*I say, "I love you,"
you say, "te amo."
I wrote a poem
but it seemed hollow.*
I'm starting to see that we are not
so imperfect, but rather, only
different.
I'm still waiting to age, still learning
to gauge with the dynamics we create - you
speaking a language so foreign, it seems
that you speak sweet
to me
but I fail to believe
you say what you mean.
It's as though the weight of the phrase
"I love you"
hangs heavy with the ones
who came before you;
it reminds me of airport goodbyes, of late-night
confessions on Facebook - sleepy and
painfully honest,
it reminds me of another story,
"I love you" has significance, a ponderance, an expectation,
a manner in which I can predict
the things you think behind those unsmilingly
eyes, but "te amo"
"te amo" is Rihanna, it's an utterance on a evening
beach, it's a reflexive simple present
tense, conjugated with practice, and now
it's my haven,
my integration, you have become
engrained in my conversations.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 1:10 AM UTC
i am split between barely-different
desires, or rather,
equally-addictive inclinations:
you see, half of me wants nothing
but to strip away the sticky sweet
self-hatred, just say **** it
and be happy/
relive the day-after-day
same sensations, but this time
enjoy them freely, without the hesitation
usually harbored within,
fed again and again;
the other half of me wants to live
sort of slovenly: one day, purchasing
scarves and layered plaid garments,
hiding behind charcoal eye liner
and perhaps a full sleeve
of amateur ink (tree leaves changing
into full-piece stories);
half of me hates me, and the other
wants so badly to grasp hold
before I tumble full force
into the cracks out of reach from the future
created for me, by me, waiting
patiently.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
Self-respect is not me dismissing
my own emotions, it is not
excusing unprotected *** and disrespectful
texts because the ****** is better
than the silence;
no--- self-respect is not me crawling
down the street to fake-sleep
beside your smug form, only so that I may
cab home the next day and nap
away the pain;
self-respect is not what I have given myself
these past eight months, but I promise to fight
now because if you believe this poorly
labeled, loosely constructed
relationship allows you to **** her
with your clothes on in the corner
of the dance floor**
while I am five feet from your
disgraceful piece of **** self, then I can find
the strength to delete every pleasant
memory from the place in my brain
that's been holding me back;
there are so many inches of my body and
my soul that you will never know (*not that you
even thought to pry*) and I will keep them safe
for the next deserving guy
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
every ***** must be floating in my self-
loathing, my brain detached and sparking
in the fluid, crying out to me, logically
*get off the balcony, Romeo isn't who
he appears to be*
and my lungs are flooding quickly, but
my heart beats without the need to
breathe,
every piece of me is independent,
and yet they all ache from the same **** pain,
and I hate the credit I'm giving you
just by waking up, trying impossibly
to forget you - I hate you, I swear to God,
I hate you for making me weak, for making me
believe this ache was caused by you and not me
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
[my memories are not
loose threads
that catch passing through
the doorways]
you are not
something I despise, and yet
I no longer sacrifice
parts
of my well-being
for your
shallow communication/
your subconscious lies;
if you cannot define yourself,
then do not wait for me
to redefine my life-
waiting-
there is something remarkable
about you, and it took me
too long
to realize that what I saw
in you
was an image
from within
my own mind;
you were only ever
human,
a creation of my own
exaggeration
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
moral tamponade: resisting the existing
pressure against my breath; the right in wanting,
the wrong in settling - the confliction in my conviction
for both *** and respect;
must the two be mutually
exclusive?
I don't do that catch and release type of
relationship **** - no predator/prey - just equally
matched competitive exhibition: rotate the roles
of top and bottom, pleasure and pleasing, we are in need
of fire breathing;
I want purity in purpose, practice
in form/I want limbs to be tangled and words
to be torn
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
hold my hand/ above my head
kiss me sweet/ against the bed
call me pretty/ into my breast
cleanse my sins/ I am wet
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
this path i wrote
wrought with missed
twists and turns and trip
wires made of pit vipers
camouflaged in ******
stripes the color of bumble
bees that make me sneeze
humbly god help me please
i hear foot steps quietly
lightly on the trail behind me.
r ~ 11/15/14
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
You are the equivalent of a knotted
necklace chain - your ends tied to mine,
but it's about time I untangle our comedic tragedy;
you are a mess of constant confusion, occasionally
relaying and resting your uncertain intentions/
motivations on my chest, and asking me drunkenly
to unravel your misery, and darling I did that,
I tried that, and in the end I'm not like that.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
we could be any number of things:
platonic cuddle buddies, a sloppy half-
forgotten kiss against the ***** banister, an
excuse to expose ourselves in ways
we only save for the dark - deep, and confused,
and vulnerable;
we could be any number of things, but I think
I'd like us to be something/anything - lately, I've been craving
new experience the same way one might crave
a day at the beach with a few clouds and summer heat
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC