to everyone who has left me, whether you were here for 8 days or 5 years, id like to thank you for the laughter, the hopes, the future, and the disappointment.

i'd like to thank you for letting me see that you were less than what i deserve, less than what i need, and saw in yourself that you were going to be no more than a burden to me.

you saw yourself as a leaf on my tree and wanted to be a branch on another.

you saw in my eyes, that i was sad, lonely, desperate for love, and felt it your duty to no longer play with my heart.

as confusing to wake up and see that person cease to exist; i understand you weren't meant to be in my life anyway.

but, thank you for your service.

don't be like me.

a weak person.

unable to swallow abuse, unable to say to a person who is ignoring me that it's okay.

unable to say no.

don't be like me, anxiety filled and emotional to the point of missing work due to stomachaches and headaches.

constantly being yelled at for harmless mistakes and belittled for shortcomings.

don't be like me, a weak sad person who wants to be stronger but can only cry and hide in her room.

don't be like me.

highs and lows
of meeting new people
is exciting until
they never speak to you again.

i wonder whose heart i broke so bad in a past life to suffer their heartache today.

we had a fight today,
the sun and i.

it was telling me to stay awake, I stayed awake for him, and the sun was jealous.

it felt that I give him a place, a title.
when it was the one who wakes me up,
who let me breathe,
who let me feel warm in this cold world.

i felt sad that the sun was scolding me for abandoning it, but she didn’t understand,

that I only feel safe when she's watching me sleep.

For, five.
the past few months,
I sleep,
minimum.

The days are short and the night is long.

I’ve ended my relationship with the sun and rely on artificial gummies to replace the nutrients the sun once gave me.

The man in the moon makes frequent stops, i ignore him,
waiting for the sun to rest upon my face,

so it can watch me sleep.

I'm having such terrible thoughts.

I feel so feeble in this world. indeed there's something special about me, perhaps I'm putting more emphasis on the special.

but the loneliness is creeping in, the empty gets bigger. people leaving me without explanation is becoming more of a daily occurance than a rarity.

i want to be fulfilled with love and happiness but instead I'm full of despair and pain.

the noticeable smile I used to wear fades fast now. I look around looking for people looking at me, just to make sure I'm still there.

if there is a god, why did he make this so painful? why did he give me this sad life?
why did he have people plant roots in my life only to rot inside me?

why did he leave me with so many grudges? why did he make me a spirit with no soul?

I like the word. I love you. I like the way it sounds. I like the way it feels. I like the way it forms off your lips.....I like the way it looks on your eyes and the way you say it, I like hearing it in books and telling it to myself. I liked the way you wrote it to me but never said it in my ear, I liked the way you never said it looking into my eyes or said it when we made love. I liked the way you lied about loving me for years when you only liked me. I loved the way I loved you and I liked the way you didnt love me at all.

i was sitting on a bench and everyone that passed looked so full. they were smiling and had places to go. i was content staring at them and watching them walk to their destination wondering if the life they lead was better than mine. then i thought about myself and hole that continously sits in the back of my chest and in the pain in my legs began to overtake the contentment i was feeling. it became a dark cloud. the breeze i felt became a storm and instead of running i sat in it. i didnt feel like getting up and running for shelter anymore.

He told me:
  I want to change you, without so many words.
without the abrasiveness of so many words.
  let me do your eyebrows, he told me, what's wrong with them I asked:
they need an improvement, he told me.
' Hold my hand, Give me a kiss, I was about to touch your ****, but I held back some self - control' until his head rested on my breast without my permission.
All of this seems signs of something I have already experienced: a continuation of the same old play whose lead role never changes.

no one sees me as worthy to hold, to love unconditionally.

just a trophy to claim as a prize and stare at occasionally.

trying to disappear

don't know how.

what i want i can't have, what i want doesn't want me, what i want i don't work hard for and what i can't have, i wish for.

i want a better way to express my contempt for the opposite illusion of this world. being bad will bring bad luck, being good will bring good luck.

only fairy tales and kicks in the back it feels to me.

im tired of waiting up for messages I'll never receive from people I'll never meet.

im sick of being in pain every month and knowing its continous unless i birth another useless me.

'one day it'll get better'

it could be 60 years and it never gets better. the world is ending and nobody cares, i might not be here to see it but id be glad when i depart this world.

i hope its not dark and cold. i hope its warmth and happiness, the feelings i want to feel, i hope they exist when i depart.

i don't want to leave so soon, whenever my heart decides it can no longer carry the pain, i will go.

my heart hurts.

it hurts all the time now.

constantly ripped out by disappointment and fabrications of lies.

i wish it didn't work, i wish i didn't feel it.

i wish the world wasn't so mean to weak-hearted fellows like me.

my eyes hurt

they hurt all the time now

constantly crying and dulling out from the pain my heart can no longer store.

i wish it didnt work, i wish i didnt cry at all.

i wish i didn't feel anything at all.

my friend's boyfriend broke up with her.
(on her birthday)
he told her, (while she was already hurt by
the lack of care he'd given her) "we are not together."

confused. she asked him why.
his usual answer was: "you decided this months ago."

her memory as it was told to me,
she decided to end the relationship
after months of stress and a dislike for
him and herself.

after a few days, he'd made a horrible
plea for her heart and as weak hearts,
most likely do. she gave it back to him.

nothing changed, *** was still regular.
( not better, not any worse)
love was there, but only on her side.

after days of trying to talk and not annoy him,
he revealed that he was not in love with her,
he only liked her and stayed for so long,
as not to hurt her.

this hurt more than her heart could stand,
she thought it was going to pump its last
few breaths from the shock, she felt.

then after comfort from her sister,
she felt relief and free.
In the back of her mind, she knew the truth of him.
He didn't kiss her anymore, didn't ask for hugs, didn't
take photos together or try to hold her hand.

she was in love with a figment of her imagination
and he was better in her mind.

when she told him, that she already knew for a long time of her one-sided love. he seemed shocked that she knew. she told me

(how could one pretend so horribly to love me and seem to think I not
notice?)

Confused that she seemed to brush him off,
he decided to blame her for their failed relationship
due to her lack of emotion and telling herself that (she'll be fine.)

He wanted to break her down, have her crawling back to him
like before when her heart was weak and he was weak and alone
without her.

She asked me, why do men do this?
( play with your heart, blame you for equal failures, then leave you to clean up the mess)

I told her, I did not know.
Maybe, just him, wants you to feel how he feels.
Or maybe he wants to laugh and mock you for being so naive again, so
gullible.

She told me that he'd asked to fix it.
( I want to try again, I want to fix it.)
But there was nothing to fix.
There had been nothing there for years,
no love, no compassion, just a distance.

When I saw her a few years later,
she was with him,
it seems she did not take my words to heart
or her heart was too weak to leave him.

I just hope he really loves her now and if he hasn't,
then he's become a really good actor.

i ****** you up so bad.
please forgive me and my selfishness,
my materialistic and stubborn nature.

i ruined your whole life,
you'll never trust another me again.
please forgive me and my ****** nature,
i don't mean to use my body against you.

i ****** you up so bad,
i made you depressed, insensitive and mean.
please forgive me and my horrible sarcastic tongue.

i ruined your whole life.
will you ever be happy?
will i?

i made you hate people and fall out of love with me,
and instead of letting you go. I held on so tightly,
i almost suffocated you.

i didn't care how bad things got, all i knew was that
i had you and no one else should taste what i have
tasted.

please forgive me and my controlling nature.
i don't like change and i don't want you go.

i ****** you up so bad, i made you tell me
you loved me even when you didn't.

please forgive me and my hopeless romance.
i do love you, but we need to leave each other alone.

i ruined everything and i ****** you up so bad.

the world scares me, health alerts and studies from scientists who tell you water is no good for the brain, but wine and alcohol may make you smarter. BREAKING every 25 seconds from some idiot who doesn't even pay taxes, but can cut funding from people who need to eat while he eats horses smaller than me. Looking up remedies for headaches, but I am instead given symptoms of aneurysms and malignant brain tumors.

the world scares me, terrorists ruined flying so now everyone gets molested. the poor and middle class are best friends now with them trading spaces and hiding in plain sight. Protests that change rulings but doesn't change people, and people who only want to be seen and heard but offer nothing worth hearing.

the world annoys me, its condescendingness. Humans who believe themselves superior to the animals they learned to procreate from. Mother Nature sending out several warnings for an impending doom not knowing most of us are praying for it. the few humans who care about this world, suffer the most. The chiefs and activists who work for nothing but peace, and end up with wars.

the world destroyed me. it made me hate everything, even myself. i blame it for its ability in creating the world's most crappiest people to the world's most beautiful. i blame it for wiping the smile of children's faces. i blame it for allowing me to hurt myself and others in more ways than one. i blame it for allowing me to hate people who love me and love people who wouldn't spit on me if i was on fire.

the world scares me and i would like a do over.

I am from Carmella and Peter, who are from Marie, who gave birth to seven aunts and uncles on each side and unknown fathers who were there but weren't.
From the Native tribes of Cherokees all the way to the Jamaican seas.
From the grandmother, I never met but love so much, from the grandfathers who died before they knew I even existed.
I am from the North-Atlantic Slave Trade, 400 years and counting, spread from the southern breezes of Georgia to the Caribbean waters of Jamaica.
From the robbery of my ancestors, the lynches of my great-grandfathers, the discrimination of my grandmothers and the fight of my parents and the reluctance of me.
I am from hugs and kisses of my mother to discipline and handshakes from my father.
From strict lessons about boys and the harshest of truths about life as a Black woman.
From the many years of Thanksgiving and Christmas spent with families who were always so happy to see me, from the hams and turkeys to the soul food made by my mother's hands.
I am from days with no tv, no heat, no idea about how to get by, but my mother made me feel the richest of rich.
I am from self-taught Christians, who never went to church but serve God as though he lives through them.
From the smartest of women and men who told me to never say "Can't", even as I rolled my eyes and told them I've already done it.
I am from a family of women, strongest I've ever known and compassionate as well.
From women who have beaten down by years of male egos and the darkness of their skin.
I am from the urban city of New York, where in two seconds and a metrocard, I am in the Gold Coast.
From the gentrification of Gates Ave, and the impending doom of it happening to me.
From the projects and two family homes of Bushwick, now turned into high-rises for the wealthiest of New York City.
From the architecture of a Trump tower right across the street from a low-income housing development.
I am from the hard times of depression and anxiety that were overlooked with alcohol and arguments, from the outbursts and crying myself to sleep, to not knowing the real thoughts of my father and what he thinks of me.
From the overachiever of my mother wanting to make a better life for me and me succeeding in her dreams.
From the many pages of poetry, I write to calm the mind and heal the pain.
I am from the generation who hopes to make our ancestors proud as they have made us.

the world is a bit dimmer today,
trust is a nonexistent word.
the only thing we have to look forward to is time,
time can heal all wounds.

those who like to clean and scrub,
are you really cleaning?
are you really scrubbing?

Did you find something worth scrubbing?
Was it a love letter, a ******, an incriminating photo, was it drugs? was it nothing to you but the world to someone else?
Did you clean the love letter by shredding it or throwing it in the trash? Did you save the ****** in a plastic bag?
Wonders of what you did with the photo
And the drugs, well we all know what that you smoked-- i mean cleaned

When you were finished, did you tell the person what you did? Or let them come home to a place where everything was rearranged and scrubbed.

Did you notice when they ignored you and didn't thank you for your cleaning services?

I wonder often what satisfies a scrubber. Is it the control you get from knowing all you can know about a person? Is it the feeling you get when you've finished scrubbing all the dirt off?
I wonder often what satisfies a cleaner. Is it the notion that you're bettering someones life when you've just erased the whole of them? Is it the thought that when you put them in new clothes, they shine.

Do you think you are making them the image of what you've scrubbed?

those who clean and scrub,
are you really cleaning and are you really scrubbing?
I think that you are.

I feel so much time on my hands, and with so much time.
I waste it away,
I feel I have little time on my hands and with so little time,
I rush and scramble about to hold onto it.

It's been said that time is an illusion,
a phenomenon made by humans.

Animals don't worry about time,
they worry about family, food, the sun, the moon,
water, no water.
earth, no earth.

Humans worry about birthdays, lateness, money, bills,
manicure, no pedicure.
gas, no gas.

Time. I worry about it,
I worry about my family, food, the sun, the moon,
water, earth, birthdays, manicures and no pedicures.

Will this mean something in a few years?
will time wear on the pages?
Will my time have run out to see it?

I feel so much time on my hands, and with so much time.
I waste it away,
I feel I have little time on my hands and with so little time,
I rush and scramble about to hold onto it.

often i am asked,
why i don't smile.
i can laugh, i can show my teeth, but i can't smile.

taking photos of myself i can't muster up the courage to show all 32.

but with a group or
taken by someone other than myself,
i smile.

it's easier to smile when you can't see yourself.

most of the time,
i am asked
why don't i smile.

i am not happy.

i cry more than i laugh.
crows feet with puffy eyes are how i wake up.
worrying about laugh lines is not a priority.

"you should smile more often"
"i liked you because of your smile"
"you have a beautiful smile"

i wish i could smile,
but i can't
it hurts too much.

This house is ground zero for depression.

There are many men who'd like to **** me, caress me, probably give me the entire world if they could.
But I only allow one to continously break my heart,
to give me black holes instead of the moon,
to pinch my skin and never massage the tension,
to make love to me once in a several month period.

I only give to one while many have said I give to all.
I have ****** many while he's only ****** one.

He doesn't hold it against me, he only asks to teach me what I've learned.

I gladly give,
I gave until he began teaching me.

There are many men who'd give me the world, the sun, the moon or the stars,
but would forget about Venus, and Pluto and Saturn.

Who would skip over Jupiter even if I asked for it because it was too big or far away.

But one would get it for me.

He'd kiss all the wounds he gave,
even the ones I gave myself
then drown me in love
even when I didn't ask for it.

There are many men who would give me their heart.

But only one has mine.

that class
the one where i knew nothing
i came unprepared.
i felt like a spotlight was on me
and they all knew it.
they all knew i knew nothing
they were waiting for me to
whimper a wrong answer
and to ***** their faces into
confusion.

"did she even read the book?"

i wouldn't give them that satisfaction of hurting me, i was so quiet i almost disappered into the seat.
the only kind of recognition i received was from that blue eyed high priestess who glanced at me with piercing questions.
it was the worst day of my life.
i pride myself on at least being prepared and today i wasn't
that class was the worst and i hope it never happens again.

I no longer look forward to the promises you keep.
You often break them and never apologize for the disappointment
Many times, I have fulfilled my own promises.
With no congratulations from you.

I no longer look forward to the promises you keep.
They are weak lies with hope dangling off of them.
You often make these promises and I laugh at the knowing expection of that promise turning to dust.

I no longer look forward to promises,
they are weak, unfulling and excuses for people to hold onto with no reassurance that it will ever come true.
I no longer make promises to those I love, I try my hardest to give them a promise before they even make it.
Promises are foolish to me, they rely on hope.
On which I have none.

I no longer look forward to promises you keep,
and I will send this letter to no one, no one will ever read this
I promise.

random day of the week.
I wake up,
sleep still in my eye.
  Haven't noticed that I don't feel anything,
just tired.

   Dusk starts to arrive, I feel angry.
No one except my father has made me disappointed,
I cried over past events.
My mood changes again,
I don't know how to describe the frequency.
I constantly ask my mother if she ever felt this way,
she replies that she can no longer remember,
nor had she noticed that she would snap at me.
   Nighttime has arrived, I order pizza.
Attempt to bond with mother over a new
tv show,
    she barely pays attention,
it hurts.
My father ignores me.
I enjoy the silence.
     Noticing this new movie coming soon,
I ask a (friend) to join me,
I'm rejected with excuses of non-violence,
confusion of the plot and (ask a classmate).
I pretend it doesn't hurt,
it upsets me,
but I would be less upset if it wasn't pathetic excuses.
Am I angry because of excuses or rejection?
Am I disappointed because of my father's silence or my mother's two-second attention span?

   I wish I could just bleed already so I could focus on the physical.

You left and
didn't say
goodbye.

I thought it
might be hard
to handle,
but it was
rather easy
to understand.

i want a love
that's mine
and no one
elses,
even if
i hate it.

even if it
tears my heart out
and burns my throat
when i speak of it.

even when i want to
crawl away and run away
from it,
ill stay
because its mine
and only mine.

I am beautiful,
don't you know that?

My pimples make other pimples
bow in awe,
gaze with uncontrollable lost,
my flabby arms make the women
sneer with envy.
The stripes I acquired on my thighs
and luscious backside have men telling me
I'm the next best thing.
My unibrow and hairs on my chiny-chin
on my unpainted face have makeup companies
selling my skin across mediterranean seas.
My diet has been written about in many
magazines,
even Homer follows my diet,
it's a very important part of life.
I never smoke,
I hear the world is going to outlaw it.

I have married every mirror I've come across
even my reflection in the ocean
has proposed.
How could I turn myself down
I am beautiful you know.

I am beautiful,
I can't believe you don't know that.

Every piece of me is beautiful
even the fungus on my toes,
but I hear it isn't good to brag.

my breathing is slow, calm.
It's so steady
my chest barely lifts itself.

what if it stopped-

I try holding my breath
aware that my lungs can only
hold in so much air before forcing me to breathe.

my heart still beats in tune
with my breath.

what will happen
if my chest needs
assistance.
will I be grateful of the breaths
I had or angry for the few I have left?

I've known you my whole life,
only one photograph I have of you.
An army photo that hangs in a picture frame collecting dust.
My childhood had more pain than love, I cried more than I smiled.
I developed anxiety and self-harm before I knew what they were,
the kids at school didn't know how sad I was or
how I felt when school was over
because I knew I had to go home.
Everyone hates you except the garbage you respect more than family.
I often wish I had a different father
a father who I would one day cry for when he passed
but I know I'd at least probably shed one tear, who knows.
Someone who showed affection or at least knew how too.
I want to blame you for the way I am,
for the way you didn't teach me about boys
and the harm they can cause
for letting my mother be my father
when you were sitting right there
for believing yourself to have succeded in fatherhood
when you failed
and for the the people I've hurt,
but
should I blame you?
I'm confused on whether to like you or love you,
your my parent
im 50% of you,
a part of you is me.
I've tried for 21 years and I'll probably try until I'm old and gray.
Your mother often spoke worse of you,
my mother and your ex-wife did too
It's probably why you spoke worse of me
without knowing it
without knowing me and how sad I am
I wish I didn't know you
I wish I was a girl whose father's past
didn't complete my lonely future
maybe I could understand you
maybe I could like you,
maybe I could love you.

When I was 15
I lost the written innocence
of girlhood
and gained the status of a woman.
When I was 16
still a growing girl
with the reporters
spreading rumors of my
newfound womanhood
I was a target.

Still 16, I was manipulated by a devil with an iron fist.
Six months of being a mindless zombie
following his agenda
wondering if an exorcist
would ever save me.

By the time I was 17,
I had no words of my own
was constantly smiling on the outside
while unknowingly dying on the inside.
As I approached death
a reaper saved me
holding my hand
as I was ready to go.

When I was 18,
I fell in love with the reaper
who told me of my faults
and my truths
who allowed me to love myself
even while loving him.

