(I like..)


Small
....productive groups
.....quietly discussing
.............simple,
...effective coups
......are inspiring...


better to hear
......hushed conversations
.........gentle voices,
.....not heated discussions...


i prefer,
....modulated, well-thought of
......responses,
........they discourage
...........frenetic dispositions...


i'd rather
........have coffee
.....in quaint cafes,
...........they offer
................privacy...


i like,
how
s o l i t u d e
.......nurtures,
::::::::::::::
.....then......
sets my soul
::::::::: free!

(10W X 5)




Sally


Copyright September 6, 2016  
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

my psychiatrist tells me i have holes in me.
she says it as though it is something
i should already know.
and when she says it,
the shift inside me is something i wish i could compare
to the grinding of tectonic plates,
if only i were strong enough to bring about an earthquake.

but since i am a stranger even to aftershocks,
i keep quiet.
my earthquake is stillborn,
expressed instead as a nod,
as a chewing of the lip,
as a silent, compliant “mhm.”
and the urge that nestles itself at the pit of my stomach
is not an urge to disagree;
it is an urge to forget.

because my psychiatrist tells me i have holes in me.
she says it as though it is something i should already know,
and she says it in a way that is not meant to make me feel incomplete,
but it is a way that still does,
and if i can forget this,
even for a moment,
i can forget that i am not okay.

i do not like not being okay;
i do not like having problems,
and my psychiatrist,
she tells me i have holes in me and she says it
as though it is a problem.

and so begins a slow disintegration:
i become but a bearer of problems,
a garden growing only weeds —
something in need of fixing.
i see myself a war-torn landscape,
dry and cracked and lacking life.
i see myself the kind of ground you step on and say,
“remember when things used to grow here?
remember when it used to be green?”

i am still trying to be green,
always trying to be green,
but my psychiatrist tells me
i have holes in me,
and suddenly green becomes a color i will never know how to paint.

outside my psychiatrist’s office,
on the wall of the waiting room,
there is a painting of flowers —
irises and a geranium —
and the leaves, i know, are supposed to be green,
but the paint is old and faded
and they don’t look it.

and for a moment,
i think
that maybe,
whether iris
or geranium
or boy riddled with holes,
maybe it is possible to bloom
even if you are not green.

(a.m.)

if you think you've been forgotten,
you are not.
if you think you are alone,
you are not.
if you think you are small,
you are not.
if you think you're a coward,
you are not.
if you think you're unworthy,
you are not.
if you think you are unloved,
you are not.
you're alive.
your heart is still beating.
and in your heart lies fire
in your heart there is a spark
that will never fade
in your heart lives hope
and a chance to start anew.

I get it now
Those were the hard realities
I could never understand
How you could be so cold

No please
I don't like hugs...

You were right
I wouldn't let go
Of all the loss
Oh what a load

But one day
I realized
I was either going to live
And be happy
Or **** myself


So I just shut it all off
My feeling's
Like a light switch

Ya I heard he died
I don't go to funerals...

June 1st, 1997
You come out in what feels like a blaze of glory,
There is what seems to be the sun above you,
There is what feels to be the ground beneath you,
Everything is loud and bright, and you're screaming as loud as you possibly can, because there is nothing that will stop you

October 20th, 2001
Your big sister asks you what you want to be for Halloween this year,
You exclaim loud and boldly, "Daddy!"
You see him as a hero,
A man that can do literally anything and everything,
You put your blanket on your back and run around, pretending that you are daddy and not even superman can stop you
You scream as loud as you can because there is nothing that will stop you

November 15th, 2003
You're used to mommy and daddy clapping at each other, but this time is different,
You hear mommy yelling at daddy,
You distinctly hear her scream, "Your children need you more than I do, please do this for them, at the very least!"
You see daddy walk out of the front door with a few bags in his hands,
She kept screaming it as loud as she could, but nothing could stop him

