Your past can't hold you back.

Why I Kissed Your Glasses (A Love Poem)

I went to kiss your forehead
missed my turn off,
instead, connected,
with a seeing-eye tortoise
made of plastic.

Went to kiss your toes,
but the stunning purple hue that
decorated your toenails
shocked me into limp rigidity,
in-articulation, inactivity

Kissed your lips tenderly, longingly,
but Coco's formulation haunted me the whole day,
Her interference needed, but let it be noted accordingly,
It was you I loved, not her!

I kissed your fingertips so delicately,
with tenderness great,
enjoyed a vigorous nibble,
as your compensation,
received a poke in the eye,
accidentally, of course. (Right?)

Could go on and on,
but decorum forbids further revelations,
worth noting, but not composing,
still laughing at my just rewards,
the bruises resulting from my failed escapades!

All I can say is
En Garde!
I will be coming back soon enough.
because you are my best poem,
and the there will always be another stanza needed...

10:00 AM
Shelter Island
Memorial Day Weekend 2013

R.I.P
Robert Louis Guerrero Jr.

That's really all there is to say
Everything to be put on my headstone
To mark my final resting place
I can't be certain when it will be my time
I have lied many times over
I have cheated just o get where I am
I have stolen things that should of never been tampered with
I mocked the life I was given
Secrets hold bounty's of truths
That no man or woman should ever know
But here is one
I attempted suicide four times
Each time I failed
I cut my wrist almost every night
I recently stopped for the sake of my heart
I drink like alcohol is going out of style
I have stopped again for my heart
You may be wondering why I have 1996-????
As the title to this redundant poem
Well it's to say that even though I am 17 years old
I am too young to die
Even the good who have died young
Wish they lived to see tomorrow alive
I have been told that I'm too young to hate this world
Yet I have seen enough of it to know
This place isn't for me
I'm not going to **** myself
The world is
They're going to pull this trigger
They're going to carve rivers into my wrist
They're going to determine whether I live or die
That is the reason for the "????"
Because I don't know when
This world will surprise me
By introducing me to Death's cold bony hand

Your eyes are what caught mine when I first saw you.
Those never-ending oceans on your face.
I could swim forever, getting lost in their waves.

They were beyond hypnotizing, they were soul-capturing.
Sometimes I would catch myself leaning closer to you because I was caught in their pull,
And I would try to snap out of it, but end up gravitating to your gaze again.

How can such blue eyes burn like fire. It doesn't make any sense.
And yet each time you looked at me I was scorched by your stare,
Feeling my skin and heart melt like candle wax dripping helplessly down my body.

Eyes have always been a weakness for me, for they hold so many secrets.
All these emotions, and feelings, and riddles are right there in two portals of a person's soul.
However, your eyes were a lesson for me.

I thought that eyes were easily read, that I had the key to unlocking a person's true thoughts,
But yours threw me. You have the power to act like one emotion, but have an endless amount
Of others sealed away in the deep crevices of your heart and mind, unattainable to me.

Those eyes bewitched me, body and soul, mind and heart.
Before I knew it, I was too far gone, trapped in a storm,
When all I thought I was doing was wading in the calm waves.

Insomnia, my greatest enemy, dearest friend has come along to visit again.
She appears at my bedside each night and waits beside me as the darkness encroaches.
My comforter is thick and warm, inviting toward her, she comes next to me, I can feel her above me, whisking the tired feelings away.
She slips into the corners of my mind and takes my body for a ride, just lying there for endless hours, waiting for a sign of sun.
I am sweating but the dark is far too cold to relieve the covers of their duty.
The darkness is thick and cold and chills my bones to the core as I stand up.  
I have become far too restless just lying and I need to move, Insomnia what is your purpose?
Three am showers have become a habit, almost like a ritual as I take the walk down the hall trying hard not to make a sound.    
The door creeks as I open it, my feet freezing on the tile floors as I step inside.
I strip my sweaty thermal off my back, a difficult task because it had begun to stick to my skin.
I turn the water to the highest temperature, even that won’t be hot enough to escape the dark chill in my bones.
As I wait for the water to become satisfactory I count tiles like I have so many nights before.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28…
Tonight’s magic number, the water has become slightly shy of scalding and I step in and just feel.
Sensations over run my body, rigid from the sudden change in atmosphere
Relaxed because the heat feels good
I give in and take a seat on the warm, stark white surface
It feels good to just sit in the haze of vapor
Insomnia loosens her grip as the water makes me number than I was before
The water goes cold; I suppose I have sat too long pondering my woes and worries
So I stand which is quite the task, the same each night
I turn off the water absorbing the last of the heat and savoring each second
I step out and go through the motions of drying myself
Begin at my hair and work toward my toes
I put on sweatpants and a new t-shirt
I brush my hair
The door creeks open once more and I return to my room
My bed welcomes me and insomnia has left my bedside, finally tiring from fighting my body, off to infect another I suppose
Good night, until tomorrow my dear friend, great enemy.

horror stories muffled by pillow forts and blankets that stretch across the
vast of my beloved
room.

in hiding--
your young skin
    is shielded
  by a lonely
shadow dancing
with sunlight.

the room's symphony plays on as
a crescendo of
soft laughter
and light footsteps
cues in.

magazines     sprawled on
the carpeted-floor
jennifers & ashleys
glamorously sporting
shiny hair.

away messages
are synonymous
to x's and hearts
bordering
your
besties' names.

and these are the best
years of your life
but it just feels like dirt
to your name
being young
gets old.

mobiles in purses
strapped to your chest
"I HEART NY" keychains
dangling by the locket
that frames your blurry
picture of
him.

you feel so important
surrounded by friends
and people who
shower you with
lots of
cheap love.

you don't care
about what you don't know
and it's easy
living
when all you're living
is the lie of happiness.

i used to go to my grandmother's house during the summer
and in her backyard, behind all the trees
was a river
some days it'd be weak
sitting still without interruption
some days it'd be violent
crashing against the bank
and one day
i was laying by the river
watching it flow by to somewhere i couldn't see
and i stuck my hand in the water
and it rushed between my finger tips
i heard my grandmother shout,
"try to hold the river back"
and i laughed "i can't do that grandma"
and i pulled my hand out

a year after i went to my grandmother's house for the summer
and in her back yard some of the trees
had snapped and fallen over
but there was still the river
and it was gentle
i kneeled down by the river
and stuck my hand in the water
it danced around my finger tips
and i shouted
i can hold the river back grandma
and she smiled softly, "that's lovely"
and she walked out

today i went to my grandma's house
and in her back yard the trees
were rotting away and everything was silent
but there was still the river
as if it absorbed every bit of life that had once existed around it
and it was thrashing viciously
like a dog wanting to be let from its cage
and i stood staring at the water
and thought of summer
i heard myself saying
"try to hold your river back"
and i couldn't

“You’re perfect.”
“You’re worthless.”
                                  *“You’re able.”
  “You will fail.”                                                          ­                                  “You’re empowered.”
                                                    ­      “You’re weak.”
    “Be you.”                                
                          ­                                                “Let us fix you.”      
          
This is just the start to the plethora of lies that constantly contradict themselves through lustful eyes that objectify and ads that give the “flawless formula” that may just grant you one glance from that wayfaring guy.
One second it’s edification and the next it’s an abundance of filthily crippling lies; most have ceased to even recognize the truth among these fables. I’ve noticed that the paradox of perfection that we are feeding this generation has poisoned them.
They’ve lost their direction because the messages endlessly alter and they are now left with the enchantingly eerie tune of rejection. The consistency they long for is constantly being drowned in the depth of the repudiation brought on by this culture and its lies.
It’s reached the ****** at which they no longer know what it is they should despise.
So they despise themselves.
Heartbreakingly unaware that they are loved,
Wanted,
And free.