you returned from a long day and
i was at the table on the desktop rushing to finish something up.
without words you started to play jazz on the tv and you grabbed me
by the hand and with a little shake i’m up,
smiling
certain of my uncertainty of what was to come next.

we started to waltz like fools all around the sala,
passing over pillows
me not even caring that you didn’t take off your shoes and
then we kept on stumbling since you don’t know how to dance.

and then we fell back
onto this crimson rug
we layed laughing and trying to catch our breaths at the same time..
unsure of how we led up to then.


through the crimson door,
my father walked through
wondering what i’m doing laying by myself
listening to jazz
with all my love letters scattered on this crimson rug..
i think i miss you...

i’ve grown very old since i used to be looked favorably upon
i have memories in each crevice on my face.
my wrinkles.
my happy scars

my husband would call them
he’s gone away a couple of years now and i grow lonesome at times
i don't see the beauty my husband once saw anymore

it started to fade away with the blonde to then gray hair on my head
they say its innate
along with the feeling of having youthful qualities
i used to be so ambitious and outgoing
i was one of the girly girls
not so beautiful on the outside perse but beautiful.

but now i dont do things that are ambitious
i send letters to my grandchildren in Austria
their mother always loved to travel
she was ambitious just like me
and she acted upon her ambition from the start
it made her beauty show in and out

oh treasure your youth young one
for you always are in a rush to get older
and try makeup
and wear heels
and go out with boys or girls
you are going to regret it when you get older like me.
be beautiful in your youth
be beautiful for eternity

i’ve been good thanks for asking
i tasted the break in his voice with the phrase he practiced in his mirror most mornings
when he’d pass places we’ve been
how about you, long time no see
his eyes looked cloudy
cheeks riddled with adolescent stubble yet
rosey in random splotches
his hooded eyes
heavy with dread after chasing the wrong one
apathetic and deadened
never pleaded yet
trying to reconcile what we had
attempting to
see the sun in my eyes again
they shine bright now
just not for him

it can’t be undone

the pressure to have the
perfect summer
i look at my baby hands-
as if they’ve never laid a finger
on a sponge
the Ajax and sprinkles of water
coagulating into dusty paste
against a tub
the color-
my nails of course-
glistened against the tense rays
of our obnoxious star
‘créme brûlée you say?’
was the color

she was a poisonous flower
among all the delicate posies
and gentle baby’s breath

unable to be felt without gloves
unable to be wafted without a mask

he knew he couldn’t have her
and so his desire grew greater

and passed away with traces of toxic passion in his lungs
and lust on his fingertips

what are you doing
waiting for someone
who
i don’t remember anymore
i don’t think they remember i’m waiting either
so what are you doing now

holding on to what could’ve been

i wrote all the things that made my skin crawl first
started off with an ol' list.
-clipped nail remainings on a newly swept floor
-ads
-clingy people
i took a break and i looked out at the bustling people and the streets
and store windows covered in streams of red, orange, and yellow lights.
it was gradually getting dark out.
my cup is almost empty..

the truth was (is) i missed you
and i wrote of the things that bothered me
because not seeing you bothers me.
you make me so happy and we're trying this new thing that involves us being s p a c e d out and i'm not used to it.
me and you are so involved its like i'm not myself without you..
ugh that came out wrong..

i read through our messages from as early as december sixteenth to postpone a mental breakdown
in the car earlier and i giggled at stupid things you'd say but after
the happiness fled from me so quickly and i felt the muscles relax in my cheeks.

im just a sack of meat
who cares about too much ****
and shuts out negative opinions from well-meaning people
only hoping to
prove people wrong
only trying to give those the benefit of the doubt
and is just too
goshdarn
emotional.

feverous wet lips
caress and glide against each other
relentlessly
inseparable
pulling apart but never apart
reddened cheeks filled with warmth and
desire
wild eyes feasting on seemingly natural inclination
she lies there with starving thighs
eat her up
something in him said
as he goes for the bite

taking walks on this chilly evening
on w 45 st with a caramel wrapper in my back pocket
thinking about the old crushed valentine
i placed next to the waste paper basket from my ex saying
she realized she wanted to be friends with
a pack of chalky Sweettarts taped behind it.

taking walks
realizing i could've done things differently
like put the pieces together.
realizing she became more distant progressively for some time.
she was cutting off communication more and more
like it was a tumor..
as if if our love developed it would've been
cancerous.

she was just protecting herself..

i walked outside with poisonous thoughts within my cranium
get over yourself
i went outside in hopes of getting air
youre choking
and switching my focus from you
and also to avoid...you
but you came back



let me disappear.

just got out of the hottest and longest shower
cuz i felt like i could possibly make my problems swirl down the drain.
there was no towel so f00k it-
i walked up to my room and took a nap in the nudee

i woke up to a paper under my pillow
i felt the crisp feel of it and i ripped it out of its hidden place.
It read:

“Longing is the joy of being sad-..”

i-i didn’t understand..
in smaller font than you usually write
it said..

“..i’ve been longing for so long i couldn’t describe..
im limiting myself with you..you wouldn’t understand..
i had to go... i hope you still love me..”

i peeked out the window beside me and your car was gone..
as usual.
i just laid back in my bed
and tucked myself in
and fell asleep to the sound of my world falling apart.

i can never admire a garden again
for i see your reflection in the flowers..

i can never write a love letter again
for i fear it reminds me of all of what we had..

i can never deny you again..
for we both know
i can’t..
and

i can never be myself again
for i fear

you’re doing fine
without me and my
melancholic writings..

i take verses from song
of solomon so as to feel
what’s it’s like to be loved
like the shullamite girl
i wrap the verses of isaiah
‘round the rings of my simple fingers
so as not to forget all that is promised
i grasp the verses of revelation
in an unshakable fist
so as not to fear what is to come

/

the chain
is as strong as its weakest link
harmartia
you have oxidized the chains
that had guarded my
mind and heart
you weakened and exposed
the harmartia in me
leaving me ashamed
unforgivable and
unloveable

i watch people when on mulberry,
there is always the little man
that hides in his
shack-type flower shop
extending from the deli
he keeps it closed when bristling winds
fight through the plastic flap that
tardy boyfriends peek through and plead for
orchids when late to their dinners
there's the tall slender man
with a faded stick and poke on his wrist
that takes turns
smoking and drinking his coffee
and hocks up phlegm and shoots out
like a spiderweb
the oblivious little girl with
***** blonde ringlets
steps on it with her new light up skechers
being preoccupied looking at puppies doing their business on
signs that say clean up after your dog

and then i boarded my bus to see the same thing unfold tomorrow.

i have 3 helpings of pollo guisada
the fat girl in me was still salivating from the saborrr
its soo good, gracias bamba thank you
she smiles at me
watching me take each bite to notice if i
somehow crunch on a bone and make a face to then
tell all the family in puerto rico that i
was disgusted at her food.
she takes a seat,
ghloe, why ju so skeeny mama
ju no eat en school ?
i look from my placemat with a water stain and to her,
i smirk
of coursee, it just disappears to i dont know where
she walks off back to the kitchen to start preparing tupperwares of her leftovers for my dads lunch breaks for the week
i went on my health app and logged my progress-
still nothing,
i thought about my inability to gain
ran up to my room and started to write.

Wendy,

what we have is a
tough love.
To be respectful i
have to call you
****/auntie.
But honestly,
you're my age so i really wont.
You've got a lot of attitude
and you're never afraid to
speak your mind.
Sometimes im amused by it
but my amusement of that conduct
only lasts so long.

even though your tough,
i could be tough too.

You were't raised with my father
and grandpa's not around.
Then shortly after
you were seperated from your mother
for being with the man she's with.
Since all four of you were seperated,
you guys all came out different,
but grandpa's strong genes led you guys to
all have the same
eyes
eyebrows and
the gene that gives you the extra urge
to want you to act on your anger..
hence why grandpas' in jail.