Still 18, I had a voice of my own,
a smile of my own
even words started to flow easily
I no longer mumbled
or held my head down in shame.

By the time I was 19,
the reaper saved me again
from the impending doom
in my head
and I was so selfish to not see
I was making the reaper sick.
sick of me.

As I reached 20,
I hated the reaper
he who saved me from
death too many times
even though he could've
let me pass.

The reaper was tired of me
wishing for death
when I had life
all around me,
he eventually reaped himself
and left me alone
wanting me to feel what he felt
when he had to saved me from every reaping.

Once I was 21,
I wished for him to come back
apologizing for all the pain I caused.
He didn't believe me
testing me with my life in his hand.
I let him have it
as he gave his life for me.

when i write poetry
i don't think,
everything you read
is my heart on the page.

i don't think about the words,
the format,
the spelling,
i even bang on the keyboards sometimes.

when i write poetry,
i feel everything
at that moment,
all things I've been afraid to say

I tell my story in more ways
than one.

hoping those who read my words,
realize its meant for them
and understand I could not say it
to their face
and see the look in their eyes.

only strangers know my truth,
as friends have laughed at me in the past.

when i write poetry,
i don't think
everything you are reading
is my heart on the page.

Monster wheels on a minivan
I call it a scream
with a driver
whose face I've never seen.

He parks outside my home
everyday
but I don't know anyone
who can see
six feet under.

the early memories
of childhood
were grimm,

they included black eyes,
****** noses
and scars.

The mice were never
their friends
nor were they fashion designers

they lived with rasputin
who neither died nor got sick

being awoken at midnight
from your apple slumber
to yelling and thunder.

they wished for those memories
to burn
with cinder and coal
pricking their fingers
on every needle in tow.

the memories were
sound asleep
with no kiss
on hold.

who wants to go first?

The girl with a voice only
in the privacy of her
teddybears?

The girl who used to be scared of her shadow,
lowering her eyes from every
passerby
not knowing they're looking right through her.

The girl too scared to tell that guy off
when he yelled all the flithy things he would do to her
when she was only 14.

The girl whose extrovert inside her head.

The girl who covers her mirrors with sheets
so they can't see her dance.

The girl who has storybook love,
but lives the life of a tragic hero.

The girl who believes she can succeed at everything,
but tries with only a few.

The girl who wears heavy tshirts and hotpants
as her legs are the only part of her body
she loves.

The girl who doesn't tell her loved ones
she loves them that often
as she feels they don't love her at all.

The girl who wonders about fame and fortune,
then decides on the simple life.

The girl who has yet to turn into a woman,
the girl who didn't think she could amount to anything,
but still puts in 110% even if life only gives her 80.

The girl writing this poem
with no start or ending,
she wants to go first.

the tightnessofthechest

  the d i z z i n e s s

the SCARES AND JUMPS.

  the inhale and the e
                                      x
                                         h
                                              a
                                                 l
                                                     e.
the t e a
          rs of failure
and worry.

**hopelessness, and doubt.

You’re telling me how good the food is,
and I can see him grab her wrist.

"Isn't this salad good?"
I nod yes.

He's now reaching for her face,
she has fear in her eyes.

"Try this, it goes great with the wine."
Everyone can see.

"Isn't the wine great?"
She's crying, he's red.

"Should we get the check?"
They get the check,
she goes for the concealer,
covers the bruises.

"Did you have a good meal?"
I nod yes.

He leaves and starts the car,
she struggles behind him.

"I had a fabulous time, did you?"
I nod yes,
wasn't that wine great?

I think about death too often
my death, I think about too often.

Will I die young?
Will I have accomplished
all I wanted?
Will I have children before my death?
Will they have to live a life with
no mother?
Will I live a long life,
growing old with loved ones
and friends?
Seeing my grandkids have kids.

Will I have neither of those and
live the world's loneliest life?
Will I dedicate myself to work
and work only
Will I die before I even live my life?


I think about death too often,
my death, I think about too often.