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5.1k · Feb 2018
A letter to my past self
Angie Marcano Feb 2018
To: Past Me
From: Future You

Hello, my past self.
I hope you’re doing well.
But then again,
I know you’re not.
Because I was you,
And you are me.

I know about all the smiles you’ve had to fake.
I know about all the silent tears your pillow is stained with.
I know about all the people you’ve loved and all you’ve lost.
I remember it all.

But listen,
It doesn’t get easier.
You will still go through hard times.
People will still leave you.
You will still feel sad sometimes.

It may not get easier...
But you do get stronger.
Strong enough to overcome it all.
The pain.
The tears.
The obstacles.

Small things won’t hurt you anymore.
Every rock in your way will turn into a pebble.
People will go and others will come.
But you'll be alright.

You’ll grow stronger.
You'll be wiser.
You'll get bigger (not in height though, we shall always be 5’2)
It may not get easier but you will be happy.
Of that I am sure.

So past self I tell you.
Dry your tears. You’re not alone.
You’ll be surprised of all you’ll overcome.
                                                                                         Love,
                                                                                         Future You ;)
In youth we assume that things will get easier as we grow up. In reality, the strength we gather throughout the years is what helps us overcome anything. But then again this is only my opinion. Feel free to message me. Ill be glad to hear you out :)
913 · Feb 2018
Funeral
Angie Marcano Feb 2018
This is it.
It has come to an end.
It has been a long journey together.
But we got to this point at last.

My eyes,
far to tired for any more tears.
My ears,
not willing to listen to any more condolences.
My voice,
cracks while trying to get any words out.

And my heart,
cannot break any further.
As I look down to the coffin.
A coffin filled with all that reminds me of you.
Be it the teddy bears from valentines day to the songs you dedicated to me.
Be it all the beautiful memories to the darkest moments we shared.

Its time to bury it all.
5... No, 6 feet under ground.
The last goodbye.
Because today is the funeral.
The funeral of my feelings for you.
Time to move on
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
The girl I love,
has beautiful almond shaped eyes and a smile as white as your grandmas new pearls.
She wears them on her face everyday.
Shows them off to everyone around her.

The girl I love,
works at a kids dancing studio.
Everyday she goes to work in her pink tutu and a bag full of compliments.
Everyone loves the girl I love.

The girl I love,
wouldn't **** a fly. No... really she wouldn't.
Her love for everyone and everything is greater than the number of stars in the sky.

The girl I love,
is smart. She could probably tell you how many stars there are in the sky.
Or at least a proximity.

But theres one thing about the girl I love that I don't love.
The girl I love is dying.
The cancer came back.
Its taken over her body this time. There's nothing to do.

The girl I love,
still smiles at me.

The girl I love,
still gets out of bed every morning to go to work.
Not knowing if she'll be able to do it all again tomorrow.

The girl I love,
kisses me goodnight as if it were gonna be the last time.

The girl I love,
wants to keep living before she dies.
But I don't think I can do the same in a world where the girl I love is no longer there.
This is the first part. This poem is the boy's point of view in the story. The girl continues the story in the second part of this poem.
682 · Jan 2018
A sea of stars
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
I lay in the cold grass.
It’s prickling and tickling my body.
But I lay there anyways.

My eyes wide open.
I look to the sky.
As if the sky was a vast blue sea. Waiting to be conquered. Waiting to be explored.

The stars are out.
As if they were all those sailboats returning home. Millions and millions of lights looking for a place to go.
Eternally sailing.

The moon is full.
As if it was the light house that’s guiding them back.
Mesmerizing anyone who looked into the light.
Blinding my soul.

Not a cloud in sight.
There is no tide.
Everything scattered
but just where it should be.

I reach my hand out,
as if to grab something.
Anything.
This masterpiece I could never reach.
Trying to embrace it with my thoughts.
Trying to take a mental picture as to never forget.
Letting it know that someone admires it.

And as it reflects in only my eyes,
I think to myself:

“Maybe you’re watching this too”
627 · Jan 2018
Because I'm alone
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
Because I’m alone,
I can enjoy the silence.
Even when my many, many, but oh so many thoughts are rambling around as loud as a heavy metal concert.

Because I’m alone,
I realized I have amazing conversations skills.
I mean THE. ABSOLUTE. BEST.
Even though I'm mostly talking to myself.
In my head.

Because I’m alone,
I can read the book I always wanted to finish.
While eating at the corner table of the fast food I decided on.
Alone.

Because I’m alone,
I can play the music I want out loud.
Not worrying about others taste.
Doing the air guitar solo.
Without being weird in anyone's eyes.
But my own.

Because I’m alone,
I don’t have to think about what I say.
Or say what I think.
Or think of what I should’ve said.
Or say anything at all.

Sitting. Eating. Talking. Laughing.
With everyone.
In a group.
Where everyone is everyone’s friend.
I realized that I have always been alone.
Even when I’m not.
The moment I realized that the only friends I have are superficial. I decided on being alone. And I found it comforting.
597 · Jul 2018
Her
Angie Marcano Jul 2018
Her
She twirls around the room
in a silky blue dress.
As if she were a ballerina
in a wooden music box.
Preforming the melody
inside her heart.
As the bewitching moonlight
shines upon her
making her as bright as the sun.
It reflects on her chestnut hair
that gently caresses her shoulders.
So blinding
but leaving you with the feeling of wanting more.
She smiles so brightly
that it warms the room.
Melting all the walls
you once put up.
As if she were a magician.
As if she could read your mind.
She whispers under her breath
so low that you cant hear.
You try to read her lips.
Cherry colored lips
They mouthed the words
you wanted to hear the most.
But before you could figure out the last word.
You wake up
and realized
It was all just a dream.
Just a beautiful dream.
521 · Feb 2018
A Poet's Insomnia
Angie Marcano Feb 2018
I can’t sleep.
My mind is a mess.
Every moment I’ve lived.
Every memory I have.
Every experience I’ve been through.
Is coursing through my body.
Screaming to get out.

As if I was dreaming while still awake.
In front of my eyes are projected,
Images as clear as a movie on a screen.
Can’t tell reality from fantasy.

Poetry is a drug.
Its an escape that I can run to.
Always. Whenever.
My mind, always composing.
Sometimes things I want to write
Sometimes things I don’t want to write.
But I’m an addict, so I write them anyways.

There's a war in my head.
Raw thoughts,
still jumbled looking for shape.
Sentences with no sense
fighting in my head.
Riots of ideas,
wishing to be expressed.
Waves of words clashing against the feelings put into them.
An eternal minefield.
A loudness that only a few comprehend.

Therefore,
I can’t sleep.
My mind is a mess.
So I’m writing this instead.
476 · Feb 2018
11:11
Angie Marcano Feb 2018
The clock strikes.
It’s 11:11
I’ve only got one minute.
The seconds are counting down.

60 seconds left,
To make the wish I wish to make.
To hope that time could grant what I want most.
To believe that something can happen from it.
To have faith that it will come true.

30 seconds left,
To organize my thoughts.
To think hard about what to wish for.
To stop all the noise going up in my head.
To decide.

15 seconds left,
To wonder “why am I doing this?”
To believing this is absurd.
To knowing that nothing will happen.
To feeling dumb.

5 seconds left,
To not care.
To care.
To give up.
To try.

Clock strikes again.
It’s 11:12
Did I make it?
474 · Jul 2018
Write
Angie Marcano Jul 2018
“Write”
-he says-
So that you may never forget.

Let the footprints
of your path
be the words
you once wrote.

Fill the white sheets
of paper
With rainbow colored
Ink.

Red
for love
Blue
for sorrow
Yellow
for happiness

Write about
The beach you once went to
The stars you see
The future only you can imagine

Write about
Love,
Loss,
HIM.
Write about him.
Write anything.

“Just write”
-he says-
Write so that you may never be forgotten.
452 · Mar 2018
Faded Hoodie
Angie Marcano Mar 2018
There is an opaque dark blue hoodie,
hiding at the back of my closet.
Covered in metaphoric dust and cobwebs.
It has fluffy cloud-like lint
covering the holes in its pocket.
Short little strings
sticking out from its seam.
It hides behind the bright rainbow
of blouses and dresses.
Deep in the back, away from sight .
Forgotten and unused.

Yet it,
Still smells like that popular perfume I got you.
Still holds the tickets from the last movie we saw in its pockets.
Still has that ketchup stain from when we last ate together.

