The boxes
which keep my blood clean
are stacked as tall as I,
a monument
in the spare room
to past battles.
Too many words,
too many thoughts
******* in the
hand-to-hand combat
with mortality.

No more.

What life I have
will not be defined
by an indeterminate end.

I live to write poems;
I will no longer die in them.

I'm compartmentalizing my thoughts and delivering them to you on my tongue. Gift wrapped in a silver metallic paper, with a tiny pink bow on top that bounces jubilantly with every step I take. Waiting to be opened and heard, the gift sits on my tongue.

Sometimes no ears are lent so I swallow the thought and redigest it.  It falls into the black and finds itself trapped back in my head. It ricochets from wall to wall, eager to be released.

          One day I found out no one wants to listen.

So I bottle it all up, and the thoughts start getting crowded. I become scatter brained, my head hectic with inmates, jailed without a crime. They riot, burning me out each time. My head sizzles like road **** in the heavy heat.

                         It's time for a jailbreak!

I pick up a pen and release the inmates into my veins. They pump through me and fill me with life, violently pounding their way through my fatal heart. Once I channel their energy, they flow out my fingers, into the ink and onto the paper.

          They bleed as they're released, finally free,
singing the song of a man compartmentalizing his thoughts.

I'm kind of stuck
At least... I think I am
Somewhere between telling everyone I know to *******
And "just please come hold me friend"

Some place in between an uneasy heart and hectic mind

"I'm depressed"
Can't I just say it without having to explain why?
Sometimes I don't even know which reason to choose

Short replies

"You seem like you don't want to talk"

You're right, but I also want to reach out
I want out
I want to let go of everything
And capture it all in my arms

like a fire fly in the palm of restless hands,
Just let me hold on to your light
Atleast, just for tonight

Because I'm feeling stuck.

You wish to turn back time
So you can live a little longer
With the ones you love
But the ache will be stronger
And they will still be gone
So don’t beg for the impossible.



© Sofia Villagrana 2018

When
          ever
I want a starple
It chould change my mind

      to want a watrly
although both things are strange
they would go very well
    
             with a xempertal

You may not know what these things are
So go ahead and imagine

For everything is what you make it
even if it's yeplish

Sorry this poem isn't very catchy or fun
But at least it is
           farshenarple
A few things are strange
      But a worolopo would be stranger
So don't ponder on the meaning of this poem

Instead
           imagine what a hadowted is

i love you.
2. that scares me.
3. more than the apocalypse.
4. or student loans.
5. i think you love me too.
6. which scares me even more, because
7. for the first time in my life,
8. we both have the same amount of kindling in our campfire chests.
9. i want to help you clean, because
10. your apartment is a pig sty.
11. but i wouldn't want to do household chores with anybody else,
12. and i know you're trying.
13. we both are.
14. trust me,
15. i know the feeling of cemented lungs,
16. too heavy to lift yourself out of bed,
17. but i sit up.
18. you have strengthened my back.
19. i hope i have strengthened yours.
20. i love your hawaiian dad shirts.
21. i think they're endearing.
22. i want to be next to you, always, and
23. even *** doesn't feel close enough.
24. if you were a haunted house,
25. i'd be the ghost that never leaves.
26. the homeowners would pull out the sage
27. but i love the smell.
28. i'd be a kind ghost.
29. i'd do the dishes.
30. as long as i can remain in your eaves.