raymond-flores
The power that a piece of literature has - to be able to form a connection between the reader and writer across millions of miles, thousands of years, and even across lifetimes - is something unique and extraordinary. I write to somehow participate in that special bond between the written word and the human soul.
It’s just that
At 6:33 in the morning
I’m thinking of you
When i shouldnt
I mean i shouldnt
Shouldn’t i?
It’s just that
You are the tree
That every one of them
Has ever branched off from
And i thought I’d never need
To see your roots again
But i was wrong
It’s just that
I have seen you maybe a total of
3 or 5 hours
In four and a half years
But you haven't changed a single bit
You still feel as beautiful
And as fascinating
As i have always thought you to be
It’s just that
I feel remarkably
And inexplicably
Magnetised to you
I see you in every one i thought i loved
And every passing by
Every brush of the arm
Every chance meeting at a coffeeshop
Keeps me craving for more
And i don’t know why
It’s just that
Maybe i just lust for life
I long for your touch
Just for the sake of being touched
Or maybe
It’s the brevity that
Strums my chords
This beautifully awful way
Or maybe
It really has been you
All along
It’s just that
It makes no sense
I mean
You
And
I
It’s a joke right
We’ve been this way before
And I know the way it ends
It’s just that
I can’t help but hope
Or think
That these years could change the way the trail leads
It’s just that
My whole life
All I’ve wanted was to be sure
And now
More than ever
I just want to find out for myself
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:31 AM UTC
Your touch feels like flower petals
Your embrace a knitted sweater
You are a hole-in-the-wall diner
Within all of New York's madness
You are the feeling of the shirt I always sleep in
You are wood and you are cotton
I think clouds are made up of your hello's and your I-love-you's
You are where I go when it starts to pour
You are who I call when its 2:38am and it starts getting bad again
You are shore among the savage sea
You are the eye of my storm
You feel like the feeling of grass under my feet
You are the scent of coffee and leatherbound notebooks
You are everything I love
You are worth any commute
You are who I hope to come to
every evening
You are home
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
and in that darkness
i made the best decision of my life;
to sit next to you
so i could lean over
and we could talk about our lives,
our families,
our friends.
and in that same darkness
i made the worst decision of my life;
to realize where we were
to feel the music stretch my heart
to see you in that dress
and not take you by your hand
and ask you to dance
and with my luck,
it probably would have made all the difference
and now i’m all alone
and i wish i would have leaned over
and said:
"i know i have just met you,
but in
one month
six days
four hours
and
twenty-six minutes
i will have fallen
completely and utterly
head over heels
in love with you"
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
Its 4 am and I’m sober as ****
and I still want you in my arms
I want your head tucked under my chin
I want to stare at God knows what because the single thing I care about in the boundless universe is wrapped up in my arms
I want the rhythms of our breaths to
slowly
slowly
align with each other
I want to hear you sing to yourself (you have the voice of a slightly off key angel)
I want your hair to get into my face
because I’ll love the way it tickles my nose and the way it smells like laundry detergent and you
I want silence
because we both know it
in our minds
in our hearts
in every fiber of our being
I want to hold hands
firmly
as if reassuring that we will never let go
(I will never let go)
as tight as your dad would hold his drink
(neither will he)
I want your fingers to intertwine with my own and we’ll count each other’s knuckles
to see which months have 31 days
we’ll make shadow puppets
of rocks
we’ll find patterns in the clouds
constellations in the dusk sky
faces in the stucco ceiling
I want to kiss you on your forehead
on the eyes
on your neck
trace your jawline with my lips
kiss each cheek (twice to make sure)
and follow the road that leads me to your lips
I want to kiss your whole ******* face
I want to kiss you at midnight
every day of the year
it’s 4:07 am
and the closest I am to drunk
is two and a half too many cups of coffee
but I still want you
that’s got to mean something
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC
driving down the highway
the dotted lines turn into blurred streaks
clusters of trees whip past you
so fast you question whether they were ever really there
street lights like
fireflies
stretched like spaghetti
and all you can think of is
opening the passenger seat door and launching yourself onto the bed of concrete
all you can imagine is your skull shattering on the road
like a crystal ball or wine glass
spilling every crimson worry out on the ground
every thought of anxiety and stress
spurting out like
a barrel of molasses after a few bullets
the gruesome yet cloying image can’t help but seem to feel like it would relieve
the pressure
the torrid weight thats supposed to make diamonds
but only fills your head with obsidian
and as you lie down like that contortionist you saw on TV
you sacrifice your vessel
however pallid yet finally at peace
to the hungry preying metal beasts that pursue your carcass
foam dripping from their jaws
or you imagine getting into a car crash
a brusque demise
so you leave your seatbelt off
so when it finally happens
you soar
you feel free
feel weightless but not empty
none of this ******** weighs you down
and you feel unrestrained for
one
last
second
before your walls close in like a crushed tin can
you hope the airbags dont work
because you feel
that if your face hits the windshield hard enough
It would knock the demons out of your head
but as much as these thoughts run amuck within the confines of your cerebrum
you can never will it to happen
and you go home
and the car crashes
and the overdoses
and the bridge jumps
and the bloodshed
only happen inside your brain
and you spend your waking moments
wondering what’s worse
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 3:05 AM UTC
I will always love you
I’ll always love the way we met
in that perfect moment of my life
not one second too early
or too late
