okay.

I turned bated breath on my blind eyes and tick
tock
tick
tock
august strode away. august bloated on july and june and
god knows what because august is a bit of an alcoholic,
if you’ll please be discreet about that—we don’t want word to get around

the curtains drawn and folded, I balled my fists and white
knuckled touched chests and abdomens and shoulders but never doors;
somersaults between my ears and over
and over
and over
hardwood against your cranium
you feel it eventually
or I do

and then august screams a marissa-by-the-pool scream but not aloud
and she doesn’t talk to you she doesn’t
talk to you
she’s got nothing to say and you
you
you’ve got nothing to say and

everything is better now it’s so much better
but she doesn’t shake hands for more than a two-count now and
you don’t feel your heartbeat in your ears, usually

Dear Marissa,
Have I ever told you how magnificently beautiful you are?
Yup, as graceful as a White orchid.
You don't believe me do you?
What is crazy is that you are so stuck in your insecurities
You see,
You're perfect, don't worry.
You'll be happy one day, don't cry, don't become brittle
Please my dear you are more than your fears and a yucky cigarette
You stand tall and strong because nothing this world has to offer is enough to fix your heart
So don't fall into it and most importantly walk in caution because it will trap you
And although I don't want to admit it, it will be harder than anything to get out
It's like you're a mouse
With enormous dreams
Then, a room full of cheese
Instant gratification
And TRAP! you're stuck

But don't settle for the cheese of this world because your heart needs more than just cheese to fill it
And I know cheese is good, but trust me that is not what you are looking for
You're looking for the wine and you won't find it here
You have to go outside and pick the grapes yourself,
Ferment them,
And patiently wait till they age just to your liking.
It will take time my love,
But you are strong
You will find your wine one day,
I Promise
And if you need help,
WHO SAID YOU COULDN'T HAVE A SIDEKICK?

since tizzops knows half of the world, there are
blue birds painting his name in the sky, formation
for the throne, lead her up, your queen
uniquely dressed in all-white, all guests fully covered in snow

everybody waited for that day, until tizzop & marissa, being in
a blossom-white garden happily said yes to each other
sparklingly white ravens, everything only this one color
the magical gift, like jeezy's magic city

marissa: come with me now, we're flying over continents

thousands of miles, first and tender kisses
and soldiers are firing into the air, under the
violins we are watching the world like drones
kings and emperors, in order to reward our people

i need me some bread and beans, proteinshakes
bodybuilding, this song fits into the first take
we are fate: tizzops & marissa, like vocals
and basslines, violins and piano

burner beats and our voices, all goes together
baby, come home with me, be at home with me
cause at home is the best and cosiest place
decorate my room, fill it up with blaze

give me your female touch, i am and remain an ox
when i spot you on a snowy path, as you're standing
in front of an ipod-white foal, babe, i stole that for you
like i'll be heisting mars, moon and venus, i become

calm and laid back, turn into what i will be and i am sure
that marissa got my back, and that she loves me
she is good, how i am enjoying this, we're like malibu
firing up waves on the rocks like cocktails

and the shiningly white swoosh of the ocean
is our carpet, and stars bet on our fate now, my babe

As cliche as it may sound,
you were the other half of me,
the better half of me

I was never able to walk safely without your hand on my shoulder
I was never able to sleep at night without hearing your voice on the phone
I was never able to interact with others at school without your tiny little body standing next to me, projecting all your confidence into my being

You were my one and only best friend with your much too thin, way too short brown hair, California sun-kissed skin, and perfect three pant-sized waist

And I know this sounds as if I were in love with you in such a way that I wanted to kiss your thin lips, but it is not that at all

I wanted you, all of you, to myself and no one else, that is the truth
I was selfish and greedy and I expected all of your time
I hated who I was, I hate who I am, I needed you to make me a better person

I did not feel like a whole being without you
I do not feel like a whole person without you
And I still need you to stand me up and hold me still so that my teeth do not chatter

You bloomed sudden intelligence and drifted away from me, the smartest thing you could've ever done for yourself
You left me all alone
Without you I've fallen over
The ants and flies have scoured my body for every last bit of remaining flesh
I'm decomposing now, I will be worm food
........
At least I know I was put on this earth for a reason

****

All I do is want to hate you
But I love you more than I could ever miss him

Riding the train
Her head on my shoulder
Off to the city
A lovely springtime date

I can't help but feel
That life gets no better
Than the silent intimacy
We found that day

The pool on sixth avenue,
Down the road and past the zoo,
Was deep.
And many would leap
Into a blue that must have weighed a ton,
But this poem isn't done.

This pool I just mentioned,
Compares to a friendship that nearly cured me of my tension.
It's depth and profound impact,
Have changed the way I see a friend, that's a fact.

Even though I maybe away,
I will keep you tucked inside and carry your mark everyday.

Thank you for everything you did for me
And for helping me to see:
Life in the light of understanding.

i am only an egg
i am only a rug
i am only a bud
turning into a flower
i really like figs
simplicity is magic
word is bond
NOWORDNOBONDROWON
this is to you, September Eleventh
and you, Reverend Donald Green...

Listen to this Lady
She's talking Jabaca
right now. right in there
is an envelope i made.
i am only an egg
i make mistakes
I miss steak, my mistake
I am not a vegetarian because I love animals
I am a vegetarian
Because I hate plants
Will you please piddle-paddle away? Or at least turn off looking up to my Jhorts?
never go full dumb with Marissa Golden
never ok to be
kicking dogs in the face.
Are you ok?
MMFWCL? woop woop?
we are all so powerful, Ladies!
We are also powerfully ******, Ladybird!
---are you my mother?

my secrets in your fibers.
Each strand a story,
that I have burdened you with.
Hidden from sight under your layers,
as hard to find as an ancient grotto.
You protect me,
as the canopy shelters the rainforest,
sheltering me from fear.
Your scent pungent,
Age fragrant
as a musty book in an attic,


Marissa Navedo

-  The nickname Oscito means little bear in Spanish

I sat in the third row.
Staring at the red velveteen,
the gleaming black exterior-
of the open casket.
My abuela’s black veil masked her face,
however could not hide her gentle trembling.
Discarded Kleenex crumbled,
on the harsh wooden floors.
That resonated the sound of her heels
as she pace d the floor.
While she recited Hail Mary’s,
and prayed to God.
Abuela no lloran,
She held my hand.
I saw what my mother tried to prevent.
Abulo with bruises on his skin,
similar to the coffee stain on my father’s ivory shirt.
His amputated leg, and still expression

I walked away, I learned my lesson.

*Abula no lloran means Grandma don’t cry in Spanish

-Marissa Navedo

I dreamt of Marissa early this morning.
We were at a beach,
and in my basement.
all at once.
It made quite a lot of sense at the time.

She was lying to my right.
Heads inches a part -
my legs at Southeast,
hers southwest.

I knew we were still broken up.

Blur blur blur

“I love you Marissa”.
Calmly, almost sleepily:
“I love you more”

It was the best moment,
because all had been returned which was lost,
with interest.
And it was the worst moment, because I knew it had to be a dream.

Tightrope
       W a l k  e  r   s
              ABOVE
dangle            the audience’s heads
                                                      bats
Jugg ler’s  throw              *****             chairs.
ringmaster   conquers                       all
caged   lionsbears -  beasts

popcorn spills      on the
                                           ground
as   children gaspinawe
horses lavishly decorated
clowns            abhorred
laughter radiates in the arena
trapeze act
                      grand Finale
discarded peanuts
                                    linger
behind
-marissa navedo

To the love of my life
The most beautiful woman
The one I want to make my wife

I hope you know this
I love you without end
And nothing could ever cause
that love to break or bend

You're as radiant as the sunshine
And your eyes shine like stars
You've captured my heart completely
Slapped on chains and put it behind bars

I can't express how proud
I am to be called yours
To be the one in your life
To hold your hand and open doors

You're beautiful
That's all I'm trying to say
And every time I think of you
I want to run away

To go somewhere far
And live with abandon
To the highest mountain top
And live in a cabin

To go somewhere
Where the world doesn't know
To love you fully
And where you never need to go

I love you Marissa
That's all I'm trying to say
And for you I'll do anything
Anytime, any day

At a young age,
you laboriously worked on complex puzzles;
completing them, with an unnatural ease.
Distinguishing  yourself from others.

Your passion direct.
Fixating on numbers,
calculating your future.
You try to find a formula for happiness,
although it is incalculable.
As an irrational number, unable to terminate.

You extract formulas,
despite the odds.
Conveying your theories,
constructing logarithms.
intent to prove it is not abstract,
to be a female actuary.

Seventy years prior,
Catherine Prime opened the field.
Disproving the infeasible claims,
that women could not excel to this level.
Faced with reasons not to give her rank,
amongst the stunned men.
Who claimed she was good,
for a woman.
-Marissa Navedo

I scratched lyrics into the walls of this dump they call joint
finally became a tree with branches, wrote new raps every night
working out like crazy, punched my hands into walls
just like oldboy, then i became steel, endlessly tough

as my lucky number, this eight
tizzops became more popular, but never an other
sticking out my chest, ******* away all stress
albanians against serbs, greeks against turks

everything broken, everything in shards
but then comes Marissa, and she's calming me
i'm getting calm, getting calm, become
the old tizzop again, a ******* and thief

but everybody likes me, I remain --
tizzops, spreading fistfights like the Klitschko's
and I'm the most faithful, when I really feel love
not just talking about females, all my brothers

get nuttin but respect, their souls are wit me
most peeps live rushing lives, in our rushing times
they talk briefly, cause they don't know their inner
i'm not ridiculing them, cause they simply lack the words

they are lost and questions are flowing out of their ears
since they have no brothers or sisters to lean on
lifestyle like a frantic slalom, but I'm not wit 'em
putting stickers on the franchise, just to get by

I dominate every day; like the magic of the night
my raps are mania for me, me, and for me
cause I love and I have *** with my lyrics
forever being a chaser: where is Jason, baby?

without him, I won't make it through the night
life is infinity like eight, I feed you a knuckle sandwich
can you hear my c**k whistling? dem are *******-songz
straight out of my *****, suddenly millions of fanz

His name was Ray.
A handsome chap was he.
He was a secretive fellow.
My God, he got around.
A fellow wearing water wings.
The devil fish.
Washed up on the dock,
Carnage in Marissa.
Fishermen make hell hit earth
Ray, this poor fellow's brainless now.
The devil fish now angel, heads closer to the sky.
Left drying upon rooftops.
Medicine without proven pharmacy.
From the fellow of the sea.
Really cruel, he should swim free!
(c) Livvi

To Marissa whom I love
the woman of my life
‎my dearest and closest friend
The one about to be my wife

8 years ago in a co-op class
Twas the place that we first met
I loved you from that moment on
Though I didn't know it yet

End of the school year
And parted ways did we
Different directions for a time
The Lord did have us be

Lessons to learn
and morals to keep
Growing in spirit
Our faith in Christ growing deep

Many years later,
Under the fire work lit sky
I finally asked you out
And yes was your reply

I fell in love with
That sparkle in your eye
Deep and blue like the sea
And bright as the sky

I fell in love with your laugh
So joyful and carefree
A testament to God's love
That resides in you and me

I fell in love with you
The peace to my chaos
My calm and balance
Without you I'd be at a loss

I stand here now ready
My vows to pledge to you
Promises of faith and love
And of trials to weather through

I promise to love you
For the rest of my days
I just hope you'll put up with me
And all my crazy ways

I promise to be strong
A shelter ever steady
A place to rest and be at peace
I will always be ready

To hold you tight and close
If comfort is what you desire
Or to simply be a listening ear
When you need to vent your ire

I promise to express
Just how much I love you
Every day for the rest of our lives
Starting now by saying I do

my hands were trembling, tears rushing down my face as i reached for a pen
i was leaving in the morning, i had to write my feelings before then
when people **** themselves they leave letters of beautiful words that they wrote
so i guess you could consider this very poem to be my suicide note

now mom please don't cry, and don't take the blame
it's not your fault that i was in so much pain
and hey grandma, listen, despite all my hate,
i promise that you're not the cause of my terrible fate
and brother, i love you, you were always so sweet
i hope you have a daughter to treat the way you treated me
michelle and kaylynne, you've always been there
you were more than my cousins, you always showed me you cared
and marissa, my dear, you were there 'til the end
you showed me the very meaning of being a friend
sweet little marie, please don't you dare cry
and can you promise me that you'll never do this, you'll never try?
and heather, i know you've been through this before
i'm sorry i couldn't show you how much you were adored
and ellie, my sweet, you helped my heart to heal
but i have to leave you, there's just too much i can't feel
oh god, my qynn, this one is the worst
what we had was magic, but i guess i was cursed
and alex, man, you'd better take care of our girl
please try to show her how much more there is to this world

writing this poem made me feel that maybe i didn't want to die
but it was too late, i'd made my decision, i'd made up my mind
this was never just about me, no, it's so much bigger
my whole body was shaking, as i reached for the trigger
and sure part of me still wanted to live
but i was tired and spent and had nothing left to give
my mind was made up, life just kept getting harder and harder
at least this way, i could die like a martyr
thought i couldn't make it, i hope th rest of you do
i hope you that i'm sorry, i hope you know i love you

i slammed down the notebook, i wiped away my tears
then it was time to face all my fears
i wrote down my "sorry"'s and decided to die
then i lifted the gun and let it kiss me goodbye

Listen to the constant chirping of the crickets.
Watch the blades of grass sway in the wind,
as the smell of the morning dew surrounds me.
My eyes follow the gentle ***** of the hill,
noticing the wildflowers scattered like coins in a well.
A couple is walking on the dirt path below,
oblivious to my gaze.
The tree’s rusted orange, saffron yellow leaves,
begin to drift down the path.
A lone discarded paper, an artificial tumbleweed.
The wind rattles the pages of my journal,
as if it is trying to keep nature a secret.

-Marissa Navedo

"Isn't it incredible,"
She queried,
"There's an addicting collection of lifestyles before us...
And we can be any of them!"

"Marissa, you genius,"
Said I,
"You brilliant, amazing, genius!"
She had articulated perfectly the way I felt about the world in front of us.

There were the usual crowds--
The jocks,
The nerds,
The theatre kids,
The band geeks,
The stoners,
The gamers,
The popular chicks,
The emos,
Et cetera, et cetera.

All with their own quirks,
Their idiosyncrasies,
Their peccadilloes,
Warts and shines.

There were other kinds of crowds, too,
Though.

There was the girl with thin scars on her thin wrists,
A part of the lonely crowd that grappled with a common demon.

The boy who wore the same sweatshirt every day,
Who'd recently begin to sport some peach fuzz above his upper lip,
Who often smelled of body odor and whose hair was a little too greasy.
The one who was a member of the horde of quiet poor--
Smart enough to fool you,
But not wealthy enough to keep up.

The student who slept through class,
Part of the group for whom school offered an escape from the wars at home.
A small island of relative peace amidst a sea of turbulent battles.

There were the busy bees,
With their AP classes and extracurriculars,
Not popular but not ostracized, either.

There were the ones who flitted between,
The social butterflies who somehow maintained the graces of all the above,
Few and far between,
But easy to talk to and unassuming,
The kind of people everyone likes.

There were the bullies, too.
The ones insecure in themselves,
Feasting on,
Reveling in,
Dependent upon,
The weaknesses of others.

All these and so many more.

We saw them all--

A brilliant camouflage of people and personalities and habits of life,
Some by choice,
Others not.

And like Plath's fig tree,
Which we'd read about in English class last week,
They all seemed so appealing,
In some way or another.

Maybe I wanted their smarts,
Or their popularity,
Or their anonymity,
Or their struggles,
Or their personality,
Or their strength,
Or their courage..

I didn't really know.

But I did know that,
Like the fig tree,
I would choose one,
And the others would die off,
Forgotten.

But for now,
There they were,
An enticing dinner menu with altogether too many options.

And here we stood,
In the hallowed halls of high school,
The world ours for the taking,

And such an addicting collection of lifestyles in front of us.

“En dehors”
The mirror emulates their grace,
as amber catches an insect
preserving it in the mind.
I focus on the soft pink
that paints across the floor.

“Passé”
Their feet move automatically,
as gears in a grandfather clock.
Drifting with the ease,
of a fallen leaf.
Gliding through the air.
My steps are crude to the eye,
as oil in the ocean

“Efface”
With each incorrect step.
I burrow even further,
trying to escape ridicule.
I attempt to blend in,
A crypsis of the mind.

