I’m not supposed to speak to you.
It’s this unspoken law.
This girl code,
This human silence.

So,
I let my poetry speak.
Let my words sing to you.
Let my stanzas sway you.

I miss you.
[Let me say that more poetically.]

My soul is longing for yours.
My heart is crying for you,
And the tears are the bloodiest of red.

I miss you.

This isn't anything new,
But I can’t tell you that,
You know I can’t.
It would go against everything that society programmed into me.
It would go against our very religion.
[and you know good and well that we aren’t the type to sin.]

So,
I’ll let my poetry speak.

I’ll never know if you’ll get this,
I’ll never know if you’ll read this,
But there’s the chance that excites me.
The hope,
The glimmer, and shine of aspiration.
It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

I’ll leave this here.
I’ll cast this poem into the world.
I’ll let it touch a million hands,
I’ll let it feel a million tears,
I’ll let the millions of people think that this is for them,
But maybe, just maybe,
We’ll know it’s only for us.

The words are only for us:
I miss you.

Poetically, I miss you.
What other way could I tell you?
What other way could I reach you?
I’m not sure, So till then,
I’ll write.

The first time I contemplated suicide was at the age 13.
Sleeping pills. Just like mom.
I wanted to dream forever.
Many more occurrences followed that year.

The next was at the age of 15.
Cutting. Finally had the courage.
I took a broken shard of glass and I
Finally found the anger inside of myself.

Following that was the age of 17.
Self inflicted pain. Heartache seemed worse at the time.
I dug my nails into my skin.
Making scars seemingly physical now.
I finally found a way to release the pain.

Last night,
I contemplated suicide.
I promised that I wouldn’t go through with it.
But who cares?
Who could stop me?
Who would want to?

I’m happy.
I swear, I am.
You know I am.
I only fake it a little bit.  

But sometimes,
I don’t think I can do this anymore.
I don’t think I can live anymore.
At least not by myself.

I hated myself,
And time and time again.
The hate seeps through the bleeding cuts.

Sometimes I starve myself.
Sometimes I hurt myself.
Sometimes I hate myself.  

Sometimes I contemplate suicide.

But tonight
I cut the pen into paper.
Bleeding out my vulnerability in hopes to die poetically.

It's late.

Moonlight seeps into the room through the tiny cracks of dusty blinds.
It illuminates everything.
Touching the books on the shelf,
Caressing the plush carpet,
And landing ever so delicately on the girl knelt at the foot of her bed.

Her eyes are held shut,
Tears leak down the sides of her face,
Fogging her glasses.

Her arms are folded,
She's reverent,
And her head is bowed.

She breathes in and out with the sound of the fan waving overhead.
Her heart beats to the crack of the house settling beneath her knees.
She prays.

The cars drive by her house unknowingly,
The lights dash across the walls.
It doesn't distract her.

The buzz of her night light hums a mesmerizing tune,
Sweetly melodic.
She smiles through the tears.

The faint talk of another muffled through the walls,
She stays kneeling.

The tears don't stop streaming as the heavens open to her.
She raises her face to the ceiling,
Eyes still shut.
She sighs.

Kneeling there,
patiently,
She waits for a sign.

Outside a storm is brewing,
The rain begins to pour.
The thunder is lowly roaring,
Lightly tapping at her door.

Yet, nothing moves her.

She stays in place,
Still knelt,
Still praying with tears upon her face.

She sighs.
Bows her head once more,
And still held shut her eyes.

Some say she recites the Lord's Prayer.
Or perhaps a Psalm.
But maybe she just kneels, patiently waiting, staying calm.

"God, are you there?"

Who am I?
I must be black because my absent father won’t come back.
I am eccentric. I am authentic.
I am something you would never forget to mention.
I am a Black woman.

Who do you want me to be?
I must be Asian because with eyes like these I can solve any equation.
I am intelligent. I am pure elegance.
I am delicate.
I am an Asian woman.

Who do you think I am?
I must be Hispanic because my last name simply states it.
I am diligent. I am militant.
I am an immigrant.
I am a Hispanic woman.

Who should I be?
I may be white by culture, but not by sight.
I am privileged. I am a perfect image.
I have no limits.
I am a White woman.

On paper, the box I checked says Asian,
But sometimes I forget.
What if my race isn't solo, or singular?
It’s a duet—or even a quartet.
My race is tricolor—sometimes invisible.
My race isn't inside, and no, it's not physical.

What if my race is the rushing water of the Mississippi river?
The river just flows and flows—
Runs wherever it may go,
But some are quiet as they trickle in;
Drop by drop a new river begins,
As the water mixes, roaring free.
If you want to label my race, fine, label me.
Label my hair, my customs, or my speech.
Race is just a rumor that mankind decided to teach.

I wish I could forget that I have a race,
That the color is still staining my face.
I'm tired of the separation,
The segregation, the humiliation,
The exhaustion of having a race.
Why label the color on my skin?
Why not embrace the person that I hold within?


*R.A.C.E. stands for Reclassify All Children Equally.

The water droplets on your back glisten like diamonds.
How can I not want you?
Your hair is slicked back with shampoo lathered in your dark waves.
How can I not desire you?
You ever so carefully take the soap and cascade it down your arms and legs.
What could be better than this?
You look at me,
Standing under the water,
With my curls falling down on my shoulders.
You touch my cheek, ever so gently, and
You smile.
What could ever compare to this moment?
You pull me closer to you;
You wrap your arms around me.
Just you and I, under the hot water, with steam clouding in the air. (With the occasional bubble)
***** as ever,
And still, I have never felt so clean.

You’re angelic.
Sitting there by the window,
The light hits you, gently.
You’re glowing.

Absentmindedly playing with your fingers,
You’ve captivated my attention.
You smirk, side-eyed cocky,
As if you know what you’re doing to me.

You lean back in your chair,
Be careful not to fall.

As you push toward,
I notice the bracelets on you,
Colorful.
You’re something different.

You’re quiet,
But only I can hear you.
Speak,
Let the melodious tune ring.
Let me hear you.

You’re shy,
A gem hidden in the rough.

I see you,
Like no one ever has before.

I feel you,
In a way that no one ever could.

This is different.
I’m in love with an angel,
but I can’t fly.
You won’t fall for me,
I can’t reach that high.

I’m in love with an angel--
And God, I wish I could fly.

I pick & pick & pick.
I peel the layers off, satisfyingly.
I watch the blood ooze out.
Slowly running down arms and legs.

I pick & pick & pick again.
I tear the skin off, contently.
I watch the skin reveal pink flesh.
Slowly, I feel alive.

I keep thinking of you;
I pick the scab.

I keep remembering everything;
I pick the scab.

Flashes of your face invoke my memories;
The blood runs.

The sound of your laugh enters my mind;
The blood drips.

I go to places that were special to us;
I smile.

I pretend you’re there with me;
I laugh.

I sit in silence--
I talk in my head.
I even scream sometimes.
All while I pick & pick & pick some more.

The same cycle occurs over and over again:
I pick, bleed, then heal.

Healthy,     isn’t it?

I claw at my skin,
The blood seeps out,
And it feels good.

I claw at my arms,
The blood creeps out,
And it feels sweet.

I claw at my chest,
The heart beats out,
And it feels alive.

The blood seems to wash away the pain.
The blood seems to leave a different stain.

I long to feel.
I want to feel.

Not sadness,
Not happiness,
Just feel.

The torn skin understands me.
The broken heart listens to me.
The blood is there for me.

And it feels beautiful.

It feels destined:
My pain and I.
The blood mixed with the tears I cry.

It's love at first sight,
That first draw of blood.
The skin under my nails,
The blissful feeling of release.

Only you can make me feel like this,
And I love it.

You look at her,
She's beautiful,
She's funny,
And unique.

But,
She isn't her.

You look at her dark straight hair.
You stare--
Touch it even.

It slowly transforms into curly twists before your eyes.
You stare in disbelief;
Rub your eyes.

You stare at her round sweet face,
Her pretty eyes,
And her petite lips.

It shape shifts into a strong jawline,
Gorgeous brown eyes (that you fell in love with once),
And soft vivacious lips.

You rub your eyes.

You hear her voice,
It's soft and new.
You smile.

Soon her voice mixes into another,
It's so velvet and mesmerizing.
You can't believe it.

Everywhere you look, images of the girl appear,
Every song you hear is sung by her,
And every sleeping-waking thoughts you have is her.

Aren't you over it?

You tangle your hand into hers.
Hoping the image will stay.
You hold onto her,
Begging the feeling to never stray.

You coil back, and
You look at her.

She isn't me--

And she never will be.

I can’t keep giving you this favor you asked for.
I can’t keep this promise I made to you.
I’m sorry.

I’m breaking everything.
I’m shattering glass,
I’m tearing down walls,
And I am unapologetic.

I didn’t mean for it to escalate this far,
But then again,
Here we are.

I can’t keep this promise,
My skin just wants to break free.

I can’t keep giving you this favor,
My skin just wants to be against yours.

I am ripping your poems to shreds,
I am slashing tires to your sweet ride,
I am breaking the gazes between us.
I am unafraid.

I can't keep loving you,
This stupid schoolgirl crush.

I am walking over our memories,
Crushing the seeds you grew in me.

I am destroying the thought of you,
I am rendering love identical with night.

Tears don't stain my eyes,
Neither does pain.
So don't act surprised.

I am dancing again,
I am singing once more,
And I am not in love.

I am the moon once more,
I am the sun again,
And you aren't the stars.

You aren't the reason.
You aren't my rhyme.
You aren't a poem,
Let alone mine.

You're just a shell of a man that I once loved.
Even then, you're still empty.

If I call, will you decline it?
If I text, will you read it?
If I love you, will you ignore it?

U disappeared off the face of the earth, and I’m going to be sick.
All because I’ve banished u,
But still I feel so sick.

Delete and then block,
Delete and then block,
& delete and then block.
The same cycle for all my social media accounts…
Except for about 3.

I left those open incase you want to come back.
Add and then friend,
Add and then friend,
& add and then friend.

That was a mistake.

Yes, I saw the new new.
That girl smiling brightly.
That girl taunting me,
“Na Nana boo boo, you can’t have him!”

Well.
That’s when I started to feel sick.

Well,
That’s when I texted u.

Well,
That’s when I broke all self control and discipline.

And well,
Here we are.

I’m sick of calling,
Sick of texting,
Sick of feeling,
And I’m sick of you.
#Sick

The car flips.

Over the railing--
Down the side of a grassy hill with hidden rocks.
I let go.
Arms up like roller-coaster fun.

Glass flies through the air;
It's perfect.
The light reflecting angelically.

7 year old sister still laughing--
Baby brother with a gap toothed smile.
Mother soars through the windshield;
Finally free.
Dad hits his head against the dashboard, and seems not to mind.
Our family blood mixes together;
Staining everything it touches.

The radio sings the latest haunting pop song.
We bicker over what station to change it to.

The car stays rolling, and with arms up.
Like good ole' fashioned family fun.

You're not the subject of my dreams.
You don't haunt my sleeping thoughts.
You don't exist in my mindless slumber.
You've disappeared from the dreamscape.
You've escaped existence.

In place of you,
Another figure rises from the incandescent air.
As if you were never there,
The figure smiles.

You're not the stranger I once knew.
You're a blur in time.
You're the glaring of lights.
You're the whisper of secrets.
I don't know you anymore.

In place of you,
Another strange thing taunts me.
As if you never existed.

You're no religion to me anymore.
Unholy, unbroken, and unseen.
You're not Godly anymore.
I can't pray to you.
You’re a bad religion.

I can’t read you anymore,
Slowly tracing you with my fingers,
I can’t read between your lines--
I don’t know you.

So, who are you?
Where have you been?
Why don’t you haunt me anymore?
Up in smoke.

To be in love with a man in *******--
Is to shatter your heart a thousand times.
For my love is held in her fondness.
What will become of us and our love crimes?

Are we ungodly with no virtue left?
Have we no soul left in our mortal shells?
Have we lost our halos or was it theft?
Will we ever hear heaven’s freedom bells?

You are bound, tied by hand, and feet to her.
You are held captive by left hand and ring.
You are covered in love, you reek of myrrh.
For her, you will sing, to me, you will cling.

How can one so faithful fail another?
If not me, nor her, then who? My lover.

You light me aflame with passion so bright.
You draw me close with your hypnotic trance.
In your warm embrace, everything feels right.
When it's us two, together, our hearts dance.

We slowly forget all we've known before.
The heat of the night makes us moan and melt.
Our lips, and lungs gasp for air; beg for more.
Unmatched to anything we've ever felt.

You. My soul's Master, taker of my sin.
Me. The light of your life, fire of your *****.
You explore every inch of my hot skin.
I'm yours to feast upon, yours to enjoin.

Nothing will ever extinguish our fire.
Our passion grows; and so will desire.

This is for you, my unrequited love.
In hope that one day you'll feel the same too.
You're the problem and solution thereof.
You free the butterflies and make them brew.

I stay enchanted by your velvet voice;
I yearn to belong to you day and night.
Love is my prison guard, I have no choice.
My love for you knows no limits despite.

Yet, you move me, push me, in ways unknown.
Yes, you inspire me and give me hope.
Our love is a sin that I can't atone.
Our love sends me into a downward *****.

Unrequited love, take pity on me.
Acknowledge my love, or set my heart free.

I dream of you.

Over and over,
Your hand is held in mine.
Time and time again,
Your arms are wrapped around me.

Stranger,
You light my fantasies.

You caress my cheek with the pad of your thumb
carefully tracing my lips.

Stranger,
You haunt my every thought.
Stranger,
You taunt my aching heart.

Why?

I dare to wake,
I can't bear to lose you.

Stranger,
You allure me.

You pull me in.
You smile, teeth, dimples, and all.
You laugh, I laugh-- In love.
As the smoke overtakes your image.
Slowly, but surely.
As fast as you arrived,
You left.

(Lost in a dream)

Where did I go wrong?
Was it when burnt rubber filled the cold morning air?
Or was it laid against you with your fingers lost in my knotted hair?

Where did you go wrong?
That's something only the universe knows.
Broken, twisted, beautiful--that's how the heart grows.

Ask again: Where did you go wrong?
The answer is in the breeze.
The answers are in the trees.
The answer is not you, but me.

Where did we go wrong?
We watered the weeds growing in our flowerbeds.
We simply left the stove on, and the house burnt red.
We danced in the streets, only to be dead.

Tell me—
Was our love wrong?

The reason I called at 12:14 am
Was not for casual small talk,
Or chit chat about the day,
Or even because I missed you.
It’s because I’m trying to fill my empty satisfactions.

The reason I text you back at any time in the day
Is not to check up on you,
Or to be with you,
Or even because I care about you.
It’s because I’m trying to fill my time.

I’m using you,
Sick, right?

The reason I reach out to you
Is not because “I still love you”,
Or to have and to hold you,
Or even because I, dare I say, miss you.
It’s because you’re so convenient.

Wanna know something even sicker than the latter?
I know that I’m using you,
I know that I’m some sadistic girl,
I know that I’m some kind of a messed up human.

The reason I lead you on
Is not because “I want you so bad”,
Or that I can only contract at the thought of you,
Or even because I desire only you.
It’s because you’re so easy.

The thing is:
I love it.

I love using you.
Frankly, It would be quite rude not to.

You’re just temporary,
Every breath you take is because I gave it to you,
Every step you take is because I showed it to you,
I created you.

I am your Goddess.
(When you think you’re a God.)
Silly me, silly you,
To think you would own me.

Silly us,
To think we’re in love.

But we know better than that.
We know that you’re just a temporary fix to a bigger appetite.
Let’s not think about that.

Let’s be silly,
Let’s be stupid,
Let’s be ignorant kids trying to love.

Let me tell y’all something:
The white man don’t care about our suffering.
The privilege is too bright to see us.

The white man don’t care about us.
The white man wants to see us get shot,
The white man wants to see us wither and perish.

But who built America on their backs,
Bare handed, and
Whipped into submission?

We did.

We will take back America.
We will take back our streets,
Paved with the blood and tears of our people.
This is our America.

Not whitewashed and stained red with racism.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “Stop! Don’t shoot!”
You shoot anyways.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “I can’t breathe.“
You continue to suffocate us.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “Help.”
You continue to let us suffer.

This is your America.
Where the president calls us thugs,
And threatens to shoot us and our freedom.

This is not my America.

This is your America.
Where you shoot us for having cell phones.
Where you terrorize our sons and daughters.
Where you **** us for being black.

Who gonna protect us?
Not cops drunk on their own power and superiority.
Not the president blinded by racism.
Not our white “allies” who stand by and watch us burn.

