"Bulimia nervosa, an eating disorder that involves bingeing on food followed by purging, can cause gum disease, osteoporosis, kidney disease, heart disease, and death. Bulimia affects mostly women and teens." - WebMD.com*

My eyes blurred as I wiped away the remaining evidence from my mouth.
I cried.

It seems that bulimia had taken over my life these past couple of months.
Even my hands shake now.
For some reason, I didn't seem to care that I could give myself cancer with this, that I could die from this.

My headaches have gotten worse, my depression even more intense.
And my poor, sweet mother, willing to believe that I am sick and NOT doing this to myself.

Could I really do this to her?
She now has the duty to care for several children that are not hers because she cares too much.
She tries, but she no longer listens to her own children.

My mother is broken.
Revealing this to her will only break her more.

So I'll keep quiet.
Purging and ridding myself of my shame and self respect.
What could possibly be worse?

Like trying to swim in a desert, I have been trying to forget you.
Obviously, it's not working.

When I was growing up my mother would say " It's okay not to try if you know you're fail miserably, but you can try it just for the experience."

So I did.

I spent hours reading books, familiarizing myself with characters that seemed a lot like you; impulsive, stubborn, witty, and sarcastic.
Can you see the similarity?

After deducing that books weren't the answer, I turned to the internet.
Sadly, this was a bust as well.
Every cat picture I saw reminded me of Star, the cat who ran away.
Yes, this was your cat.
I can't imagine why she would leave.
Honestly, CAN YOU READ THE SARCASM?

My last attempt at forgetting you was filling my head with meaningless facts.
Did you know that penguins have knees?
Yeah. You told me that.

Anyways, I decided that there was just no staying away from you.
My mind was like a private detective, subconciously tracking you down, searching for any type of clue that would lead me to you.
Don't ask me why I end up next to you everyday.
I honestly don't know.

But sometimes, I can see my train of thought leading me to you and it never crosses my mind to come to a screeching halt.

Maybe it's because I want to crash into you.
Or maybe it's because I want you to meet me halfway.

Fiercely*  I n d e p e n d e n t
I am as stubborn as the Aries Ram
     which just so happens to be my zodiac sign.
I don't care what others might think of me
     but at the same time I live to please.
I've found that I can really only rely on my family
     but my friends care far too much
          far too fleetingly.
I am blunt and will call you out on your *******
     as nicely as possible.
I can't handle tears even when they're my own
     and they always sound like
                                  short
                                                   dying
                                                                ­    gasps
         but that's what they are, right?

It's your lungs and eyes dying because your heart was too dumb to listen to your own brain.
My brain was only trying to look out for me.
I'm not sorry that I've failed it way too many times.

My mind constantly revolves around myself
     because I'm way too proud and vain
          of my way too small accomplishments.
I want to be known as Great
     and I am not ashamed to admit it.
No matter what I do
          be it the purest good or the wickedest bad
               it will be great and jaw dropping.
I am extremely conceited.
     And shallow
          And a hypocrite
               And a liar
And will always keep score
     (By the way as of 2012, I had 37 points and you 34. I'm still winning.)
But I own up to it and will always try to be better.
I am also determined
     And hardworking
          And persistent
Which means that I will get farther than most people.

In 2001 the No Child Left Behind Act was implemented in primary and secondary schools in the USA to ensure exactly what its name says.
But there are always children left behind.
     There are always people left behind
          And I will not be one of them.
And no matter how conceited and full of myself I am
     I will always find your name written in between the lines of my poetry
          whispered with every breath that I take
               crumpled on sheets of paper that I've long since thrown away
                   because every line that I wrote was never good enough for you.

The summer before my senior year
    I tried to isolate myself from my friends and family as much as possible.
Not because I was depressed
     but because I knew that I had to learn how to be happy all by myself.
I love them all to death
     but I know how much it hurts
          when you lose yourself in another person
               so much that you can't find a way out
                    or even a way to heal once you've escaped.

I'm hard to love enough as it is
     so I did it to train myself for the times in life
          when I know that I will be alone.
But I was taught that there's a difference between being alone
     and being lonely
          *so which one are you?

Age: 1
There's really not much to remember from a year of being born.

Age: 2
Still nothing.

Age: 3
Nope

Age: 4
Now we're getting somewhere. Dad left. He left us with a an angry hole in the wall from where I saw him kick.