Marissa Navedo

- En Dehors: expresses that the leg moves in a circular direction, clockwise
- Passé: working leg passes the supporting leg sliding close to the knee
- Efface: Dancer stands at an oblique angle to the audience so part of the body is hidden from view. Legs are open and uncrossed
- Crypsis: The ability of an organism to avoid observation or detection by other organisms.

We walked down the path,
Overgrown weeds jut out from every direction.
The harsh textures rub against my bare legs,
as if being kissed by an unshaven man.
The narrow sodden trail unwinds,
revealing translucent waters with distinguished elegance.
It feels as if the eye can transcend forever.
The water is tainted,
it is the furthest thing from purity.
It’s beauty once extolled is as meaning less as a grungy penny,
for it is an artificial beauty.
-Marissa Navedo

The world looks at him, and gets lost in the confusion.
  She looks at him, and she is lost in his world.
Passers by stare at her unknown, unaware for the beauty within
  To him, her beauty lies far beneath her freckles.
Many of us can not even muster the courage to talk to one another
  Let alone, hold a candle to the splendor of true honesty & compassion.

Often replicated but never duplicated
  but duplication is within her.
Labeled for life to be a stigma,
  a supposed taboo.
Earthly born to be ‘weak’,
  but Heaven saw fit to grant her a strong heart & even fiercer spirit.
Undeserving of loyalty, for man deems her ‘broken,’
  Her presence screams throughout time,
“I am NOT broken!”
  She was made for him.

He fits to her soul like the last puzzle piece,
  Vibrant, making the whole picture complete.
Racing is his mind, nothing seems to calm,
  until he sees her, his fiery red hair gal.
Excitement is a curious creature,
   It can be wonderful, when expected.
Speaking can be useful, after much altering.
   But he doesn’t have to change for her,
She knows exactly who he is, and even more.
   He knows how to woo her, from the deepest part of his heart.

Very matter of fact, no filtering required
  for this is a special kind of love.
A love that many so often throw aside,
  to glamorize a cheap imitation.
Bright lights, loud stares, and quiet words
  determined to shatter their dreams.
Hollywood glitz & glamour films, tell of impossible tales
   knowing that they themselves, long for something real.
Give us a tale of how we should love,
  how not to cast aside the broken.
For it is our true stories, of undeserving compassion
  How we are loved for everything we are,
Give us a Love Story like Marissa & Billy.

Please visit the link below to know more about their story:

https://www.facebook.com/Marissa-Billy-a-special-needs-love-story-166422050876423

Whats up knucklehead! Where have you been hiding? What transit did you take to get to 44th and Broadway? We found the petting zoo just fine without you, although the ***** in the Ballroom B Lounge had a few words to say about it. In case you were wondering, Kat and Marissa picked up a shuttle and then onto a cab that later found a flat on the parkway. Yea, they were ****** but made it just the same. Pops called again and asked about the drinking thing, I covered for you and said you be home by sunset. Whats up knucklehead, Where you been hiding?

Sometimes I turn off the lights walk slowly over to my bed and crawl under the covers and let the darkness swallow me whole. I sit there and think about what it would be like to end my life then and there. I know my mom would be heart-broken and Dalton would cry and blame himself for the cuts on my upper thighs and the bullet through my chest and I know David would look at the floor and think what could I have done to stop this and i know my cousin Courtney would cry not only because I would be the first person she has lost in her family but because I am like a sister to her like she is to me. As I lay there in bed drifting away from the abundance of Zoloft I have just taken, I like to call them my “Happy pills,” I think about who wouldn’t show up to my funeral. My dad, that man can hold a grudge.... My brother.... One day he will be just like my dad. Marissa.... We were best friends, but what does that really mean. Sean..... He was like my older brother but I bet I just annoy him. Erin.... She is my best friend from camp but I bet she really just hates me. As I begin to shut my eyes I feel content but then I realize I have to say one last thing, so I pick up a piece of paper and a purple pen and write these words, Mom, I love you. You have always been there for me even when I was wrong. Maybe now that I am out of the way you Dad and Douglas will get along better. Dalton, Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Staying up with me and making sure I was okay and remember this was not your fault. David, We’ve had our rough patches but YOU will always be my best friend even if you don’t like me no one would ever take your place. You’re one of a kind and will make it far in life. Courtney, you are going to grow up and be beautiful, I hope you remember I will always be your big-little cousin. Dad, I am sorry that we couldn’t get along but now you wont have to deal with my imperfections. Douglas, good luck with everything you are a smart kid with a lot to offer the world. Now that I have written these final words I set down my purple pen and drift to a place where people can’t hurt me. As I start to dream I see my mom slip back into her depression she no longer loves dad and to her Douglas doesn’t exist. I see Dalton, will Dalton’s grave. He ended up over dosing on those drugs I told him to stay away from. I see David on Facebook opening and closing the chat box, he needs someone to talk to. I’m not there. I see my cousin she’s grown up to be so beautiful. Captain of the soccer team senior in high school but then when she goes to bed at night she stares at the white board in her room where I wrote, “Hey Court, I love you.” 6 years after my death and she never erased it. I see my dad sitting on the couch not showing any emotion like always but then Douglas walks into the room they sit down and turn on the tv and instead of turning it to sports center they turn on Pretty little liars they always made fun of me for watching it, but then I see Douglas turn to Dad and say we know she’s watching this with us she wouldn’t miss it for the world. Then out of no where I wake up and gasp for air run into my moms room wake her up and tell her mom I love you.

