i borrowed souls in my pockets
tucked them away for the jazz party
on 30th street
and my braids bounced against my scalp
as i ran to the party
and i remembered
my ancestors cried over these braids
rice grains
engrained in these braids
to find my freedom
and my children’s freedom
and their children’s freedom
but most importantly
my ancestors cried
to help the little white kids
with boats find their rhythm
in a world that was made for them
and their case of white claws
but funny my ancestors rode a boat too

I try to think about
the consequences of
slit wrists and orange tic tacs

It seems miserable yet peaceful

A place of peace

A place of peace for me
For my family members
For my “friends”
For my coworkers
For my associates

They don’t really care about me now
but when I die they will

They will call us close friends
They will post the best selfie I have and write me an unread message on their social media’s
They might shed a little tear at the fact that they can’t call me to cry about their boyfriends anymore
Or because I can’t do their hair
They will use me for sympathy
and they will miss the whole point


It is about them and what they could have done to prevent it
If they would have just opened their eyes a little wider

Last month I went to the hospital
with
“Chest Pains”
I had a hard time breathing
For over a month
I had this pain
I thought death was in sight
And I had even more pain
When I went they told me I had

“Anxiety”

I knew I had it but
they told me it was starting to affect me
physically

I thought about that...
I’ve gotten so accustomed to
this feeling of
Isolation & stress
not-good-enough
not-pretty-enough
not-enough

Everyday

i always sit in this white room alone
isolated
thinking of how i’m always trying
to do good
but the lives of those who hurt me are
better off than mine

for some reason I just think i’m not
meant to be here
i don’t belong
and i never have
and i never will

full of color
but originating from

love
pain
infatuation
loss
trauma
frustration
distraction
lusting

poetry is a one of a kind art
unlike anything that draws what the
mind can’t put into a picture

I write this
poem

my love

in hopes that you do better

your lost right now
and I hope

no

I pray with every bone in my
small body that you find what your looking for

that thing you
couldn’t find in me

although I know you tried
and I pray you would have

I love u mi amor
te amo mucho

my love

i kissed your

cheeks

lips

neck

hands

but you burned my lips

with the tiny vibrations from your throat

my shriveled lips
and teary eyes were all that was left