Dear Dead Poet,

One day I will be you. I think that’s beautiful to think or maybe it’s a silly human thought conceived to help us justify the inevitable ending we all face, that you already faced. Forgive me if I speak without grace but I have so much to learn from you & I wanted to let you know it. Dead poet, when reading your poem earlier you spoke on love. In death, do you feel it valuable or necessary to life or do we the living yearn for it to veil our misery? Do you have the answer? If there is a way, let your words return to me-though I know they never will.

Sincerely,
Living Poet

spooky season

a simple time for fun

turned out to be the nightmare it should have been

*** on friday nights
gives us purpose

when

we feel meaningless to the world

someone else occupying our space
and mind

saves us from bridges
saves me from ropes
saves the pills in their plastic
container for the one who actually needs them

My mom grabbed my shoulder firmly and rubbed it

“that’s more like it”

with a sigh of relief

her eyes flickered my body up and down
in the reflection of the mirror

“those pants did nothing for you” she added

I looked at the pants
as they laid on the chair beside the bed
those pants that once gave me
confidence but
  
they’ve  became something I despised

not because I actually hated them  

I just hated myself

I can’t help but think of you
your my inspiration

i don’t think i’m yours

but you don’t even know your mine so
how could i know
if i’m yours

I looked in your eyes for something
honestly don’t know what for


but those eyes were blank

and they told me

“what are you looking at?”

with a scoff and harshness

Th greatest tragedy

is that someone who has been loved
denies it

i am not

the girl you fall in love with at first sight

i am  

the girl who you see behind her beautiful friend

i am not

the girl who gets numbers written on the side of her coffee cup from the cute barista

i am

the girl who boys use to get to my pretty friends

i am not

the skinny girl with a big **** and perfect curves

i am

the girl with disproportionately big *****

i am not

a super organized and color coordinated

i am

the girl who has fly always and a messy purse


i am not that girl
and i will never be her
i don’t know what i am
but i know it will never be enough

i emptied the pennies on the table

they clanked abruptly against the auburn stained wood table


they did eventually settle

“Ok, I think we can get out of this place.”

We will without doubt struggle but not more than we already are

I nodded in absolute agreement with my sister

“We’re getting out of here.” I whispered

what if

we could just simplify things

be at peace and happy

love unnecessarily to those who need it
and to those who don’t necessarily
deserve it

look at the bright side of things

enjoy sunsets and sunrises

be grateful for the air we breath even if it’s
not the exact air we want

judge nothing but the flaws in ourselves
and work on them

look in the mirror and see ourselves
not the person we want others to see ourselves as

fight less and talk more

eat foods that make our body smile
and one’s that make our hearts too

sing to ourselves and the world
about happiness

a concept about a world
possible but not

I reached into my hallow
jean pocket
the rough interior
brushed against my knuckles

I searched for my silver key
but couldn’t find it

a ripple of fear surged from my chest  
and formed a pit in the middle of my stomach

‘where is my key?!! WHERE IS MY KEY!!!??’
I internally screamed

I went insane

Not visibly though

My makeup still looked the same
I still laughed the same
I dressed the same
Walked the same

But inside

I was not the same

you fight fire

with lighter fluid

something i’ve never seen

you expect the fire to go away
but it grows and grows

then you blame the fire for it growing

i thought about how the seconds go by
and then those seconds are gone

and the seconds turn into long minutes
and even longer hours

and days turn to weeks and years

and before you know it
you only have a few seconds left

wishing you spent them better

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 in that moment 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
but funny my ancestors rode a boat too

i don’t know why my dangling braids and the party on 30th got me thinking this

i tried to love my body
but my mind said no

those two were at a constant war

they hated each other

they ripped each other to shreds
so often

i asked
this question with not a lick of malice on my tongue,

“why don’t you ever look for me or anyone else in this family”

and was met with,

“did i do something to you? is there a problem?”