From the way you talk and carry yourself,
i realized that you want to live the way your friends do
with families that seem to have their lives all together.
instead, you put up a barrier
giving off the impression of
you not giving anything and
you could care less and
you could handle yourself
fine.
But when i look in your eyes.
You're crying out for help.
Admit to me
you're broken and you need help finding the pieces
from the disaster that has destroyed
years worth of childhood memories.
that had destroyed you and
has forced you to grow up.
that had destroyed you and
now resorts you to tapping into your
grandmas liquor cabinet from time to time
to "let go"
just knowing it will come back to you
right after the hangover.

love is such a distraction
leaves you dizzy
unexpectedly you fell victim
like a child becoming drunk
after consuming
sun-beaten grapes
something we crave and
hate at once
sickening we can’t look at a
garden and not think of their beauty
outweighing that of the mere
botany
not being able to look into a reflection
without seeing their smile
the blurring of the façade you
try to uphold
stripping you vulnerable
and needing reciprocation-
to a cycle of broken lovers
could haves
should haves
would haves
the waves will still crash
the rocks will still erode
the wind will still blow
and you’ll never get
that time back

we bury our feelings, hypotheticals,
and curious hearts from the remnants
of what was left in the void where
we both stash away our junk.
Only for the illusions to be rediscovered and relived when
"the time is right" like the ****
you keep in your sock drawer.
we bury feelings deeper and deeper only
to reveal that we couldn't really live without
the pain and memories of love and
how I was never good at playing games.
I almost expect for us to never be able to
be the same.

i fell in love
with his mind
the way he spoke
the way he cared for
our people
the way he seems to genuinely
care about the words that
trailed off my lips
like sugar on the rim of a martini
you’re his favorite part
he can taste it
we sit side by side
while i wish we spoke
and you continued to engage
the way you do-
you fascinate me
maybe it’s the hispanic female
in me that pictures us telling our dogs
how we met,
you loved my writings
and as soon as you spoke
i fell in love with your mental
but in silence and sporadic click clacks
of keyboard keys
do we coexist and think of
we

times of random boxes of mamitas ices poppin up on my doorstep is coming
times of jumping into a bathing suit because a sun shower is on its way and mami isn’t taking us to the community pool- is coming
times of begging my parents to work with my siblings and i and blast the AC just for the car ride going is coming
times of dripping ice cream down my forearm till it gets sticky is coming
summer is coming

will you be back in my arms by then mi cielo..

unraveling the powdery ball
from being encased in plastic
sinvergüenza!
you left the price on it to
prove how much you do for me
i watched the bath bomb
that you bought me months ago
still fizz after i put it to soak
after months of being disregarded
and saved for the perfect,
most overwhelming time,
it still had it's touch
the passing months
we broke down
in lukewarm waters
traced our love with chalky fingers
and the memories didn't matter anymore
essential oils fill the air of my bathroom
and the stress releases and i become pure again
it was so beautiful and
i must thank you
for what you left of me

scrubbing grime from the
shower walls
with only a cup of water in my body
i wished to endure my fast,
witholding ingestion to
spite my face
feeling dizzy
i reluctantly accept the gentle
beams of sun that hug
my neck
and caress my shoulders
reminding me i hate it here
and
i miss that hole i used to be able to call
my escape
that hole that i met each of my friends
and got to know them better
build memories that would
be forgotten once everybody moved away
just wanted it to last a little longer.

i sat on the round rug
and looked at the circle block once again
at my big age.
perplexed
i'm still trying to fit it into the square cutout
and I grow frustrated
digging into the rug
catching red stale fibers stuck underneath my nails
knowing it won't fit
but maybe it'll adjust
for me
with enough pressure
it will become malleable
when no ones watching
succumbing to my loving force
with gentle tact
it would change
maybe that was where I went wrong
and so i

It's crazy to think that every day of life puts us closer to death. I mean it's life that kills us. Living is a slow suicide. Time is the pills we take, the calories we refuse to eat. Choosing to stay alive or choosing to die- in the end, the only thing that separates them is a handful of years and the questions we ask that never get answered.

                                                               Right?
                                                               Agnes

how can you turn a blind eye
to what we could be

i grab your hands and make them latch on
to my thighs
thighs that could give
a dead man life and so i
took your fingers and
trailed them all over
the bumps
scars
stubble
and bruises
telling my story
all of what you don’t hear
choose not to see
yet feel
caress
and ******
to embrace without letup..

your smile is my most favorite beautiful thing in the world.






keep smiling for me sugar

she stared out at the vast openness of the
sea
so much and so little
as far as she could see
reminding herself of something too familiar..

she stepped onto the ledge of the
ever-sinking boat
and took a step into the ocean
to finally feel something
at last
to nothing
at all.


she looked so beautiful, vulnerable, and willing
all at once
as each air bubble escaped through
those blue lips

me and her,
who we'll call Aylah,
dated for a while but
I was abusive.
Physically and mentally
due to my childhood.
A year of putting up with me led
her into therapy
and she soon broke up with me..

After we still spoke from time to time
but she was much more
                 distant
and I don't blame her.
I was a terrible boyfriend to Aya
So to make up for the past..
(And I have improved)
I invited her to lunch with me..
but somehow the conversation spiraled
to how I was a terrible listener
and she wasted a year of her life staying with me..
that I was the reason she was still unstable and
she'll never fall for me again.
I said a couple of things as well..

She didn't respond.
One hour went by.
One day went by.
One week went by.
Until I finally got a text.

"I'm dying now." she said

"Wym?" i said.
I knew she'd never be a victim of self-harm.
I refuse to believe it.
It's just not in her nature.
her sweet, lovable nature
and for a year she put up with me.
She could handle this,
Right?
She wanted space and
that's what I'll give her.
She'd have to be joking.
She probably meant
her phone was dying.

Silly.

girls that wear purses for book bags to school
are the superior race in the hallways
and don’t you dare bump them !
they have a significant gait that commands
attention
they are
the sugar clumps in abuelas café that
she grinds with her spoon
and consumes with her soda crackers

i sit by the shade
as we watch the sun dip
into foreign waters,
i glance in your
molasses-coated eyes
your fruit is sweet
to the taste
your touch leaves me satisfied
yearning for more
like freshwater springs in a desert
unreal- like a far fetched dream
i trace your gentle arm and
feel your heartbeat
pumping
rushing
knowing you feel what i
feel
and now what we do
is up
to you..

i love my loneliness.
What I don't love is when people
comment on how they feel about it.
Simple.

-

I appreciate the opportunity of my solitude
in violin.
gives me time to observe and take
note of certain behaviors that
(normal) kids my age acquire.
But it's like,
everyone's wanting to be liked to
they all dress familiar
wearing their savings
rather than saving it for something
worth while
since everything's just a fad now and most-
I can't say all act the same and
they blame it on how they were raised and the neighborhood they grew up in.
Even though I know adults who do the same.
Hopefully they'll grow out of it, like
these adults haven't.
Maybe everyone needs a little lonely
for some social cues.

i saw a different side to myself
every time we linked up
you were like electric-
my powerhouse in which i thrived off
simple hellos and winks here and there
small talks and strolls on your days off
lighting up my days
showing me all the ways in which i never saw
that i
truly was beautiful..

observing and studying.

behind every face, there is a story.
Which we all fail to
realize at times.

Fail to realize that she may
seem
like she has her
sh*t together even though
it's just a front.
She's on her way to
nowhere.
Running away from anxieties and expectations.
At least she has somewhat of a smile
right?
That's all we need to put up this front that
everything's fine?!
Fail to realize that he has creases on his
face
looking as if caused by laughter
yet from
shedding tears of both
pain and joy.
Scars on wrists and bruises on his
back
that stays as hidden stories
only revealed when he
wears short-sleeved shirts.
Seems like the only time
people want to pay attention.
Funny right?
Couldn't notice before right?

i get more sick
to my stomach
every time the
door opens and

it’s not you.

love is relative
those who search will never find
yet
i stumbled into you.
we’re over yet i thank you
for your presence
scar tissue developed over my
still-beating heart-
making it difficult but not impossible.
i loved you-
don’t you understand?
mounted up on you-
you whispered you’d never dream of hurting me
and like a beautiful fool
i showed you my full hand and you
played me like it was poker
showed me your cards in the end
and i
was the joker.

love that all the sounds above are beautifully muted
when it seems like you're underwater,

it's almost calming..
just what I need in conditions like
these.

drowning will be
my way of finding a
total state of peace.

if that makes sense
sense
sEnSe

my head hurts
can you kiss my forehead more often..
don’t be a stranger
there’s a lot of surface area so could you please..

i refer to them as brain kisses
it helps soothe headaches
your energy transfers through your
gentle loosely-puckered lips and dilutes the bad energy
that’s stored in the front of the brain
you’re top of mind
help me

and for a moment i disliked you less ;
the night a crescent moon appeared
next to venus ;
i felt my bitterness defrost
reluctantly
i let the corners of my lips turn up
making me forget how you’d let me down and
to no avail, you keep me on the side
not by yours of course and
i was right once again.

i’m not one to fall into these things
these are for foolish girls who put faith in the stupidest boys thinking that they were put on this earth- to mold somebody’s son into a man (?)
i honestly never thought it’d end- but when
it’s too good to be true
it is.
and to think i’d be the one that you wanted and
don’t tell them all the good i did for you because i won’t look like the bad guy anymore.
but you probably have that covered.

now every time i smell
lemongrass and coconut
i will always remember how you
ghosted on me

and when i lit the wick in my bedroom
i let it crackle and take to the burning match
until a pool of smoldering hot wax developed
and i’d dip my finger in
and watch it solidify
and
then suspend my finger above the kind dancer flame and see it melt back into the candle cup

it’s all just a cycle
it’s going to burn at first but
i would love again.

this morning
i told the flowers
what i’d do for you
and they blossomed

grungy teenage trigueña with
slits in her brows
new york city sewers
were cleaner than
her speech
she carried herself like
she’s the only one who exists
i complimented her before she stepped into her train
her curls bounced as she walked out of my life

im enamored with
the thought of death so much that
my demons have crept

into the minds of
my past lovers and they all
have something to say..

my chest feels caved in
as i sit in the midst of chaos
in between a girl with heavy eyeliner and a neon pink bandeau
and a middle-aged man swaying
his eyes aglow

leaving me wondering

where did i go..

It’s dark where I am.
not metaphorically entirely for once.

I wish I could see his face
if only I could just turn around,
see if I could help him, knowing well of all of my previous efforts
And their failures with each attempt.
I forfeit the idea and instead,
I look to my left and see my parents
holding hands both busy keeping silent
the high school
middle school and
elementary sweethearts.

They stayed together through such hard times.
How long do I have until he realizes that my efforts truly are
worthless, unmoving, and
meaningless..
Does he think this already?
Am I too late?

my mother admits that
my birth
followed by my siblings
hindered her growth
as an individual
as if we could've
kept ourselves
from leaving the womb
just a little longer
and now
she is stuck
learning about herself through
trial and error
mishap and reconstruction
of person
tearing herself down to
build us up and
she admits that her life
would not be bound
to the crumbling walls of this life
this current one
had she listened to the adults around
her had she chose
him
over my father

i found myself in the middle of
an intervention with family and friends
alike.
A wrinkled hand with long opal-colored nails
stroked my shoulder.
soon enough a folded chair was cracked open for
concerned persons to tell me their opinion on how
i should’ve done things.

Up first was Eileen.
she looked more clean yet saddened a little..
i saw it in her gentle eyes-
her long eyes that were only brought to life
at the bonfires in the bronx on late nights
when she was supposed to stay at ‘buela’s house.
Tio found out one day and fixed her up real good
yet the gossip in my family spread like wildfire.
She shared a couple of words on how she’s changed for the better
and she should’ve caught herself sooner.
it was the association of her bad friends that got her in trouble.
though i’ve seen her come into my house at midnight
eyes more red than my father’s “tans” when we used to go on vacations together..

her eyes were constantly darting back to Tio for approval of her statements i guess..
i tilted my head ever so slightly to the right and
studied her posture and replayed those words over
trying to see clearly where she put the emphasis.

we both knew she wasn’t convincing anyone.

when i dice
warm-tendered skin
like a blade to
mango exposing sweet flesh
and glide cut glass
on pulsing veins
i feel present again-
brought back to earth by fire
take a long crunch and the juice
seems to drip and stream
off the side of my mouth
i stay needing more
never reaching contentment
feeling it stiffen and stick on my elbows
like icee syrup
a lightening bolt of heat
that runs through the sutures
of the back of my skull
i let out a deep sigh
needing to continue
needing to go deeper
go farther
release and resort to a pile
of used ribbons
loose and maleable
and limp
like my visions of you