i have been told
time and time again
that I think to much

and I want to write a poem
about how that makes me feel
but i don't know how
to organize the stanzas

when i am unable
to determine which words
are worth writing

which words will strike your heart
burn your tongue- which words
will taste like honey
but sting you like the bee

I want to write a poem
but i don't know
what to write about

because I feel unworthy of my gift
i have seen people
weave thorns into crowns of roses
with just a pen and a page

I want to write a poem
but I'm mangling my message
over and over mutilating it

until the words don't make sense
and my metaphors sound
like an example
of how to NOT write a metaphor

I want to write a poem
and I really am trying
but i'm intimidated

by those who can spit magic
in minutes
weave their struggles into art
with their ginormous vocabularies

I want to write a poem
I want to write THIS poem
I want to write anything

but how can I.
when i have nothing to say
my mind fixated on word counts
and a deadline i worry I won't be able to meet.

ever since you left
i've kept the butterflies alive
with thoughts of you and I
but now i'm rolling stories into
petals of poisoned nectar
because I have decided they've had their time.

because, they flutter all **** night
and they only speak of you- and to keep them healthy
they need to be reminded of why they are there in the first place-
they only exist when i'm frozen in time.

a ribcage filled with papillions
dying one by one
they end up on my tongue
mariposas-I spit them out, and save in a jar

each one
a memory I can barely remember
a feeling I will never feel again
i poison the stories,
they live at the expense of me moving on
I have fed them when i should have
clipped their wings

I cared for them because
you never came back to get them
now I poison them because
i've accepted you never will
and I hate the feeling of velvet wings
fluttering against my diaphragm.

droplets of chlorinated water
dripping from my pigtails.
A four year old,
standing at the edge of the abyss-

goose bumps prickle
and I tremble both
with freeze and fear
as my mother commands me

Take off your floaties.
Jump In.

screaming- tears streaming
down my face

my mother twists off my water wings
and I am launched, a flash of bubbles
into the depths of the pool.

sink or swim.
s i n k
o r
s w
       i m
s
i
  n                                  m
    k         or      s         i
                             w

opening my eyes to the chlorinated water
and kicking like they taught me at the ymca
i shed my fear and rise to the surface,
gulping oxygen,
smiling wide-my mom cheering
reaffirming that
i had accomplished something

that is the moment
I learned to be

resilient

Paint your skin
with pretty lies

let the bristles disguise
the parts of yourself

you hope no one sees.
Paint your skin,

leave nothing uncovered
disguise yourself

with perfection, indifference, and sarcasm-
they are the pigments you will use

to paint your skin
with pretty lies.

(if/when)
you are no longer mine
will we coexist or go to war?

will our lips spit arrows
and start fires like
a conflict with no end in sight

or will we have the strength to just
smile- slightly to each other as we pass;
and view each other as a lesson

rather than an enemy
I will acknowlege you politely
and ignore you as a curtousey

and i will turn the other cheek
(if/when)
you are no longer mine.
if you will do the same.

you learn to move forward
when you learn
the difference between missing someone
and being nostalgic

you stop looking through photos-
then
you really
stop looking through photos
and you only hold onto them
until- that delete button doesn't scare you anymore.

it's when you picture yourself
happy without them and you realize
they did nothing to make you
force yourself to start thinking that way.

it's the glare that light leaves behind
when you take a polaroid; and you stand-
shaking the film, as you beg for
this photograph to develop completely
moving on is accepting that it never will.
and that perhaps- it is better that way.

it is learning that sometimes
the best lessons
are cliffhangers

i slept until the sun went down
an entire day in bed.

I woke up, everyone was asleep.

and I pulled my blanket to cover my face
no one was there- i don't know why it was so important to me
to hide

I just felt so lonely.