It is no longer a bright navy blue hoodie.
Its color has faded away.
Ever since that cold November day.
When you left without it and never came back.
It hasn't left its spot ever since.
And neither have I.
423 · Feb 2018
Dance with me
Angie Marcano Feb 2018
Darling,
take my hand and
dance with me.

Let’s perform the graceful art of painting lines on the floor with every swift move.
We spin around the dance floor, that has now become our home.
Softly, holding our bodies close.
Not too close,
but close enough.

Let us waltz into each other’s hearts with every step.
And with every movement let us prove our love.
A love for everyone to see.
Dance partners that were clearly meant to be.

Let’s dance salsa.
And no... I don’t mean the kind for chips.
The rhythmic salsa that makes our hearts beat out of our chests and intertwine with every note.
The salsa that causes the adrenaline in our bodies to rush as we follow every beat.

Let us practice our seduction through a heated tango.
As we caress each other’s bodies and souls.
Intensely loving and never wanting to let go.
A tango that will set our feelings on fire.

Darling,
Dance with me, please.
One last time before you leave.
422 · Mar 2018
To my unfinished poems...
Angie Marcano Mar 2018
I’m sorry.
My beautiful stanzas,
For not keeping in touch with you.
Somewhere along the way
I abandoned you.
And never wrote back.

I’m sorry.
My sweet verses
I have not forgotten you.
I have only forgotten the feelings in you.
And my heart can't bear to remember.

I’m sorry.
Meaningless Haikus.
I thought I could make some sense out of you.
But I will always be a few words away
from finishing you.

I’m sorry.
Untitled works.
You are amazing.
But I couldn’t give you what you deserved.
I left you raw.
Unpolished.
Unfinished.

I’m sorry.
That I scroll past you.
That I am to forgetful to finish you.
But to proud to erase you.

I’m sorry.
That while you remain
unfinished and unpublished.
I continue giving birth to
New works and
New ideas.

I will finish you one day.
Not today.
Not now.
But someday.
And until that day,

I’m so sorry.
It's not you, it's me.
It's definitely me.
408 · Sep 2018
Dissecting My Love For You
Angie Marcano Sep 2018
Lab coat on
I stand in a cold morgue
Scalpel in one hand
My heart in the other.

Hands tremble
Making the first incision
Cutting through the sweet memories
And stripping it from the bitterness
you left behind

It lays open
Displayed on a silver tray
Tied down by your half truths
And compassionate lies
Held down by the “I love you”
And trapped by your “Don’t go”

A beaten heart
That no longer beats
No longer pumps love
But instead is filled with tears
And regrets

It has lost its color
A vibrant red
was turned into
a Coal-black
As dark as the bruises
You left behind

Yet
Flatlined
And without pulse
I still live
With nothing on my sleeve
And an empty hole
on my chest.
368 · Jul 2018
Late Night Talks
Angie Marcano Jul 2018
At 2 in the morning

Once every year

We sit down in the same wooden table

Drinking our second cup of coffee

Talking about our crazy aunts
and
weird family traditions.

Discussing the government
Or
social problems of our time.

Coming up with revolutionary ideas
that will never leave the room.  

We exchange our war stories
And a future apocalypse
that may or may not happen.

We cry
And then
we laugh

But by the time
the clock strikes 3

Our beds shall not remain empty.

So
With droopy eyes
and yawning mouths
We agree to continue
the same conversations
The upcoming year.
To my dearest and closest cousins that I only get to see once a year. May we always have topics to discuss.
361 · May 2018
Memories of You
Angie Marcano May 2018
I had forgotten...
How sunny it was that day
When I first met you
And you shyly said “Hey”

I had forgotten...
How your face turned red
when you asked me out.
You didn’t care who was watching.
You said it loud and proud.

I had forgotten...
How good the movie was
on our first date.
How much we laughed.
And how much we ate.

I had forgotten...
How warm your hand was.
And how comforting
your hugs were.

I had forgotten...
How beautiful you smiled.
And how you would say
“I Love You” everyday.

I had forgotten...

I simply had forgotten...
How much I loved you.
Even after we parted ways.
I didn’t realize how much
Until you went away.
334 · Jan 2018
Roots
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
This is my origin.
From here I was born.
The roots planted at my feet take me back to a land that was once ours.

