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Alyssa De Marzo Apr 2019
Momma was born a hip hop head
She'd whisper beats and rhymes in my ear right before bed
We played dress up every day
she'd do my hair up real nice
when daddy had the good dough
mamma partied dripping in ice.
and even when the jackets were too heavy
and my braided head too tight
as long as I made mamma look good,
I was doin' alright.
How can I blame her
I only know pieces to her story
there were whole other lives
a long time before me
and to this, I owe her credit
not every day was a dog day
even when I didn't know what to say
I mean she gave me my words when I was four
it made life a little easier when raising the children she bore
And for as long as I could remember
or at least since the 24th of September
She spited dad
promised me she'd always give me all that she had
Wasn't long until she broke it
2 years since we've spoken
but we manage
Momma checked out
left me and my siblings behind
left me alone to make sense of the world with half of her mind
And so here I am now
ripped from my bed
An old beat drew me to write about the love that's dead
12:39 am
Good night momma. I miss you. Lord knows i don't want to but i do ~Your little girl Lyssa
  May 2018 Alyssa De Marzo
your eyes,
waxy and chromatic
seeped through my clothes and
soaked my skin,
bent my bones and
dyed my concrete spine
blue magenta.

forgive me, forgive me
my revolving-door mouth,
my pendulum heart,
my clammy hands.

my religion is jazz but
i swear to God,
I'm Roman Catholic.

and so I brought you some tulips,

cause I can't lose you
to New York.
baby give me a chance
Alyssa De Marzo May 2018
I have gotten older.
At this point in time, I am where my mother was. I am caught between wanting to love someone and wanting to disappear from the face of the earth, between buying groceries or a few grams of creative fuel. Music is a necessity and sleep is no more than a luxury. There are nights where I wake up just to stare into the clocks eyes and although I tell myself to slip back into my dreams I cannot stop my right arm from reaching for a pen. By the end of the week, my recycling bin overflows with half-written letters and they all start the same but different
Dear mom, I hate you and
Dear mom, I miss you. I am just
Dear mom, I hope your next boyfriend has 16 ****** kids so that you are forced to remember the four biggest blessing you left behind
but there is one letter that I keep on my desk, inside an envelope with your address on it, sealed so that even if my fingers itch to revise and edit all the confusion I somehow found the strength to heave out onto paper; I won't.
it reads,
Dear mom,
I want to tell you I love you. I don't. I know I don't. But I do. I always will, that's just how life is. Life always will be. It's different for everyone. However, for us, life will always be arduous. At the end of the day, you and I don't make it any easier. I fight to feed, bathe, and protect the three younger miracles you brought into this world when you, you don't even bother to send a card on their birthdays. Your life always meant more to you. The motivation I have, the childhood I didn't keep me up at night. You've both robbed and driven me. I don't know whether to say ******* or thank you.
- your Firstborn
Alyssa De Marzo Apr 2018
To all the people I could never love
I wanna say it wasn't me nor you
the trial and error sent from above
forgive my words regrettably untrue

To all the hearts I never accepted
I cannot forget the minds I have changed
To all the souls I never defended
Forgive me people who´ve become estranged

For each of the tears I have caused to shed
I have come to replenish our due peace
I know I´ve left you stranded in your head
let the raging hurt in your heart decease

Remember it was you who taught me so
There´s a forgiving grace in letting go
Alyssa De Marzo Apr 2018
I want to love you like the 90´s,
back when making a playlist
meant dubbing you a mixtape
I want love you like cassette,
the kind of love that even when it gets tangled
we just have to stick a pencil into the spool
and reel it back to normal
I want to love you like portable Sony CD players,
the kind of love that even when it gets scratched
we just have to blow wipe it on our sleeves
because, love,
love just needs a little touch to make it move
love me like the 90´s
Alyssa De Marzo Apr 2018
Growing up, my grandmother always tried to hold me back from the girl I thought was my best friend.
Her name was Society.
My grandmother made it very clear that I was not to associate with Society and so that is what I did
for a while.
By the age of 7 I had an impressively large entourage of friends, whose parents also steered clear from Society.
We watched movies, made hot chocolate and talked about our hopes and dreams.
However just because the light burns bright, doesn't mean it's going to burn forever.
By the time I was 11 our coterie had fallen through.
The more we grew, the less we would hear our parents.
11 years young, and completely detached.
All my friends were now strangers.
Society was the only one I had left.
I always desired to be equals with her.
I tried so hard until there wasn't any ME anymore.
I was caught in between fitting in with the world and becoming estranged from myself
Society dug up every last seed that all sane adults plant into their children.
Mum raised me to believe that every inch, every atom and every molecule inside of me was worthy of love.
Society had taught me to pinch and pull at my body, accusing every bump, every scar and every imperfection for being some of the many reasons I was alone.
Society led me to rip every mirror off of the walls of my life.
"You don't wanna see that" She would whisper.
She was wrong until she was right.
For every 1 thing I found to love in the reflection,
Society would find 3 things to hate.
Society had taken the sparkle from my eyes because the other girls couldn't see past the glare.
Society silenced the protest in my gut because there weren't enough people on my side
but as I moved on to better people
I realized she was all a sham
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