Age: 5
My cousin burned my hand severely with an iron this year. I remember watching all of the other kids got to ride their bike and play around. And me? Holding my bandaged hand from the side of the street.

Age: 6
There's a faint memory of a pink and yellow skirt that I wore all of the time. I was in love from the first time my mom brought it home. This was the year I received the infamous Care Bear that all of my family soon learned to love like they did me.

Age: 7
I went trick-or-treating as a princess this year. It was the best of them all. Mom found someone else to "love".

Age: 8
I lost my Care Bear. This was enough to ruin the rest of the year. I entered the third grade at a new school that mom said was closer to our real house. I realized that my dads side of the family didn't like me. I wonder why.

Age: 9
The cousin who burned my hand? I burned her with a firework stick in the ****. It was an accident of course. The nurse pulled me out of class and had a very personal talk with me about my growing *****.

Age: 10
In the fifth grade, I experienced my first gain and loss of friendship. It prepared me for the years to come.

Age: 11
The sixth grade; the year that I met all of the important people in my life. This is the only explanation needed. Most importantly, I met you.

Age: 12
She ran away from home and when I finally found her, we cried together in her room. I soon left her.

Age: 13
Finally a teenager and still trying to escape my growing feelings for you. Ah the eighth grade.

Age: 14
Ashly became the closest thing I had to a best friend. And then there was you...

Age: 15
We drifted and Ashly became so much more closer. It's still a little hard to talk to you when I know that you have new friends and that you might not miss me. We still talk and every once in a while, I sense hope...

To the boy with the saxophone skills,
I miss you.
I never said it and now I see that it was bad.
I hope I see you again.

To the girl who ******* me over,
******* ❤️

To my old youth leaders from church,
You left and so did I.
You might come back, but I won't.

To my sister,
Yes, I'm still *******.
I had to call 911 for you.
I'm glad you're okay.

To my first crush,
Was I too much?

To my cat,
You only like me because I feed you.
That's okay.

To the girl who is quieter than I am,
Speak up, honey.
They won't see your brilliance so make them hear it.

To the homeless man on Jackson Road,
Where are the shoes my mother bought you?

To my other sister,
You are a whirlwind of emotions.
You are amazing.
You are unstoppable.
Grow up and be unconquerable.

To the mailman,
I'm sorry that we're always ordering so many things online.
I'm sorry that they were big packages.

To the cute boy at HEB,
I know you work there.
Yes, I look for you every time.

To my cousin Denisse on my mothers side,
You're annoying.
Shut up.

To Denisse's older sister, Monica,
I'm sorry about your sister.
I'm sure you've hit her.

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

To my friends,
I know I'm an idiot.
I know I'm sarcastic.
I know I can be mean, but trust me, I don't mean it.
Please forgive me.

To the man at the post office,
Get over it.
It's your job.

To my 7th grade Texas history teacher,
You taught me the meaning of sarcasm.
I have yet to perfect it.

To my 9th grade history teacher,
You were the sweetest teacher I have ever had.
You taught me the meaning of procrastination.

To my best friend,
You are my soul mate and will always be my better, whiter half.

To my brother,
You might think that I hate you, but trust me.
I don't.

To my stepfather (the second one),
You were always my favorite one.

To the stray cat that attacks mine,
Go away.

To the missing sock that always stays lost,
Where have you gone and how can I find you?

To my UIL Ready Writing sponsor,
I enjoyed spending those Saturdays with you.
You taught me where the word "*******" came from.
Thank you.

To the boy that my best friend dated for a while,
She did like you, I promise.
Her love was just too strong and burned way too fast.
Better luck next time.

To the computer-programming textbook that I've had under my bed for a year,
I don't regret that decision.

To my mother,
I love you.
Thank you for raising me the way you did.

To the kids who skipped and smoked at school,
How I wish I could join you.

To the Bowery Poetry Club in New York City,
One day I will go back and you will be open and I will perform.

To the boy I love,
I hope that one day you find someone that you love as much as I love you.
*I hope it's me.

Kiss me like you're trying to
steal the breath from me

Hug me like you're trying to
mould into me

Touch me like you want to
break me

Take me like you actually
*want me

Angie-
       ​fickle, effervescent, esoteric, impatient.

Relative of writers and hedonists.

Lover of spoken word poetry, packing peanuts, and emergency exit row seats.

Who feels that words mean so little yet so much,
       ​you will almost always **** at something the first time around (it's okay),
       ​the 10,000 murderous butterflies attacking her stomach when she sees him.

Who needs the TV on, no matter what,
​       to hear that she is not crazy, everyone else is,
       ​the time to just sit and read for a change.

Who fears that she really does fail at life,
       ​the huge spider she's sure lives in her closet,
       ​the actual use of physics and calculus in real life situations.

Who gives away advice like guidance counselors are supposed to,
​       away hair ties like pencils,
       ​love like its cheap.

Who would like to see an actual shooting star,
​       Sarah and Phil Kay(e) confess their undying love to each other,
​       the Doctor be happy.

Resident of Underland.

Acuña

The black and white butterfly is now stained red and purple.

When I was 16 my mom decided that the best way for her to feel good about her body again was to get plastic surgery.
Now my mom was always beautiful.
She was petite, had a tiny waist, full hips, and an overall curvy body.
In my eyes, she was perfect and I would've loved to look like her.

But she was unhappy.

Her stomach wasn't flat enough.
Her thighs too big and lets not even talk about the **** she felt was too small.

So cut, cut, cut away.
Tear her open.
Take the undesirable parts away and throw them out.
Never speak of them again.
But add some there.
Too little.
Not enough.
Don't worry about the person under all that skin.

Make them pretty again.
Make them pretty again.

And now look at her.
Hunched over because "beauty is pain."

And the butterfly tattoo on her lower back bleeds and red and purple, the colors of her bruised skin.

You say that people can never really love someone.
That we are not capable of giving away all of our attention and affection to someone else.
I say that you are a liar

I have loved you since the day I laid eyes on you.
And trust me, I love everything about you.
The way you look so confused when you don't know what I'm talking about.
The way you song, even though you clearly can't.
I love that you remember the tiny little things that I don't.
I'm sorry for that.

I would gladly give you all of my own being if you asked for it.
Or even if you didn't!
I pray that I know you as well as I think I do.
You are more than a friend to me.

When it rains, and there's lightning, I remember to not go outside because you said I would be electrocuted.
Even my memory is dedicated to you.

You are written in the bruises on my skin.
I have given you my skin
The worst of my insecurities.
What more can you ask for?

Or rather, don't ask.

I will wrap up my fears, loves, dreams, insecurities, and longings in a simple brown box and give them to you.
They were yours anyway.

So if that isn't love, if giving yourself completely to another person, isn't what you think love is, then I have nothing else to give.

But if I did, if I did, trust when I say that they are yours.

We crossed pinkies and you led me into a house full of rooms that I didn't know.
We saw a rooms full of old clothes
A room of people with dogs and cats everywhere
A room where I laid my head in your lap and stroked your leg while you played with my hair.
A room where we sat down and I realized that I couldn't go through with it; couldn't go through with us
So I ran into the next room where there was a garden and at first it seemed nice, but with every step that I took the garden died and left me without air to breathe.
And then you pulled me out, into the last room where you held me in your arms nd danced me around the room until I realized that I wasn't gasping for air anymore.
You held me close and we walked out together.

I can feel the tension even through the ***** speckled glass seperating us.
Unsolved questions and answers linger in the lane between us; captivating and enthralling us.
It's funny how we knew each other so well.
Then suddenly, we knew nothing.
Maybe you hated me or maybe I just assumed without ever taking you into consideration.
Either way, it's a moot point now.

We stare at each other like deer caught in headlights; scared to look away.
It seems like an eternity has passed when I finally start to react.
That's also when I become aware of the tear rolling down my cheek.
My lips start to form themselves around your name and all too suddenly the light turns a murky green, signaling the lonely drivers and passengers to drive off; to move on.
As we leave each other, my mouth forms a semi-smile hoping for forgiveness; hoping for one in return.

It's too late.

You're gone now.
Just another car in a lane driving off; driving away from me.
Maybe it's for the best.
Perhaps there was things left unspoken and unthought of.
I guess now we'll never know.

There is a law in physics that says energy cannot be created or destroyed.
The energy just goes on becoming something else and this energy has been here for millions of years-
up to when the dinosaurs roamed the earth and even farther back.
I think the dinosaurs would be disappointed to know that the energy they spent on trying to stay alive is being wasted on me trying to catch your eye.

Now millions of years ago, the dinosaurs weren't thinking about love.
They were concentrated on survival
and in a way
So am I because I honestly don't believe that I'll make it without you.
But with you by my side, honey, we'll rule this earth for years to come.

Forget the ice age and meteors
in fact
the dinosaurs should be scared of us because there can't be a love this strong without some collateral damage, whether it be you, me, or the dinosaurs, but know this:
I love you like the dinosaurs tried to survive;
*desperately.

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.

When we first met, after proper introductions, you asked me who I was.
"But what do you mean?", I asked, "I just told you who I was."
"No", you said.
"Who are you?"

So I lifted my arms and rolled up my jeans.

"Here", I said.
"This is my story.
These are not scars, oh no.
They are much more than that.
These marks are my scratched out words and mistakes on blank pages.
They are the words that I said wrong and still had time to erase.
Except for that one, I fell off my bike here.

If you must read, please do so carefully.
My pages are a little fragile from the abuse caused by the wrong people reading me.
I still have a doggy ear fold from one who never finished reading."

I've been sitting here staring at the clock on the wall and I've been laying here praying, praying she won't call...
I've been replaced haven't I? You don't have to say it out loud, I can see it. No, that's the wrong thing to say. I don't see it. I don't see you at all anymore.

Darling, you are the only exception.
I will love you unconditionally, no matter what.

You love blow and I love puff...
As much as I don't want to admit it, we aren't that much alike.
Nothing can change that.

You make me crazier...
I swear that my head used to spin like a tilt-a-whirl when I was around you.

I'll keep you my ***** little secret.
Is that all that I was to you?

Cause I'm falling for you now...
Please don't lie to me. I don't know if its worse than the actual honest words that you speak to me.

Liar, liar. Don't cry on my shoulder.
Could better words have been used to describe you?

My love's like a star, yeah, you can't always see it, but you know that I'm always there.
Yes, you were there. Always ignoring me. What a ******* lie.

Never mind, I'll find someone like you.
Impossible.

Did you forget that I was even alive?
Please don't?

I just can't stop loving you.
Unfortunately, even after suffering in silence because of you, I just can't stop going back to you.

Please, please don't leave me?*
I love you...

There is a lone cloud in the sky.

The car that just passed
The person inside is waiting to crash.
There are two couples
One can't wait to break up
The other just *****.
There is a lone cloud in the sky and it covers only me.

I am the dark spot on your Sun
But you still say that you like me anyway.
I can't imagine why.

You say that to every happy ending needs a sad beginning
And I am your sad beginning

Every musician plays a bad note before playing perfection
But unless I am that perfection
I will not be played again

You have ruined me.

I wasn't always the lone cloud in the sky.
I was the ray of sunshine
Bursting through your clouds of misery.

You have your happy ending now.
You have played your perfection.
Your sky is blue.

But you keep me in it
The lone cloud
For when you need to stand beneath it with me.

*Most of the time it covers only me.

He escuchado que las palabras suenan mejor en español.

Dicen que los vocales se escuchan más bonitos que en inglés.

Desafortunadamente, "adiós" tiene tres vocales y todo el mismo dolor.

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'm so tired
So winded
So full of it
And by it, I mean the voices.
Dear lord, they are everywhere.
They fill every which crevice of my mind.
The places I didn't even know existed.
Filled with them.

Them.
Implying that they are plural.
Maybe they aren't.
Maybe they are one.
One voice.
My voice.

Variations of my voice all telling me so many different things.
They call out my insecurities and exploit them.
The worst of all being:
*You will end up alone.

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.

For the most part, I think I'm a pretty expressive person.
If I stub my toe on the leg of a table I will curse to high Hell and condemn the person who even invented tables in the first place.
I mean who puts tables in dark rooms?
Use your common sense, people.
Lord knows that I don't have any.

I'm know as a rather blunt person in my group of friends.
I try to be as honest as possible, but that's hard to do when you're such a good liar.
So in order to compensate for this wonderful trait of mine, I hand out "I love you's" like cheap hair ties, except never to the people that really matter.
In the six years that I've known you, I've said "I love you" once.
And it's not that I don't--trust me--that's not the case.
It's that yours was too sincere.

I love you.
You make me nervous and uncomfortable.
I love you.
You make me want to tear my hair out.
I love you.
**** it, I want to **** you sometimes.
I love you.
Those three words will never be enough to fully describe  every adoring, furious, loving, and murderous thought I have about you.
*I love you.

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

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.

In high school, my mom was an athlete.
A runner.
She was in cross country and so were my uncles.
She was in it to help and motivate them.
See my mom didn't run from troubles; she ran headfirst into them.

I got that same trait.
I am by no means an athlete, but I'm a runner.
I run when I'm mad, and when I'm bored, and for exercise.
The only difference between my mom and I is that she ran towards her troubles, but I don't.
I run and run and run and keep running to get as far away from them as possible.

I'm a runner.                
It's in my genes.

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.

Dear No-One,

Someone misses you. It's just one person, but hey, it's Someone. No-One spent their whole life believing that they were Nobody. No-One had no one. No one other person who they could tell their secrets to. Nobody would listen. But now, No-One has Someone! Someone who will listen to to No-One's secrets because No-One isn't Nobody. No-One IS Somebody. In fact, No-One is Someone's Everything. No-One is all Someone thinks about. Someone watches No-One and feels the Loneliness rippling off of No-One like a stone hitting water. Someone knows exactly how No-One feels and wishes to ease the ache, but... Someone is scared. Someone is broken but desperately wishes to help. So Someone will try to overcome their fear if No-One wishes to break free of the Loneliness. Someone will try. Someone wishes to befriend No-One. Someone wishes No-One will accept.

Sincerely, Someone.

Now common knowledge goes to show that girls cannot makeup their minds.
This is generally true and I am no exception.
Or maybe I am.

I can never decide what I want to eat so I'll eat everything in sight,
but if you ask me what my favorite songs are,
because it can't be just one, I will list off every song that you have ever shown me
no matter how much I hated it.

My existence revolves around you,
but don't you dare **** me off because I will hate you...
for like 5 minutes.
I could never stay mad at you.

You're like school and learning to me.
I might not like it all the time,
but God do I need it to succeed.

See right now,
I'm rather ****** that you haven't spoken to me yet, but I'm always looking forward to the next reason that I have to talk to you.

It's a love/hate thing.

Or more like a "I hate to love you" thing.
but only sometimes.
I can't make up my mind remember?

Maybe you can help me out.
Let's talk it out together.
or maybe not.

Let's write each other poetry that explains how we feel.
or is that too cliche?
Oh whatever, our whole relationship is too cliche.

So maybe one day I'll tell you.
maybe one day I'll work up the lousy guts to tell you that you're all I can think about,
all I can dream about,
all I can dare to see every time I close my eyes.

Whenever people ask me what I want to do in the future
I can't give an honest answer.
I want to be a lawyer. I want to save people. I want to be a librarian. I want to save the world,
but I just can't decide.

But I know one thing's for sure.

No matter what I do or where I end up,
be it heaven or hell or anyplace in between,
I want to spend every second of everyday on this ******* up planet in this miserable, undecided, and cruel world world *with you.

I want to be the one to make you smile that awfully beautiful smile.
To be the one that you ask for advice.
I want to be the one that you come to for comfort.
To be the one that gets to see you at your best and your worst.
I want to be the one you play your beautiful saxophone for.
To simply be your muse.
I want to be the person you can tell all of your ***** secrets.
To be the diary that you talk to every day.
I want to be the stars that fill your beautiful night sky.
To be the sunshine that can break through your clouds of sadness.
I want to be the music you love so much.
To be that one song that you always sing no matter what.
I want to be the air you breathe.
To be the one thing you badly need to survive.

To be frank,
I want to be the one that you love.

This American life.
This great life.
Let's talk about great.
This is a country where we love food, but one of our greatest dangers is obesity.

Not violence, not sickness  like cancer or AIDS or TB, but obesity.
Self-induced, wanted, not-so-desperately needed.
We **** people on sight because "he looked at me funny" and get away with it, but condemn the man who was protecting his family and for what?

The color of his skin or the language of his homeland?
Take your pick.

Oh and there's tons more too.

I was born in South Texas.
I am an American citizen,, but my roots come from Mexico.
I look like my people, I speak like them too,
but when I went up North to New York,
I felt that I wasn't wanted.
I didn't belong.