But if we burn,
You burn with us.

If you **** us,
You die with us.

We tried peace,
We tried awareness,
But we always end up with violence.

We’re scared,
But who can blame us?

You’re killing us with your American Dream,
You’re murdering us with your American Dream,
You’re suffocating us with your American Dream.

This is your America—
Not mine.

We will take back America.
We will take back our freedom
Or we will die trying.
And that is the American Dream.

Last night, I waited.
I waited today.
I waited tomorrow.
I waited ‘till my days were filled with nothing but sorrow.

Last night,
I waited ‘till
My eyelids were held open by thoughts of you.
‘Till the grass was glowing iridescent with dew.

Last night,
I waited for you.

My dreams were filled with tears.
My night was filled with fear.
In constant dread, I wait.

I wait for you.
Days to weeks.
Weeks to months.
Months to years.

I soon turned to dust.
Leaving my aching bones crushed.
In my grave--
I rest, silently.
Patiently, and desperately waiting for you.
To join me too.

When my kid asks me:
Mama, where were you when the coronavirus pandemic hit?

Well, sweet child, mama was out there exploring the world. I climbed mountains, sailed seas, and fought pirates. Mama was a warrior. She was a healer. She was something else. Mama was making history.

Really, Mama?

No, baby.

I stayed inside trying to finish schoolwork. I put together every puzzle at least 3 times. I ate the same meal twice a week. Baby, mama was robbed. Mama never saw her friends, mama never went to prom, mama never fought a pirate.

Was that all, mama?

No, love.

People died. Too many people, too many people died. We were too stupid, we were too busy, we were ignorant, love. We were destructive, we were killers of our own kind. We were monsters, love.

But, sweetheart...

Yes, mama?

There was beauty in it. Such beauty. We died so the world could live. Flowers bloomed, fish swam, and nature thrived. We could feel the sunshine, we could feel the rain, we could hear the birds, sweetheart. It was beautiful.

Weren’t you scared, mama?
Weren’t you lonely?

My child, yes, I was once. I was scared and I was lonely, but I learned something, my child. In fear, nothing grows. In isolation, there is solitude. But In hope, we flourish. In solitude, we find peace.

My child, my sweet child, we were just beginning to awaken.
Now, we’ll never sleep again.

It’s 3 am and I’m writing poetry.
Not my usual go to love poem though.
(I promised multiple people I wouldn’t write anymore about that one person)
(You know that one guy.)
I’m writing poetry at 3 am.
(Not love poetry,)
Just poetry poetry.

I can’t write anymore poems about (missing) you,
(Wanting you,)( or even still loving you.)
(Yes, I remember my promise.)

So, I’ll write this—
My 3 am poem.

My poetry comes alive in the nighttime.
(Or should I say unreasonable hours of the day when I really should be asleep, but I think I might have borderline insomnia.)

My mind runs at a million miles per hour,
I think of everything at once.
Metaphors, onomatopoeia, and allusions.
And you know me,
I just can’t resist the perfect stanza.

I become fixated on it.
I tell myself no,
No, no, no,
You need to sleep.

But here I am,
Writing, writing, writing.

And guess what?
I even write in my sleep.
My dreams create prose better than I ever could.

It’s a tragedy that I’m sure even Shakespeare was a victim of.

Writers don’t sleep,
Poets don’t sleep,
No one does.

Or else everything falls apart.

You forget how commas work,
You forget how to spell the word ‘Apricot’,
And you forget the meaning of it all.

You forget the reason for writing,
You forget the passion of spoken word.

The only sleep that a poet will ever receive is when they are truly immortalized in their work.

And as you can see,
That is not happening anytime soon for me.

So, I’ll stay up every night.
Trying to remember the meaning of oxymoron,
With the word eulogy on the tip of my tongue.

You’ll never understand me,
And that’s alright.

Other poets will never understand me,
And that’s just fine.

All we’ll ever understand about each other is that words don’t sleep,
And it seems that neither will we.

(-The Poetic Insomniacs, 3:12 am)

I love you--
I have no other ways to say it.
I've never felt like this for anyone else before.
We could say it's a dumb infatuation,
Or maybe it has grown into something more.

All I can do is write, write, and write.
All I can do is confess my love for you.

But even then,
Poets run out of words too.