exasperated and stunned

i looked up to the stars
hoping they would bring me the peace i earned to have

but it didn’t work

the tears jumped out
against my will

they flowed
for what felt like an eternity
and the empty, ugly felling in my stomach
formed so prominently

i’m never going to know love
i’m not worthy of it

i walked on the water
in the midst of a gloomy cloud

i walked only but a few steps
to my rock

my getaway and my peace

I sat there waiting for the storm surrounding
me
to pass by

it was beautiful

i often visit this place

I looked at you,  
as I often do,
and I could feel your gaze,  
a warmth so deep it wrapped around my soul.  
It wasn’t just a glance
it was the sun, beaming,  
breaking through every guarded corner of me.
I felt it- I really did
my heart pounding in time with yours
I swear, in that moment,  
my eyes weren’t just looking—  
they were spilling over,  
filled with tiny shards of my heart,
overflowing with everything I couldn’t say

I picked up a photo from my childhood. It was of me and my sister. We were in our little jackets, smiling and giggling. We we’re definitely high off of sugar, always. I saw happiness and innocence in their faces, a type of radiance only kids carry because of their ignorance. They don’t see anything except their own little world. I wished I lived there again. Even for a day, to bask in the pride of my mother before she lost it because now she is only ever disappointed. To easily make friends minus the social anxiety. To walk confidently without wondering if I look too fat or chubby in my jeans, or if my ***** look saggy. To eat food carefree without a second thought. To play in the snow and not wonder if my hair will be ruined. To have a crush and think I actually have a chance. To dance my heart out as if I no one was watching.

These are the things I could go back to. The times people say to savor. The ignorance.

i slide down the blue plastic chair
in my denim shorts that reached my mid thigh

the bare part of my thighs skidded against the now body temperature chair
as I slide down

I rubbed my eyes-

part out of boredom and part out of tiredness

once the stars from where I just rubbed my eyes disappeared
I leaned forward
and I picked up my yellow number two pencil

filling in the dot carefully
sure not to streak outside of it

I knew that if I did I could get the answer wrong or it wouldn’t process
and that couldn’t happen

in the middle of a museum

stood a little glass figurine
with a beautiful face
unconventionally beautiful

the artist sculptured her
after the one whom he loved the most

but
out of all the figurines and art

nobody ever admired her
or took pictures of her

at night when nobody was around
she cried
still as an anything
with little salty sea glass tears
running down her beautiful face

i’m only loved

when convenient

it makes my insides churn
with sadness
and hollowness

knowing that nobody will love me
truly

only when it’s convenient

i sank deep into the chair
that now feels like my home

hours of being told what is wrong with me

by hour one i’m
reminded of every single fault

by hour two i wonder what my purpose for being here is-
my existence

by hour three i try to swim to my private sanctuary the one i’ve created in my mind for a brief second to attempt to escape the chaos
only to be dragged back to reality and told that the face i’m making is disrespectful

by hour four i’m at dinner with friends trying to smile and act like life isn’t so bad

by next week the cycle repeats

it’s always easier
to yell

the

words chew you up
spit you out
and let you dry up

they let you
turn into concrete

and get run over and over and over and over
by cars

the concrete
eventually
gets *** holes
and withers away

but that’s easier

the tide pulled in
and then receded

the ocean had this never ending game with the shore

in and out
in and out
in and out

it never ended
the cycle never ended

The sign to my garden
in bright letters said
"DO NOT ENTER"
But you obviously
couldn't read
You entered
and ruined the flowers
I worked so hard to grow

i saw you
and my lips parted

my stomach immediately-

and i mean immediately
started to shuffle

a million nerves worked there way
up and down
my entire body

i’m excited and nervous and calm

this is what you do to me
and i wonder if i do the same to you
because

wow
i like you

and it’s hard to admit that

admit that
to
myself

but really
i like you

and i have no control over it anymore

i think about you all the time

when i’m working
when i’m sleeping
when i’m combing my hair

constantly

a whole visual
based on watercolor and paint brushes

mapped on creativity

the different hues
of pink and periwinkle

strokes that indict emotion

strokes that indict our surroundings

strokes that indict spirituality

and more and more strokes of paint

You told me to meet you there

                      Under my sheets

Circulating my breath

                        In and Out

You said something to me

                        Some words

They made my heart race

                        The glow from my phone

Evident on the walls of my room

                          Talking to you

Telling me to meet you there

there’s something wrong with you

you should talk to someone, seriously

what’s wrong with you

your a runt

what u have to say does not matter

you should see a therapist

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

i became who they were
so maybe they would like me

people called me a “pick me”

but all i wanted was a friend

I tried to be like them so they would accept me
but it didn’t work

i stepped out into the dark pavement
of a now dark, but very alive city

i hear the horns and sirens stinging the background

before continuing any further

i look around to see if anyone is following me
or notices me

they don’t
but i like it better that way

and I plug my earphones in

i sat in that mirror

man i stared for a long time

at a girl who’s fought her life

against herself

fighting for this person
that already existed

i thought about younger me

if i could go back in time to tell
her how beautiful she was

that all her battles
she had won

how her hair grew out beautifully
after that bad perm

how she’d grown into someone
who people liked

how she had grown into someone
she liked

all that struggle wasn’t easy
but she won

so as i stared
i thought of
future me
selfishly

telling my current me
everything will work out

you will overcome your struggles

you will grow

you will become someone you love

you don’t have to starve yourself
of opportunity because you created it

love yourself gabbi

i started my letter

apologizing to her

she deserved the world and I gave her nothing but the crumbs of it
dirt specks that creatures with no morals inhabit

that’s what i gave her

So i sat there and penned out my apology
telling her exactly what she deserved and hoped she believed me when I told her

i dragged my feet through the thickest of mud
i scaled the highest of mountains
i’ve starved for weeks on end
i’ve been naked to the the point where i didn’t know i was naked

this battle

all for the approval of someone who will never give it to me

someone who created me, not by chose

I no longer live in joy

I no longer see flowers bloom
or the sun come up out of the clouds

instead

I now feel hurricanes
I now feel thunderstorms

i don’t like living here

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

so wish i could read my mom the poems
i’ve written about her

maybe it would bridge the gap between us

come to an understanding

because she doesn’t understand me

nor i her

all i ever do is want her to understand me
but she takes it defensively

it’s extremely numbing and heartbreaking

I opened my white closet door

the only light coming from the sleepy sun

it was 5 o’clock in the evening
and the sun was slowly gliding down my
singular gray wall

it was serene

but it’s fleeting presence made itself known to my face and onto my newly exposed clothes

I shuffled quickly through those now orange
tinted clothes
flipping over dresses and skirts

desperately

searching for my favorite hoodie

the green one with the white letters
I bought in OBX the previous summer

a classic


But I couldn’t find it
and the suns orange light was quickly slipping away

And then it was gone

i felt instant warmth spread
it was amazing what simple skin could do

the warmth rushed to my stomach
and i wanted to throw up but in a good way

all these feelings exploding at once

at the sight of you
at the feel of you
at the shadow of you

I got used to the feeling

of being loved

because that’s what that random magazine I found online told me I have to do in order to receive it

the question we must come to ask ourselves is this


at the end of the day am i addicted to the victim role or am i actually a victim

Each wrapper

Each piece of clothing

Each stain on my suede chairs

Each empty deodorant bottle

Each pair of lashes on the dashboard


All these things compiled into my tiny space
So evident of what’s within
My soul

i read that book
about flowers and the moon
i don’t remember
but what i do remember is that
a lot of people don’t love me
their just insecure and see their
insecurities in me

and that



that made me feel more lonely than
ever before

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

my trauma is not valid
because others have been through worse than me