I will always look upon our early weeks
as one of the best times of my life
the way you were on my mind
as the first thing when I woke up
and as the last before my head hit my pillow
I will always love the mixtape I made you
one song a day
I still keep the tracklist in my wallet
I will always remember the dress you wore
when my eyes first followed you
as you walked into the room
the galaxy pattern
permanently burned into the inside of my eyelids
in a good way
I will always remember
the times at camp
when we burned our ropes
when we baptized you in muddy water
and watched the stars on the basketball court
I will always remember that one night
where amongst people we barely knew
I finally told people how I truly felt -
how simply living exhausted me
enough to drag blades across my skin
and you looked me in the eye
and let me talk
because you knew that all I really wanted
was to finally talk to someone who would listen
then you said how you felt inadequate
and how you felt like you’re not beautiful
I will always remind you how ridiculous that thought is
because you are abundant in both categories
I will always remember how we stopped talking
how I’d be lucky to see you once a month
but I’ll always love the way
we talk like nothing has happened
every time we see each other
however sparingly
I will always remember when I found out
that your busy life
meant that a relationship was the last thing you needed
and that I was just a friend to you
I will always love you anyways
that special kind of love
that doesn't crave or lust or yearn
instead waits patiently
for you to walk back in my life
you make my heart feel warm in a way
that doesn't ache when you’re not around
but cherishes every second that you are
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
I’ve never finished a book
or written a song longer than a verse
I like to say I’m a jack of all trades
but its just because I’ve never loved anything
enough to make me stay
I can never step foot into a theatre
because I feel
if I never watch a movie
I’ll never have to see the credits roll
and the lights turn on
understand me when I say
I’m broken
because I think that never holding on
is better than having to let go
and I never cry
because I've never invested enough of me
into something I can lose
I only dip my toes
because I fear that one day
I’ll wake up on the wrong side of the bed
and hate the feel of water on my skin
(what a predicament that would be)
but I would drown in you
my thoughts are short stories
and my longings just poetry
the stanzas escape me
and I can never make it past the first paragraph
But I could write a novel about you
Chapter One: how she laughs
Chapter Two: the sparkle in her eyes
Chapter Three: the beautiful way she looks at the world
you are not a sprint
but a marathon
my legs will throb
my feet will chafe
my lungs will burn
my head will ache
I will want to give up
but please believe in me
**because no one has ever loved me
past the first lap**
but I would run
every
single
mile
of you
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
I have no clue
what mental illness is like
but when
you’re sixteen
and you’d rather die
than wake up the next morning
and the things that you used to enjoy
are now only categorized into:
“keeps me sane”,
“gets me away from home”,
and
“makes me forget about how much I want to **** myself”
and your life consists of
going to the class you continue to fail
talking to the people you call your friends
(but really hate, but no one else will sit with you at lunch)
sustaining the body you’ll never be comfortable in
surviving at home because you don’t have anywhere else to sleep
loving the girl that will never love you back
and etc and etc upon infinite etcetera
when death feels much sweeter than life
then something has to be
awry.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
I am lost and I am utterly confused
I see no purpose for continuing to be
I’m find myself back in this
grey
soul-sucking
enervating
seemingly endless
pit of uncertainty
at least if you fall to hell
you are sure of your damnation
but to be both
teased by paradise
and groped by apocalypse
I feel
is the worst of the three
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
he will never love you
the way i can
the way we talk
we know each other better in under a month
than you two
in seventeen
our souls are intertwined tighter
than he can ever hope to hold you
his love is shallow
i am the Marianas
if he is the sea
i am the Pacific in all its entirety
in his banks you can barely dip your feet
you can sink ships in mine
he can kiss your lips
but **** it
so can i
he can hold your hand
but can he hold a conversation
he loves you under a veil
i’d love you on a stage
he loves you with his skin
i love you with everything i have
he loves the way you look and feel
i love the way you think
you speak
you laugh
you love
and everything in between
he will never love you
the way i do
does he know about your mother
why the ink is on your skin
does he really know
what you keep within
does he love you past the tips of his fingers
or the palms of his hands
does his love extend past the reach of his arms
does he love you when he can’t hold you
he loves you like brushing his teeth
or getting a bagel at the bakery across the street
he loves you like his thursday evening tv schedule
or how he waves to his neighbours on their porch
he loves you like the way he dots his “i”s
and how he never forgets to cuff his jeans
he loves you
like a routine
he loves you like the scent of his sheets
or the way the couch sinks in the only spot he likes to sit
he loves you like the way your name rolls off his tongue
he loves you
only because he’s used to it
he loves you like his favourite watch
or tie
he loves you like the mug he puts coffee in
or the pen he likes to write with
he doesn't love you
he prefers you
i will never love you
the way he does
despite being separated
by skyscrapers and apartment buildings
miles of asphalt
brick walls and chain link fences
sheets and clothes
in between us
we felt so close
by knowing its the same sky
we were both looking at that night
and nothing can stand in the way of that
i know by the look in your eyes
the way you ever so softly speak
the way your letters form into words
into sentences
into paragraphs
into poetry
that you will never love him
the way you love me
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC