jose-de-la-garza
Jose / Brother of Marlen / Lover of nature, adventure, and knowledge / Who feels Curious about life, creative when I think, and inspired by people and nature / Who fears injustice, discrimination, and rejection against the innocent / Who would like a life time of adventure, success in all my endeavors, courage to do what is right / Who lives in North Carolina
Yup,
when left in the sun
they become warm like my lovers hands
and the light they reflect is as bright as his eyes.
Their vibrant color speaks to the sound of his voice
when he draws near and whispers in my ear.
The taste of his lips is just as sweet and soft as the flesh of the fruit.
but never will you hear them sing like he does.
At the turn of a week
They wither and shrink
when darkness consumes their complexion.
and that's when the fuzz starts to grow.
they rot and they stink
like a lost loves memory.
and as they fester
so does your regret from
never consuming them while they were younger
and untouched by the corruption of time.
and that is what sets them apart from him.
through time he gets wiser and the fruit of maturity blossoms
with the grace of his actions.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
There’s such a thing, the Serenity Spring,
The cradle of all beauty.
Abode of light,
A haven from blight,
A place to pour out your worry.
The gentle waters, pristine,
Will make the filthiest soul clean;
Reflections reveal the truth, however ugly.
Simply let yourself be submerged
As your stains are rinsed and purged.
Float on your back and take in the green,
As rays of light create silhouettes of leaves.
Take a deep breath and inhale the smell
Of white lilies whose secrets you mustn’t tell.
A choir of birds sing a delightful melody
That melts all sorrow and agony.
Welcome, they sing, to the Serenity Spring
Where we’ll wash your anguish away.
When in your darkest hour,
Just close your eyes,
Delve deep into your mind,
Let your thoughts unwind,
And in this paradise you’ll be laid.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
They pull us closer or they tear us apart
they tie one's hart
to another.
even still, these forces that pull us together
might not bind us forever.
you can't feel these strings work
you can't see them either
but like light they connect us together.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
Thine leaves art wilted, flying to and fro,
And thy limbs reach out as if in sorrow.
"Dost thou not remember what once was held?”
Thy branches crack whilst leaves into dance meld.
The moon doth rise as children’s laughter rings.
Through the night thy old hollow solemnly sings
Of twisted grins and melancholy wolf cries,
And how every man thee meet sadly dies.
But thy eternal heartbreak shall not wane
Thy every breath will be met with pure pain;
Death shall not return thee to its icy grip.
Forevermore, thou shalt bring people to Death.
Until the rope that hangs on thine branch cease,
Cursed to be known only as The Hanging Tree.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
Waiting for the sea she sits
writing with her fingertips
setting down herstory on the sand;
waiting, with a wistful eye
watching for the rising tide
wondering if stories can be drowned..
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
So what if you have a big belly?
So what if you have a pretty face?
So what if you wear a little makeup,
Or if you have a tiny waist?
So what if you don't have ***
Or if you keep 'em coming back for more?
So what if you got that operation
And renamed yourself Titti Galore?
So what if your complexion is darker,
Or if your skin is pale and white?
So what if your name is Muhammad?
Or Sharkeisha, Wu, or Dwight?
So what if they say that you're different?
Normality is subjective.
And if they want to attack you,
Curse words make very fine adjectives.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic
i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents
you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door
sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor
i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips
i practice things i'll never say to you
i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl swingset misses children
rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach
for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray
this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep
i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes
i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one
in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume
i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice
if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"
i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem
the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****
we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you
nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps
sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
They look at us like we are broken.
They hear our life stories and aww 'miser' for picking up and movings continuously
People are terrified of their world changing and us, we were born into it and know no other
The faces of despair appearing when I say I have moved 9 times, as if I just declared a death.
But the last time I checked
waking up in a different country every four years
is reviving
When I speak about my life my breath is taken away both because its a lot of “and then I moved to..” but mainly because I am amazed every morning by how much I have accomplished at only 18.
The international community I grew up in taught me more than school ever could
The term 'Third Culture Kids' was invented for us and we embrace it and are empowered by it
There isn't a single person I know that can say wholehearted where he is from
Do you know any kid that can say they can sort their friends by continent
& last time I checked that was
beyond impressive
Do you know may language I can swear in thanks to it and obviously communicate in
Walking down the halls and finding someone that spoke the same language as you always made your day and you would go out of your way simply to have a conversation that others wouldn't understand because your connection to 'home' will always be there
But then again, for kids like us ask us where home is and you will never get one response.
Having the backgrounds we have always leeds to political arguments but for once we do not sit and spit out the information we heard from our parents but rather each with his national backgrounds comes to the stage.
& Last time I checked that was
fascinating.
Living out of suitcases
Knowing too many hotels all over the world
packing your house in a container continuously
adapting to a new culture and society
learning to love everyone
not having a say in where you move but being thankful that you have...
& Every time I check
I am grateful
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
When the light of dawn envelops us,
I feel his fingers connect to my being
as he pulls my hart towards himself in a tight embrace.
My fear melts away while warmth radiates from his eyes like the light that brushes past his cheek; bright and vibrant yet some how knowing.
I am alone no longer when he is with me.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
his breath woke me up every night
we lay in bed; no, it wasn't
that his breath smelled of toxins,
but of dandelions and poppies.
his hair smelled like he rolled around in
fields of roses and he was
the single dandelion that begged and
pleaded to fit in.
he would never fit
in but he didn't know that, so
he kept trying and it was
so beautiful to say the least.
underneath his skin, in-between
his veins and his bones are tiny seeds that
i planted with kisses and they
grow with my love, when i wrap my
bony arms around him and
squeeze tightly - it lets him
know that he's not normal, that he's
not right in the head but
i love that. so when he wakes me
in the middle of the night, as
i lie between him and the emptiness of
the night, i think that i'm dying
but the moon light lingers and i
know i am safe with his flower breath
and the weeds growing in-between
us and the roots that grow out
of my heels and strangle the love
picture frames on our off-white
bedroom wall. i stare at those cookie-cutter
pictures and wish i wasn't right
in the head, too, but if we both were
psychotic, he wouldn't be a dandelion.
so i stay awake and watch
his beauty radiate in the darkness of
the night and wish that i
was that beautiful too. but he
tells me that my battle wounds don't
amount to anything to him, that my skin
is a ghost to him. i wish
he saw me for me, but his eyes
see the beauty that he grows.
but several nights he leaves me and
i am cold and i am worthless and
i pray to a god that he will
come back and taunt me because
i cannot stand it when he is
not here between my fragile arms
keeping me warm and safe.
i beg him when he returns to just
stay the night, just one more night,
because i cannot bare to
sleep without the dandelion amidst
all the rose petals. i need
my dandelion to keep me safe
and to be the needle in the
haystack - i need him to be in my
arms because idon'twanttosleepalone.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC