I awoke in a puddle of tears,
can't remember if i cried last night
or while I slept.

The sun was out today,
but he hid away from me,
so all I saw were his cloudy eyes.

I laid there,
with all my fingers and toes working
but couldn't move them.

Finally I rose,
had my usual pork
and heart attack.

Didn't change any clothes
from last night,
I don't have anywhere to go.

Tried to write this poem
assigned to me,
but only wrote my name
a million times.

Stared at that box of characters
that can now follow you on
your phone, and your computer.

They seemed to laugh at me,
amused at my empty eyes, and my bumpy skin.
At my foolishness and
my childishness, and my
nonsense.

Laid there again,
not completely dead,
definitely not alive.

blank

Trying this again,
and failing,
the words are coming out,
but I can't feel them.

I check my phone
to see if anyone
would check on me,
but there was nothing there,
once again,
not even you.

I watched my characters on
my tv again,
this time I'm slighly amused
by their foolishness and nonsense,
and childishness.

In the shower.
Where I cried a sea of tears
and sobbed alot of nothings.

Came out as though
the only thing I washed was
my bumpy skin and empty tears.

Back in my puddle again,
getting ready for the next day.

Today's my birthday
and I cried for the first hour of it.

I feel happy but sad,
just a few months ago
I didn't even want to live

Now I'm in my 20s,
officially a grown-up.

No more teen to fall back on,
I'm gonna miss it.

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.

You love to give me your pain,
to give me the pain that has slapped
you around, kicked you down,
made you hate those who love you.

Your pain has made you turn into
a monster.

Your pain that I've carried since arrival.

It's made me you.

Your pain who I can't fix,
has left me empty.

The pain we carry runs our lives,
and controls me.

Pain that blew our brains out,
swallowed those pills,
and we departed.

This house is ground zero for depression.

im so sick of this

wanting to improve on my happiness

to have it shut down

and called stupid.


it hurts so bad

when the person

you trust won’t even

let you be happy.


the person you spend

your whole life with

looks at you differently


calls you names

won’t understand

their brain forever

close-minded


explaining over and over

it won’t get through


i want to end it

cut it off

but something keeps stopping me


what’s stopping me?

who’s stopping me?

I spend most of my time alone.

I take all of the day
going over what makes me, me.
And what has made me, me.

I go over any memory my mind has
experienced, collected and preserved.

I pick them apart,
I try to see what when wrong
when I didn't walk away,
and what could've happened had I said no.

I pick apart the bad memories,
the memories that caused me pain,
and still do today.

I study them.
I cry over them,
I sometimes cut over them.

I rememeber the bad memories more than the good ones.
The bad memories seem to live
just below the surface,
while the good memories
I have to search a whole ocean for.

I question myself on this preservation of pain.
I let it sleep on my shoulders
and darken my eyes.
I let it enjoy me,
enjoy every piece of me.


I spend most of my time alone.

Sometimes I make no sense at all.

But to the memories inside me
that make me me
that controls every part
comes in pieces

pieces of me.

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.

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?

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.

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.

this morning i woke up, stripped naked out of the womb
cold wind hitting my body, making me shiver
feeling so small
curled up like a ball.

this morning i laid in bed for hours upon hours
thinking of life
the mistakes i made
the ones i wish i could fix and the ones i wish i never made.
feeling so ashamed
stuffing my face in the pillow.

this morning i watched the sun come up
and on my skin i felt its warmth protect me from the dark days
feeling its arms around me
there is a smile on my face.

this morning i woke up alone
no one to cuddle with
tears on my face that they’re gone
never to return
feeling invisible
i don’t get out of bed.

this morning i turned old
gray hair grey eyes
feeling that I'm overdue on earth
i sleep forever.

For the first time in months, I can finally be myself,
I can finally open my eyes and heart to tell you everything I've been holding in,
been struggling to find my heart again,
to tell you my days have
even become hard to breathe in.

Instead of hitting myself and
letting my eyes cry me to sleep,
I started being me and I missed me.
The sad lonely me
but somewhat content with life me.
The no longer angry at the world me,
the no longer I will scratch your eyes out if you even think of asking me a question.

I'm glad I found me again, she's hungry.

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.

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 stronger than i did last week
even though my body feels broken.

My heart is beating slower than usual
but i can keep running faster than
rain can fall from the clouds.

My eyes can't see as sharp as they used too
but everytime i see your face
it's clearer than the skies on a spring day.

My legs seem to drag each step i take
but when you start to walk towards me
I lift each leg as though it doesn't hurt.

My arms can't lift groceries anymore
but when you wrap your arms around me
they fall unto you without any struggle.

My past is scars inside and out
but when you're around
it doesn't exist.

The scars i see
every morning i wake up
and every night i sleep
with them caressing me.

Never forgotten shall they be.

Replaced with your face
every morning i awake
and every night i sleep with you
caressing me.

Never forgotten shall you be.

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.

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 seems to take my hurt
my tears
my mistakes.
Use them with his tongue
say failure without a slight change
in his voice
his posture.
I feel smaller than krill
in his vast ocean,
in the dark he keeps me
from reaching the light
from being me.
I've lost the smile in  my eyes
months of crying have darken them.
Secretly i wish he would go away
but how would i exist if he was gone.
I hate him but i am desperately
horribly, sickening in love
with him.
I doubt he knows this
for i keep everything in.
A big ship of secrets that he knows
while inside a trap door are more.
He promised to leave me if i said more
than the ones he knows.
So I'm keeping them hidden
until he goes away
But how can i exist
if he was to go away.

I feel I've lost whatever made me inspired.
whatever made people connect to me.
I feel that the criticisms don't make me better,
they make me think I am the worst at what I do.

I try to take it with a smile on my face
knowing they are trying to help.

Maybe I have lost it,
maybe I should give up.

He was thinking of the words
the words to say goodbye.

He was thinking of the kisses
and the hugs
and the love.

The love he no longer felt
for her.

He finally got the courage
the courage to look her in the eye.

He looked in those eyes and
realized he couldn't.

The words wouldn't come out,
the words wouldn't form.

So he thought of the kisses
and the hugs
and the love.

And said goodbye.

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.

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.

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.

Find me a body with no feelings,
no feelings so I don't cry over you,
so I don't bleed my legs over you,
so I don't die over you.

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?

You left and
didn't say
goodbye.

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

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.

Those who say they will never leave you,
are always the first to go.

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 struggle with life
Out of my control
Not of sight.

pain is all i feel
In my eyes it flows

Simple is what I want
I receive the ok
Settle for the less

I struggle with life
Who doesn't
but what can we do?

Cest la vie