In the color of my skin
I can see my ancestors.
Their beliefs.
Their customs.
Their history.
It is not lost.
It lives within me.
Within the native blood that courses through my veins.

I can hear the songs.
The music and the dances around a raging fire.
The song turns to screams.
Fire grows hotter.

The invasion begins by the original immigrants that now call it home.
Spilling blood with weaponry never seen before.
Talking in a language never heard before.
Preaching about gods never preached before.
Taking what once was ours and making it their own.
Calling it home.

But by the color of my skin.
And the blood filled roots within me.
We will remember.
What was once ours.
Wrote this in my history class as I was hearing once again about the foundation of Puerto Rico, my home.
331 · Feb 2018
Heartbroken Syndrome
Angie Marcano Feb 2018
Another person has fallen victim to the heartbroken syndrome.
Not me,
but the girl who’s sitting next to me at the bus station at 1 am in the morning.

The first symptoms she showed were slight.
Constantly staring down at her phone.
Desperation seemed to reflect on her face.
As if waiting for something.
A call.
A text.
Anything.

I knew she had reached stage 2 when she abruptly stood up.
Paced back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Not caring about anyone who watched.
Calling someone who clearly would never answer her.
The more she dialed, the more sick she got.

She escalated pretty quickly to the final stage once she bursted into tears.
Looking for reasons as to why everything went wrong.
Sobbing her eyes out.
As her body and feelings gave out.
Letting fall one last tear.
While she gave her last sigh.

She’s not the first victim I’ve seen.
I myself have fallen prey to this disease.
It is an illness that everyone is bound to have,
at least once in their lifetime.

And she will have to learn that,
The only cure,
The only antidote,
The only remedy,
Is time.
Trust me, it does get better.
330 · Feb 2018
String
Angie Marcano Feb 2018
A thin silver string.
Keeping our lives,
tied to one another.
Is slowly beginning to break.

It has become worn out.
Untangling around us.
We realize it is not long enough to keep us together
While we are so apart.

Predictable.
The moment we parted ways.
It was all over.
We knew
there would be a time
When we would reach the breaking point.

Each and everyone of us.
Pulling it in so many directions.
It is thin
It is weak.
It will...

SNAP

What is broken stays broken
There is
No duct tape that can fix it.
No new string to replace it.
No nothing to keep us tied anymore.

If only our relationship wasn’t as fragile as a thin string.
We could have avoided this poem.
We should have used a rope.
301 · Feb 2018
Tears from the sky
Angie Marcano Feb 2018
The sky is crying.
It’s shedding tears of loneliness and sorrow.
Puddles of its feelings have formed on the ground.
While kids with red boots trample all over them.

I’m probably a bad person.
Since I enjoy its weeping.
But I cannot help it.
I find it to be cathartic.
The brightest colors turn opaque.
While a place that was once silent fills with the sound of loud whimper.  
Its tears make me forget my own.
As the clouds roar in pain while being consoled by the cold wind.

But its no use.
The sky wants to shed some tears tonight.
And with every drop,
Every sob.
I can feel the sky,
getting vulnerable for everyone to see.
Being able to expose everything.
Anytime.
Doing it in pain yet gracefully.
Isn’t that just beautiful.
299 · Jan 2018
I Am Angry
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
I am sad,
But more than sad,
I am angry.

I am angry,
that you did what you did.

That you left me behind.
Left all of us behind.

You held my hand and said we would get through it.
Together.

We were both struggling.

We were both going through the same thing.

We both had the same thoughts.

The only difference between us was
That you drank the pills.
And I didn’t.
Some commit suicide to free themselves from what this world did to them. But us who are left behind are now trapped in it.
298 · Mar 2018
Inspiration
Angie Marcano Mar 2018
Inspiration is a mystical creature.
Legend says it has the power to intertwine thoughts.
One after the other.
Magic that makes the words turn into choirs of souls with a common song.
As it takes over ones body and controls every feeling.

It comes when it wants and leaves when it must.
Sneaks into your head.
Invades your thoughts.
Arrives when you least expect it.
In the shower.
While washing the dishes.
Right before going to bed.
Yet is found absent when you need it the most.

Uncontrollable being.
Unpredictable at best.
Always leaving things unfinished.
Never giving me a rest.

Inspiration is a mystical creature.
Yet to be captured.
So if it visits you.
Hold it tight.
Make the best of it.
Before its magic starts slipping away.
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
The boy I love,
is funny. He makes corny jokes not taste that bad.

The boy I love,
is a great cook. His salsa is almost as good as his dance steps.

The boy I love,
is kind. He wakes up earlier than usual every morning so he can help the old lady cross the street.

How many guys does it take to change a lightbulb?
One. Because the boy I love can fix anything. From cars to world peace.

But theres one thing the boy I love cant fix.
Im dying.
The cancer came back. Its taken over my body this time.

Now the boy I love,
can't sleep. He lays next to me.
Checks if im still breathing every five minutes.

The boy I love,
cant stop looking at me with sad eyes.
He looks at me move around the room as if I was already a ghost.

The boy I love,
sighs of relief whenever I answer the phone.
He knows I haven't gone yet. He just wanted to make sure.

The boy I love,
doesn't want to live if I die.
But the boy I love doesn't realize
that the only reason I can keep living is because he's alive.
This is the second part of the story. The girls point of view.
255 · Jan 2018
I Feel Good Today
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
I feel good today.
Not happy.
Not well.
Just good.

So good,
That I woke up humming my favorite song.
It’s a happy song.

So good,
That I dolled up to go out.
Makeup and everything.

So good,
That I didn’t put my headphones on while I walked through the streets.  

So good,
That I didn’t look down.
I smiled to everyone who walked past me.

So good,
That I laughed.
And meant it.

Today I felt so good
That I sat and wrote a happy poem.
Hoping that I could feel this good again tomorrow.
Finding this poet’s corner. Reading everyones poems. And other people reading mine. I feel happy about finding this site.
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” -He asks

“No. I do not”- I say

“Why not?” -He asks again.

(Because falling in love at first sight is like falling in love with an appearance. The hair, the eyes, the body may all be perfect. But what about who’s on the inside. Such things are not gonna matter for the rest of our lives. Will you not love them when you see the flaws? Will you not love them when they are a mess?  Will you not love them when they aren’t as perfect anymore? As if their looks could show me who they really are. I don’t need such superficial love.) - I think

“I don't know.”- I say.
226 · Feb 2018
Thought of you
Angie Marcano Feb 2018
I would say I’m in love with you
But that wouldn’t be true.
Because I’m not in love with you.
Just with the thought of you.

I'm in love with the thought of traveling together.
To the place our hearts lead us.
Hand in hand,
as we see our dreams come true.  

Or just the thought of staying at home.
Binge watching our favorite series.
While eating all that we shouldn’t.
Regretting it after.
But doing it all again the next week.

I'm in love with the thought of loving you.
Warming up in your embrace.
While our hands fit in the right place.
And your kisses softly becomes bliss.

Or just the thought of spending
Every birthday,
Every holiday,
Every day.
With you.

But then again,
I’m not in love with you.
Just with the thought of you.
Who knows. I might be in love with you after all.
222 · Jan 2018
Words
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
The words don't flow like I want them too.

They stutter.

They take their time to leave my mouth.

They aren't as clear as I hoped they would be.

They aren't right.

So I decided to stay silent.
Some things are better left unsaid.
210 · Mar 2018
Untitled
Angie Marcano Mar 2018
I am wondering through the dark places of my mind.
Places I don’t allow myself to visit often.
Because once I do.
I will never be able to leave.
198 · Jan 2018
Chained
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
Trapped.
Behind metal bars that have corroded with time.
Even so they remain
un breakable

My mouth,
Tightened with a muzzle.
So no sound can escape from it.
No screams,
No words,
No nothing.

My arms,
wrapped around my body.
Comforted by the soft white fabric of a straight jacket.

Legs,
Bruised from the chains.
The sound of shackles has become nothing but a song to my ears.

As if I was brave enough to escape.
As if I was brave enough to break free.
As if I was brave enough to realize I was the key.
The only way to escape is realizing we are the way out.
187 · Jan 2018
At a loss for words
Angie Marcano Jan 2018
Here I am.

Again.

Looking for the right words.

The correct words.

Any words,
to make you stay.

But,
by the time I find them
you'll already be gone.

— The End —