Senseless, nonetheless

That you should love me for every ounce of my being here,
but, it is only when I am here.

that you truly love me.

The walls, they speak,
I lay, ears to the stucco, praying you aren’t the one mocking my perpetual inloveness I have for you.


Poison.

and , for a brief moment,

I was almost sure that my not being there,
was still enough to know that you could love the thought of me just as much.

tell me, what do you think hurts more?
the suffering,
or the dying...


-I should’ve known

I wear my hair curly,
tight spirals that lay on my neck.

I wear my makeup dark, intimidating,
keeps the mystery that I’m so terrifying with a sweet glaze,
like honey.

But I don’t dissolve well and I came from poison.

I like my drinks colds, tingly, intoxicating.
It was the way my father handled his problems.
The way I handled mine,
I like my death cold, perspirating with teases that the next shot can be my last if I let it. I never really let it, I just allowed it to crawl in bed with me and sing me to sleep.

I’m attempting to romanticize a habit that dragged me a couple miles away from sanity, left me to dry up in the arid desert, surrounded by merciless voices.

I want to pour glitter on an addiction that gave me paranoia that I would rot in my bed, tied down by the idea that I can only be loved if I am bare.
Open, hands sprawled and not folded in prayer, because when I confessed beneath the altar, I leaked toxins that I swam in.

Wet dreams became a phrase that shook my ribcage, the grim reaper was the boyfriend in my head that mentored the shadows with a sweet malibu fantasy.  
Keep playing the same song, and I soon memorized each lyric.

I like my drinks on demand, I like them rolled in fury, drenched in sorrows, a control less kind of romance that undressed me every night, alone.

Control yourself, it whispered to me, you still need some for tomorrow.
I need to escape, covered in glitter and malibu kisses.

-C.M. Aldecoa

I apologized for correcting you.
when you told me I was wrong.
I apologized for not listening to you,
when you would ask me to be quiet.

I painted my skin red with anguish that I could stand up to par with what you required.
Drowned my lungs in cheap toxins that left me sick the next morning.

Facing you.
I apologized for running my mouth, for telling you I loved you.
when you got tired of hearing it everyday.

I lathered my skin purple with your aggression that I could ever learn to obey.
Sinking my stomach in doctored ways that left me unconscious for hours and dead the next morning.

Facing you. Dead.

I didn’t have to,
because you finally felt sorry for burying me, way after I already passed.

-C.M. Aldecoa

I believed in you,
In us.

I vowed my undying love to you and, with hope,
Began to imagine a day where I wasn’t lying on the floor,

Alone.

We had the world in our palms and yet you managed to create blacks and blues on my flesh into galaxies that made no sense,
I was attracted to the unknown.

And I did not know you.

Dandelions grew over my blood that flooded a meadow,
Roses blossomed from weeds and out came my will to leave you.

Each petal fell with the grace of a dancer and I was uplifted into a world of light.

With a bottle of trouble in one hand, and you heart in the other.

-Chloe Aldecoa

To a memory:

I recall, on a weekend evening,
My body tells me Saturday,
That we laid on the small grass patch that laid beneath a tall mesquite tree.
Our fingers interlocked and our bodies fused together, in an effort to truly become one.

Owls hooted in a nearby nest, the wind swept my hair,
I remember, faintly, the way you smelt.

Like guilt, deceit.

Our chests inflated and deflated in sync.
I could feel your pulse in your wrist,
You were so calm.

A distant cat meowed in sorrow,
You looked over at me, smiled, and got up.

Moonlight danced on your skin and with a swift pivot,
You walked away.

Forever, you whispered.

Meant nothing to you, I hollered.

-Chloe Aldecoa

I will hold every man after you with contempt.
He’ll want a first chance, but  I will gaze down at him with second chance eyes.

he deserves a first impression, an at-a-glance judgement, but before he speaks I will already have decided why he won’t be wrapping himself around me.

and he will owe me an explanation for you, every man after you will answer for your misdeeds.

Do you all act like this? Do you all do this to us? What’s the cure?

and I won’t mean to offend an entire gender, but after being a victim of one member, it’s hard not to **** the whole crowd.
a stereotypical concept, but it’s one that’s being fed.

but, every man after you will have to hold up to the way you kissed me before I left. With presence, passion, a lingering mystery.
and he will have to be up to par with your words and the gentle touch you gave while lying down.

every man after you will need to tame me after a long day, the way you did, subtle aggression, but it was kind, sweet.

he’ll pray that he can be the one, but every many after you will have to pay up for your sins and stand up to your level.

- so, it’s hard to know what will happen, when I push them for what you did, but love them for being better than you.
-Chloe Aldecoa

New, not better.
Giving, not more forgiving.

Loving, not lovelier.
Softer, not the softest.

Brave, not the bravest.
Kind, not kinder.

Neverending, not ephemeral,
because, I pray she can stay forever with someone as precious as you,

but, she’ll need to know who made you so precious in the first place,
and , please, give me some credit.


- it’s only fair, I always accredit you when I’m told I’m picky, because, someone had to be the first to be everything I did not need.
-Chloe Aldecoa