Uncle Doug,
Today was a day that I hoped for, but also dreaded for.
I've been hoping to see you one last time,
but I've dreaded knowing that it might be the last.
Today I saw you at your worst.
The cancer was eating all the good things inside of you.
The one thing that cancer did not take was your smile.
It was painfully small, but still a smile.
Today I told you that I loved you.
I've meant to say it more in all of these years.
But at least you heard it again today.
Today was the last day that I'll be able to hug you.
I'll never forget how you squeezed me a little tighter before we let go.
I'll never forget.
I'll never forget.
Yours truly,
Marissa

‘till death do us part or the flames of our home, a split or a distance has always been present.
     Dad started sleeping in the basement around 4th grade.
I think.
      I can’t remember when it started but I know it became normal.
      Now he works and complains and he never finds joy
       I wonder how long it will take before I end up like him.
        So I put verbal miles between us and hope that I end up okay.
      I collect records and CDs to distract me from the secrets behind closed doors
    But Kurt and Billie were only distracting to an extent.
     So I saved up all of my money, from pocketing moms dollar bills to mowing the lawn.
      And I bought a blue electric guitar with all two hundred and thirty of my dollars.
           It was storming the day I got it, and I have a fear of thunder, so I named it after my fear because it was loud as hell.
Cheesy, I know.
    I spent hours on end, day after day, cutting my fingers on the six nickle wound strings.
     And I got good.
I could play the **** out of that ******.
        I wrote a song called “he said” and I showed it to all of my friends.
I never liked the title but the song was okay.
       It was about a boy who ran from home because his family was broken.
       The first line was “I can only see out of one eye after I cut myself loose”
      I would change it every time I played it depending on the story I wanted to tell.
       Sometimes I would sing “after YOU cut me loose”
     I followed this with “ I packed my bags, left my ambitions on a noose.
I changed my hair, don’t want to know my reflection,
and you can’t gat lost without having direction.”
     It was edgy and it was catchy and marissa said she liked it.
         That made me happy.
       Since then my songs have been a good distraction from the fighting.
                    But they never helped me cope.
       And my friend daniel told me to never limit my art,
       He told me to branch out my creativity and he showed me his poems
   They were the depictions of a twenty five year old nobody
And I thought they were really good.
        I still read them and try to learn from them because I idolize his art.
      So I began writing poems in November because November makes me sad
     And I wrote consistently because I knew my friends would read them
    My friends wrote too, and they were always better than me
       I loved reading their art because we all struggle with honest expression
                               But lately I have stopped.
The distractions have stopped.
     The flames of my home are catching up and I don’t have the motivation to stop them with my art.
        So I’m sitting In my room listening to a nirvana record that my favorite person gave me.
     And I’m writing the odyssey of the teenage ghost
                         And I’m getting no answers.
                        And I’m getting nowhere far.
     And If you are reading this it means you can help.
       I don’t know how to end this.
I don’t know what to say.
     I'll try to keep writing, but these secrets are catching up.
      I don’t know how to end this, so I guess I just won’t.
    Just remember that I always thought-