June 1st, 2010
Your father has been vacant from your life for years, and you've gotten passed the idea by now,
Your mother still cries herself to sleep,
The amount of times she told you that she'd never be able to find a man like your father almost outweighs the amount of times you wish you had the chance to see him again,
Maybe to say hello, or maybe to scream at him
No amount of screaming will stop someone, but it especially won't stop your father,
You know this,
He at least could come to see her when she's back in there,
When she's hooked up to all of those machines that are pumping her full of the life she didn't even want at that point because all of the life she once had was taken away when your father left,
I hope he's happy with her

May 22nd, 2012
Your mother is getting bad again and your father is too busy away on a honeymoon with the woman he left your mother for,
The doctors don't really have anything great to say, other than, "We're doing the best we can, we know she'll beat it, we just know it."

January 18th, 2014
Your father hasn't talked to your mother since her first hospital visit,
Your mother is in stage 4 of cancer, and no amount of screaming will make your father come back, and no amount of screaming will stop the cancer from taking what little is left of your mother

June 1st, 2016
This is your first birthday without your mother,
You're hanging pictures of her in your new apartment,
Your father calls you, but no amount of screaming at him will make you feel justified,
This is not his fault, but the least he could've done was be there for his children, you never needed him as much as your mother did, but he still could've at least been there

September 30th, 2016
You wake up in what feels like a blaze of glory,
The sun is above you,
The ground is beneath you,
Your father calls,
He asks if you want to get breakfast,

He spends the next hour and a half screaming to you about how sorry he is, about how it was his fault, that he should've been there when you all needed him,
But no amount of screaming will change this

No amount of screaming has ever stopped anything

Anger exists.

This giant mirror reflecting past.

Rarely is justice blind
When it comes to color,
And I pick up the bitter facts from
The daily reports and place them
Next to my embattled soul.
I sink deep into my chair,
Pen in hand and wonder what
The hell a brown man can write
about the black man's experience.
I conflict with my poetical asphyxia,
Life isn't all love and wonderful sorrow,
I stare at the cold reality,
I believe if i wrote about anything
Else this chair would be a grave,
He wrote about flowers they said,
He wrote about dreams they said.

But no,
Those dead men have no words,
They bare their skin and died for it,
A murderous prowl on the ebony
Children with benevolent excuses
As to why it's legal,
They laugh so hard behind closed
Doors and fist bump in secret,
Stubborn roots dictate the taught
Generational hatred,
They find fruit with their hate
And split men from color refreshing
The mirror, reflecting reflections.

And when all hell is broken loose,
A people's voice is heard
Wit windswept ears,
Like God and the first word,
We will hear it only once,
The avenging fires burn in the hearts,
Though hate with its unending roots
Creeps into the darkness
Against the atrocious scythe of ignorance,
We will remember a voice.

"Black lives exist."
Yes they do.
As does hatred
and ignorance.

For whom does this poet speak?

it's hard to let you go
but i know.. i have to
because
i need you to fly
so i'm going to burn
every picture
of you
into my mind
so i have you
there
for all time
i'm going to dream
of every word
you ever said
and i will forever
want to sleep
with the tears
on my pillow
so i know
you are nearby
i'm going to
love you
for as long
as my heart
will allow
until it tells me
'that's enough
it hurts too much..'
and i finally
let you go

I could never write a poem as beautiful as you are to me
Nothing man-made
Nothing in nature
Nothing can ever be

And if the universe should have an end
Maybe I'll find you there
I'm too numb to feel this pain
I'm too young to feel this hopeless

So I sit with my back to the wall and my head in my hands
Knowing about nightfall
Thunderstorms
And black holes
I could never write a happy ending

A four-leaved clover
I found million years ago
When I pursued love
At the end of the world
Lies at the bottom of my drawer
Together with the ashes of a fairytale
I don’t need anymore
I have found peace for my soul
Faith for my mind
And a patch for my heart
Underneath the starry skies
I lie weightless