I miss you I miss you I miss you
I mistook you for
something that could make me happy

and together,
we set each other
on fire,
watched you melt down until nothing but
exhaustion was left.

Did you cry when you left?
Me, sitting there,
you, in-and-out of bookshelves,
trying to find
what?

The memory of us
walking these aisles,
looking for ways
to keep each other
grounded.

Present.

Present me with
a pair of socks to
keep my cold feet warm.
Your cold feet are frozen now.

And I sit there.
You, in-and-out of bookshelves,
finding your answer out the door
because I miss miss miss
mistook you for
someone who could make me
happy.

everything hurts
and I don't know
what to write about
anymore

Every Saturday for the past two years has pretty much been the same.
I wake up to the sound of my momma knocking on my door,
"Go watch your sister, I'll be back soon."
I stagger out of bed and head on over to keep an eye on my little sister, Raylin.
She returns usually an hour later,
It's 8 am at this point,
With five young girls,
Five very sleepy young girls.

The oldest, 16 now, Adriana,
Collapses on the couch most of the time,
Too tired to make it to another bed.
Roxana and Mariana, 14 and 9,
Will sit and watch tv all day from the moment they get here
To the time they leave.
Maritza and Marisol,
7 and 6, will sleep until Raylin wakes up to play with them.
It usually doesn't take very long.

Two years ago is when it all started.
Having to wake up early to get the girls,
Having to pick them up from 30 minutes away
So they could have a safe place to call home.

Two years ago,
my mother receives a call from my tia Cindy,
"Adriana is hurt,
Adriana can't move,
She went too far this time."

The entire family had been trying for months to get the girls,
Their mother and father a complete mess.
"In love", they called it.
They would show their love with marks upon their skin,
Bruises as proof of their undying love for each other.
My tia Perla would wear her blood and tear stained love upon her sleeves
for the world to see,
But she didn’t care.
This was the life she chose for herself,
And when she grew unhappy with it,
Her daughters would hide in fear,
Adriana and Roxana taking the worst of it.

Once,
I heard Roxana yelling at my own momma,
Who only wanted Roxana to listen.
"I don’t care, I just want my mom, I want to go home."
I couldn't understand the words that were coming out of her mouth.

Later that day,
after my momma and I dropped the girls off at tia Cindy's house,
I asked my momma what could've possibly caused
Roxana to say something like that.
"It's her mom, it's the only type of love she knows."

Two year ago,
These sleepy girls showed up at my house,
In the dead of night
when the bats would fly around,
Maritza and Marisol holding each others hands,
The older three with panicked expressions they couldn’t hide,
The beginnings of several bruises
Forming on Adriana and Roxana's arms and legs.
They slept huddled together on my bed,
Refusing to leave each other,
Shaking even when it wasn't cold.

Two years ago,
These five sleepy girls couldn’t sleep
without being scared of what waited for them in their dreams.
Arms and hands that were supposed to shoo the bad dreams away
caused them instead,
But last Saturday was pretty much the same as it has been
For the past two years.

My momma knocked on my door,
"Go watch your sister, I'll be back soon."
The five girls show up at my house,
No longer scared,
No longer shaking when it's not cold,
No longer so sleepy.

my love for you
borders on sacrilege
almost unholy

i could wait for you forever
but it doesn't mean i will
not if you don't want me to

i'm so tired
of waiting
waiting
waiting
for you

and words
that never caught up
to your mouth

lately i've found myself staring at blank spaces
thinking of nothing but you
your face, your hands, your hugs
your lips, your voice
the things it says
the things i wish it would

lately i've found myself relating to all of the sad songs i'd stopped listening to
i don't want to be sad anymore
i don't want to fight the urge to cry all the time
but it keeps coming back
and i'm tired of fighting

i don't write the way i used to anymore
i can't play hide and seek with my writing anymore
there's nowhere to hide
yet i keep losing myself in these words
that don't mean a **** thing  

i am volatile
and all i want to do is hide
but there's nowhere to hide
when all too familiar eyes
read these words
and throw them back at me

lately i've found myself staring at blank spaces
trying not to find a reason to give up

lately i've been hearing the words "i love you" a lot
but i'm having a hard time believing them

i spend a lot of time
thinking about the stars
and even more time
placing you in them

I do not write to spare anyone else's feelings,
but to save my own
It is the only time when I can be as honest as I please,
when I can speak what's on my mind in more eloquent ways than my stumbling and stuttering sentences

I have not the gift of the musical language the way Ravel does,
nor that of Tesla and the natural sciences
I cannot explain away why in fact the limit does not exist nor Pythagorus' innate ramblings,

but I can understand why Poe
was oh-so-miserable
and accept his love for beautiful dead women

I share Whitman's love of birds and their tales of woe for long lost lovers

Dickinson - hides herself -
the way I do - in her writings
and the ****** fly interposed itself in my light as well

Emerson and Melville tell tales of self reliance,
with Major Molineaux and Bartleby taking life by its reigns
but even Dante seeks Virgil's aid in finding hell

I am by far no writer of substantial merit
and have much to learn,
but that is exactly why I love what I do

I write to understand that which happens to and around me

I write in often vain efforts to find solid ground beneath my tired feet,
But most of the time,
I end up with paper scattered around me, full of words that I have yet to know

I write when I don't know what else to do,
even when I don't mean to find myself locked away,
scribbling meaningless words onto paper

I write to learn more of the errors of my ways,
maybe if I can gather my thoughts into one coherent phrase,
then I can finally accept my wrongdoings,
then I can grow

There is a sad realization that knocks me down with every ripple of its wave each and every time that my words cause grief or hurt

It is never my intention,
but even that is hard to believe

To say that i am sorry for them is pointless
I am not and never will be

How could I betray myself in such a way?

I write to escape
to understand
to create
to learn
to stand
on my own two feet
I write to be honest
among other things,
but most of all,

I write because it is all I know

...
but you're not here
and i'm not there

and it hurts
to think of

You sit among those with dark thoughts
malice, malevolence, horror, atrocities
but there you are
with your terribly crooked smile
and those eyes
                    oh
                        those
                              eyes.

That don't stop shining
with the tears
of sorrow that
never quite reaches your heart
but your heart
                    oh
                        your
                             heart.

When others look at you
they see a kind smile,
a warm face,
a heartwarming embrace
but when I look at you
                    I see cruel eyes,
                         a fake smile,
                              a halfhearted embrace.

Your hugs don't warm me.
I only feel your cold collarbone
that juts out against my skin.

Your smile hides the sharp teeth
that bite at those who cross you.
Your bite is way worse than your bite
and oh how it bleeds
but
          oh
               your
                    eyes.

They sparkle sinisterly
gleam devilishly,
cry wholeheartedly,
but your tears don't
          hurt
               me
                    anymore.

Why am I like this?
What have I turned into?
You're all I think about
and I feel like a lost puppy most of the time,
like I'm waiting for you
to seek me out and find me.

Why?!

What is it about you that has reduced me
to repeated I love you's
and I miss you's
and I can't wait to see you's?
I have never been so honest about my feelings
to anyone before
and this terrifies me.

The power that you have over me,
that I have given you so willingly,
terrifies me.
And now,
you're all I write about.

I like to write about what I see
happening around me,
the people and things
that matter the most to me,
and my thoughts
so thank you!
You have made writing
so much easier for me
because you have blinded me
to everything happening around me,
you are what's happening around me.
You are all that matters to me
and I cannot stop thinking about you!

I cannot stop thinking about you!
I cannot stop thinking about you!
I cannot stop thinking about you!
I am starting to think that
there is something wrong with me.
This cannot be normal.
This is not healthy,
I should know;
I was always a sick child.
And this is so strange to me
because the only way
to make me feel better
is to think about you.

On the days that I spend
too much time alone in my room,
where I hate the world,
when I want nothing more
than to just go home,
where I spend hours in bed,
clutching a pillow and wishing it was you,
on the days that I miss you,
I think of you.
I think of you.
I think of you...

I don't know why I'm like this.
I don't know what I've turned into,
but when I think of you,
*it all makes sense.

you've left him a sad mess
a sorrowful, flightless bird
his wings
beat

and beat
and beat
and beat
and beat

against the floor where he lay
and nothing

did you enjoy it?
watching him writhe about
while you sat upon the pedestal
he placed you on

we all watched him fall
just like the others
only this time
I thought you had changed

you walked off the pedestal
gracefully
to the cage
you'd left him in

and touched him
gently
held him up
high above you

(even the stars
were jealous)

only to wring his neck
while we watched

and yet
he remains

wings broken
beyond belief

sometimes
he thinks he can sing instead

*but you've taken that too
haven't you?

i am dying
burning alive
and my simple tears
will do nothing
to save me

sometimes when i miss you
it takes every bit of strength
that i have
to not cry

but most times
i cry anyway

i wonder what i did
to make Aphrodite punish me
in such a way
that i cannot have you

because the way you look at the stars
is not the way you look at me

there are more than
30,000 people around me
and I am trying to find you
in every single one of them

The stars will align
The string players will go into third
The runners will be at their marks

But you and I
will never be in position

To the boy leaving to California,
I'm gonna miss you, but most of all,
I'll miss the eyebrows that you tried so hard to hide from me.
I saw them anyway.
You'll do the music scene of Idyllwild good.

To the girl who ******* me over,
I don't know why I kept you in my life for so long.
******* ♥.

To my Pastor,
I'm not supposed to ask you for forgiveness because you say that it's not your place to forgive.
I hope that you do.

To my sister,
Yes, I am leaving to San Antonio. No, you may not have my stuff. I'll see you at the concert.

To my Prom-Effect crush,
Sometimes I pull out our pictures, read our old conversations,
I look at the goofy drawings you gave me.
You gave me so much more.
Thank you.

To my dog,
You're dumb, but you're cute.
I'm going to miss cuddling with you at night.
I'm going to miss the comforting nuzzles you gave me when you saw me cry.

To the people I spent my time at Moonbean's with,
Who will I get my indie coffee with now?
What will I do if I can't see your calming faces everyday?

To the homeless man  on Jackson Road,
You were gone for a while.
I'm glad to see you're back.

To my other sister,
It's been more than a year and you're already so big.
I promise to be there for you in any way that I can.

To the mailman,
Yes, that is my parking spot. No, I will not move.

To the cute boy at church,
That's all you'll ever be. I see that now.

To my cousin Monica on my mother's side,
You're going through a lot right now.
I know you are.
Remember that you've been through this before.
Maybe it's not easier the second time around,
but at least it's familiar.

To my other cousins, Jessica and Gaby,
I expect great things from you both, each in your own way.

To my "father",
It's still been years since I last saw you.
It's still been years since you last called.

To the five people with a bracelet that reads "Bestie",
You are some of the most amazing and breathtaking people I've ever met.
You are the ones I am scared of losing.
I pray that I don't.

To the lady at the post office, Michelle,
We never really interacted much.
Thank you for that.

To my 12th grade biology teacher,
Santi, your work is a pain in the *** and I didn't learn a **** thing.
I already miss seeing you first thing in the morning.

To my 12th grade English teacher,
YOU ABSOLUTELY ******.
I CAN'T BELIEVE I WASTED AN ENTIRE YEAR IN YOUR CLASS.

To my better, whiter half,
You are still my soulmate,
You are still my person.
I will never forgive myself for being a horrible friend to you when you needed it the most.

To my brother,
For the love of Jesus, please don't ever change.
I'll see you soon.
Clean your room.

To my dad,
It's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

To my stray cat,
I honestly don't know how you've survived this long.

To the bookshelves in my closet,
I now you're already full and I haven't read 60% of the books there,
but where can I place these 7 new books?

To my orchestra teachers,
You taught me so much more than music.
I will make you all proud of me one day.

To the girl who went a little ****** this past year,
Have you found your peace?
How about a lie to tell yourself everyday?

To the Parliaments in my room,
I bought you the night I started crying myself to sleep because of him.
I have yet to stop crying.
I think I'll keep you for a while longer.

To my momma,
I won't let anything stop me.
You'll soon have a third diploma to frame.

To the kids who skipped school and smoked,
I changed the wording.
I am one of those kids.

To the University of Texas at San Antonio,
I'm allowing for you to take me from everything that I love.
I pray that you're worth it.

To the boy that I lo-...
It'll be a long time before I'm able to finish that line again.
I hope you're the same person when I do.

I love children.
Okay let me rephrase that:

I love children that aren't mine.

I have abso-positively-*******-lutey no responsibilities attached to them.
They didn't leave *my body completely wrecked.
They don't look at me and call me "momma"
or any other variation of the name
and I love that
because frankly,
children scare me.

Okay let me rephrase that:
The idea of ruining a child's life scares me.

First off:
I wouldn't think my newborn child is beautiful.
Newborns look like potatoes and I don't particularly find potatoes attractive.

Secondly:
They'd have a name that haunts them in their sleep.
I named my dog Legolas after gorgeous Orlando Bloom in Lord of the Rings so don't try me.
I will name them Harry ******* Potter without batting an eyelash.

Thirdly:
I will be brutally honest with them.
When they ask me why the sky is blue,
I will say that I don't know.
I didn't pay attention enough in school to know.

When they ask me why some boys kiss boys,
I will say that it's perfectly normal.
Mommy probably kissed some girls and boys at some point in her life.

When they ask me why the little girl in their 2nd grade class comes to school with
bruises on her arms,
with her hair in two pigtails,
a smile on her lips,
but fear, loneliness, and heartbreak in her eyes,
I will say that some people in this world don't deserve Angels.
They don't deserve to be alive at all.

When they ask me why they don't ever see their great aunt Perla,
but hear her name whispered at family events,
I will tell them to ask the little girl in their 2nd grade class.

Fourthly:
They will learn to clean house, top to bottom,
The way my momma taught me.
They will hate it.
Then they will hate that they love it.

Fifthly:
I will argue with them every step of the way until they can learn to hold their own.
But until then,
No, you may not have $60 to go shopping.
Unless you're buying books or music.
Then you can have $100.

Lastly:
I will teach them to love.
My love for them will be overbearing, smothering, and unwavering.
This is how they will love their children.

But when they finally ask me what love is,
I will smile,
bittersweetly,
and say that love is...

Love is drowning in the ocean,
gasping for air that never quite reaches your lungs,
but when it does,
it hurts
because water doesn't belong in your lungs.

You can't help breathing the water in, however.
You just want it.
Want something to fill you, to overwhelm you.

Love is repeating this, over and over until one day,
the breathing
doesn't hurt anymore.

There is no more water in your lungs.
Just air.

There is water still, all around you,
but you are not drowning anymore.

You're swimming.

You, my dear, sweet, beautiful, hypothetical child,
are swimming!

*which is something that I have yet to do.

i used to hide here
in my writing
but i can't even do that anymore

I hate that it took me 17 years to find you.
I hate that you were 14 when I did.
I hate that I'll have to leave you in a months time.
I hate all the stupid things we never did.

I hate all the love poems I've written so far.
I hate that they're not about you.
I hate that I can go an entire day and not see your face.
I hate that that's not true.

I hate lying awake at night.
I hate being alone.
I hate being without you.
I hate all the time I spend just staring at my phone.

I hate looking at you and seeing sadness in your eyes.
I hate your great taste in TV shows.
I hate that Firefly made me cry.
I hate that some people can't see how great you are, oh the good Lord(e) knows.

I hate it when you're not with me.
I hate not having you near.
I hate that your laces are almost always untied.
I hate that some days I'll have to settle for staring at a bracelet because you're not here.

I hate it when things rhyme.
I hate that your Snow melted away.
I hate all the pain it caused you.
I hate that this is all too cliche.