In the state of immigrants,
in the land of aliens, because the Natives were kicked out long ago,
I did not belong.
Me!
Whose ancestors had been here for centuries, whose people of South Texas have been here since before these "great states" were never great,
I do not belong on this soil.

God bless America.

Did you know that in the U.S. of A you can sell ******, which demoralizes the "sacred communities of our homes",
but two people of the same *** who love each other so deeply and passionately cannot marry for the simple fact that they will ruin our "traditional family values."

Nothing is traditional anymore and by God nothing is valued.
But **** this life.
This American life.
This great life.

Not so great after all...

I love the way your hair falls over your eyes and glasses. It gives off a sense of mystery that baffles me.
I love how tall you are. It makes me feel small and secure next to you.
I love the way you play your saxophone. It gives me chills whenever I hear it and they last for hours.
I love how you are with your family. It makes me think of a possible future together.
I love the way you talk, so soft, yet demanding attention. It reminds me of a beautiful flower that enthralls whoever sees it.
I love the way you smile and how rarely I get to see it in its true form. It makes me want to work all the more harder to draw it out.
I love how silly you act sometimes. It reminds me of the child you still possess.
I love the way you are always so sweet. It makes me think of how even my favorite candy couldn't beat you with it's sugar.
I love how you love me. It makes me want to be a better person.

Do you remember that night that you stayed up, trying to find some way to cope.

When you turned and screamed into your pillow, desperately seeking release.
                                  
Once you sat next to me and talked about nothing. I listened and let you vent.
                                                  
Or when you called me at 2 in the morning to tell me that you were too scared to sleep. Sometimes the worst monsters were in your dreams.
                            
You probably don't remember when you laid next to me, staring at the night sky, hoping for a wishing star.

Do you remember that day in class when I first saw you cry. You ducked your head in shame, but left invisible puddles everywhere you stepped. Maybe only I could see them.

One time, you stood in the center of my living room and sang the most beautiful, heartbreaking song I had ever heard.
                        
Or how about the time when you said you loved me, but never meant it.
                                                            
I bet you don't remember the night the shiny silver blade  ran across your pretty little wrist, leaving behind bright red lines that stayed for weeks.

Do you remember when I finally left?
You didn't even try to stop me.

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.

These people.
The ones standing around complaning of which song they heard first.
These people.
Who never would think that they would make it out of this miserable place.
These people.
My people.

I don't associate myself with them, for I have dreams of my own, but these people.
Most have nothing to live for.
They have dreams as well,
but don't have any intention of living for them,
of striving for them.

My people often make me sick.

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.

I hate when I ask for the time and someone will say "oh it's 5:30", when in reality it's 5:26

I know that it's four measly minutes and it may not seem like a lot, but why cut corners?
I like knowing the exact time because I know how long my favorite song is and if I can listen to it in the span of three minutes and twelve seconds while walking to class, I will.

My mind simply cannot deal with the fact that someone just lied to me about the time.
Time! Of all things.
Time is precious and we all want more of it.

If we had all the time in the world, we wouldn't worry about a **** thing.
I wouldn't worry about the fact that it takes me 13 minutes to straighten my hair.
I wouldn't worry about the time that it takes me to get to school, which is 23 minutes on a good day.
I wouldn't worry about being late to church because it takes me 32 minutes to get there.
I wouldn't worry about the fact that I got to the hospital 4 minutes too late and now, now there is no time left.

I like my time, you see?
If I were given one last chance to spend from 5:26 to 5:30 to spend with the person I loved most in the world, and then you said "its 5:30" , then I'd know I was too late.
It's not just about fast forwarding my time, it's about me knowing whether I have enough time to fix my make up one last time or listen to a song or just hug them for 7 more seconds.

It's about being able to say I love you, one last time.

We all have demons
Some we have to make peace with
I make friends of mine

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

Dear Sir,
I hate you.
You don't realize just how much I hate you, though.
Why can't you see that I just wanted to help you, kind Sir?
To help you move on and see your true potential.
Alas, you shot down my inspirational words, and instead dug your own grave deeper, Sir.
The problem, you see Sir, was that you wouldn't let me in; couldn't let me in.
You were broken beyond repair.
My soothing words would never have helped.
So it is with regret that I announce my departure, Sir.
I hope you don't search for me.

Sincerely, Yours.