I hate how lonely my hands feel when you don't hold them.
I hate it when you frown.
But I know one thing for sure,
this I've got down;

I don't hate how much I love you,
the way you've turned my world upside down.

my uncle says that all poetry is the same.
he's right, of course.
forty-four years old,
unmarried, tired,
working on an oil rig in Mississippi.
he's got wisdom i can't even imagine.
it's all the same.

no matter how hard i try,
no matter if i change Your name,
no matter if You actually read this,
it's all the same.

my uncle says that all poets are the same.
i believe him, of course.
eighteen years old,
just graduated, tired,
full of one sided, unrequited love for the whole world.
i've got naivety you can't even imagine.
we're all the same.

but i promise you,

cross my heart and hope to die,
no matter if it never changes,
no matter how many times i write this stupid poem,
every time i do,

it hurts just the same.

Your body feels strange next to mine

what once used to fit perfectly
now feels forced with
weird angles
and arms
badly intertwined

i watched You all day

You looked down
fingers blurring up my sight
it was silent
but i heard every time
Your thumbs thumped against the bright display
someone else's words taking You from me

oh Lord
don't you think it'd be easier
just to let me go?

i don't understand the point of it all
don't understand why i choose people
that won't ever give me
all i give them

don't understand why it's
happened three times
in the span of
six years

You're right next to me
but i'm not really there
am i?

the door is ten feet from us
and Your body feels strange next to mine
but i don't understand
why i never  
get up
and
leave

I believe in luck
I believe in coincidences
I believe in fate
I believe in destiny

It's contradictory I know
but so are you

When I first met you
you were strong
          you still are but it's different now
you answer every beck and call
don't listen to advice
you wait by the phone
sulk when he does
you're like a lost puppy

My darling I've never been great with luck
I've never won the lottery
My coincidences always really ****
and my fate is constantly changing
          but you

This has happened
once
twice
before
but the third is not the charm
          (or the fourth)

My darling I'm sorry
but he is not written in your stars
not in your destiny

I'm sorry
          but then again
                    I'm not
I tried so hard
but you didn't listen
you won't

I've been in your position
          We all have
but I got out of the rut
I'll be waiting for you too
          *We all will

Fanfares resounding
the crowd all too big
cheers around me
you stand on the stage
but they're not clapping for you.

My feet carry me closer and closer to you.
after all these years I'm still yours
there's no doubt about it.
I'm with you now, together onstage
but they're not clapping for you.

and while I might be yours
even after all those ****** years
tonight
the fanfares, the crowds, the cheers
are all for me.

my feet are cold
but i can't seem to to gather the strength that it takes to go and get a simple pair of socks.

i'm tired
i'm alone
i'm sleepy
and i need to finish my college applications.

why don't i have my life together yet?
why do my counselors expect me to?
i'm just a child.
i still cry when I watch scary movies.
i still need my mom to **** spiders for me.
i still have stuffed animals
and after years of knowing You
i still need Your approval.

i guess it's all my anxiety taking over,
but i've begun thinking about what i'm going to do when i leave,
when You leave.

what will happen?
will i cry?
will You?

i seem to cry lot lately.
i wonder if it has anything to do with our impending graduation.

i've had better days than this.
it's a shame they all involved You.
i'll never be good enough will i?
that's alright.
i've grown accustomed to Your rejection.

sad, isn't it?  
because no matter how hard i try,
all of these ****** poems will always lead me back to You.
i don't think You could care any less.

You make me want to die.

Dear 6th grade,

One day you will realize that he is not the most important thing in the world.
One day you will realize that he already did.
Long ago, actually.
You were just too love-drunk to notice or care.

You are not in the picture anymore.
You never were.

Learn this.
Face this.
Accept this.
Live with this.
It shouldn't be too hard.

You been doing it this far.

What's your whole life more?

Sincerely, 12th grade.

I've not written in a long time.
I'm sitting in a room surrounded by people who don't care about what goes on around them.
I sit among them wondering what the Hell I'm even writing about.
Nonsense, nonsensical words that mean nothing but the life that I give them.
What
          do
               they
                       all
                           mean?
You write almost everyday.
I know because you tell me.
You sit in rooms surrounded by people who have such deep, longing, arduous passion for what goes on around them.
You stand among them.
Stand because you greatly outshine them all.
Play, play, playing notes that breathe to life when you tell them to.
You learned to control them.
You
       give
               them
                         meaning.
                                           Like
                                    you
                    ­          do
                      me.