As I stood there,
cleaning my closet,
In the middle of a bunch of lovely trinkets—
I realised, I had baggage.
A lot of it. It wasn’t just stuff.

It wasn’t just an old sweater,
—It was the smell of him.
And perhaps the lovely necklace
that reminded me of school—
Or the cutest folded letter I forgot
Someone gave me, years ago..

How could I let go?

But it was moving day.

Boxes weren’t that large to fit everything.

I had to choose.

Which ones would stay..


               And which….  

                          
                              I had to let go.

I know my parents’ reason of concern.
What could they have done?
What could they have said?
It’s no one fault,
There’s no one to blame.
Nostalgia was just
their daughter’s best friend.

We are late-bloomers,
If you will.
We’ll get there.
Eventually,
A little off? Yes,
Still, In time.
No rush.
Don’t be scared.
The house, the kids,
The job, the love.
We’ll get there.
We’ve been here.
We are just late bloomers,
trust the process,
We’ll be okay,
I just know.

To be just a face in somebody’s yearbook,
tenderly remembered by some eyes,
or maybe.. softly forgotten.

To be a passing stranger in the street,
Filling the background as if following
The imaginary script of someone else’s life.

—Coexisting in pages, or between the lines,
of multiple, existing storylines—

Playing the loyal friend sometimes;
The bubbly crush or the terrible villain
once or twice.

Whatever the role..
..we end up just lingering.

..craving.. desiring.. that funny, ephemeral feeling.

We end up just
    lingering,
          Yearning,
             Daydreaming,

to be part of
A day, a page.
A chapter, a year.

It’s the spark in my mom’s eyes,
when the family arrives.
It’s the photo my dad is taking, of us
having dinner.
It’s my sister picking her outfit, doing her makeup.  
It’s my aunties singing and laughing in the kitchen.
It’s the cozy and cheesy decoration I picked.
It’s the loveliest mess,
The warmest season of all.
While all the gifts are by the tree,
the greatest, is just being here.
Let me just be here.
One more Christmas.
One more year.

I wanted to cry
As I saw my mom’s mug—
Broken.

She was so sad,
So she fixed it.
It was a mug from Italy,
I brought it to her
as a souvenir once.  

She was so sad,
As if she brought it
herself,
She lingered.

I wanted to cry
As  I realised—
She got to see
Some places
Only through my eyes.

I wished,
I hoped,
Someday I can
Carry her with me
To every place she ever dreams.

Just glimpses of what it used to be
Second-hand memories, faded reflections
of the golden years.
It’s a different tomorrow.
I feel scammed and hollow.
This is not what was promised.
I am a grownup now—
Translation of
     Years hoarding sorrow—

My mom is at the edge of tears
Every time the situation is mentioned
I have to be strong
Because she can’t crumble
I have to be strong
Because It’s my turn
I want to be strong
Because it’s my turn
I need to be strong
Because she’s everyone’s rock
I will be strong
Because I am her rock.

I saw strength—
Arms that once held me,
Protected me
Turned into fragility:

The weakened shadow
Of the bravest man.—

I saw and I stood
Powerless,
Tears holding,
fears hounding.

I stood powerless,
wanting to give
some of my years
To the one heart
that gave me
Everything.

And I still remember every Christmas.
how I was hopeful, longing,
For what life had to offer.
I dreamed of love—
And how I would flourish in it.

It’s in my soul—
Like flesh pierced
By the glass-shaped pain
Sharp and raw.

Nobody knows how to help

I try to remove them,
the shattered memories
Each sharp shard
Lacerating my insides,
Tearing my spirit,
Pain echoing in flesh.

A ****** mess, I get more hurt.

Same old same,
Everything I touch,
stained—
  overflowing emotions,
Red, heavy, thick
Intense—  

It’s a deeper wound.
Larger than itself.
It keeps cutting.
It keeps tearing.
My Faith.

You get second-hand
updates
Of the way their hair looks
Piecing together glimpses
Of a parallel life
You hope next time
Some mutual friend shares their face
On a random Sunday
On that photos app
they look happier.

The symptoms included:
Chest tightness, nauseas
Laboured breathing, heavy heart.
They say it’s a natural reaction
—I must be allergic—

To

     Bitter memories and regrets.

There is another timeline,
where we are home,
—after a lovely Sunday birthday dinner
of friends

We are thinking of hosting one next.
We agree everyone will love the dessert.
We complain about tomorrow—
Usual Monday’s sorrow
We do our nightly routine.
I ask you if you want some water,
for your bedside.

—Not in this cruel one, no.
Yet in some other, —kinder— it is.

We could never be.

You had a malice in you,
I couldn’t recognise in me.

We could never be.

The roots of your envy,
Started to grow stagnant,
In the depths of my being.

We could never be.

I had to understand.
I couldn’t change this fate.
I had to let go of my faith.

We could never be.

The endearing love,
The Christmas parties,
The summers to come.

I am aware
Ignorance is bliss.

Yet,

I am aware.

I am too awake.

I am fully conscious!

This shall be the death
Of all my progress

I am aware!
Can you numb me again?

My mind is poisonous

I am aware

I am my own

                    worst enemy.

There’s potential
hidden in plain sight
Can’t you see it igniting?
—soul’s fire? The spark?
A brief glance
of my future plans..
Cozy and picturesque
I reckon they seem
  so lovely..
—In your eyes.
Surrender, will you?
It’s for the better
Tension is tempting
But resisting.. is crazy!

Evening air and dry text replies
It is a cold winter day,
in the midst of July.

Clear and loud silence,
surrounding her steps.
The sudden reflex to deflect.

A random call. A sudden ‘yes’.
Opening door, a familiar face.
Same old, same old.. exhausting exchange.

Dancing hands, usual soulless gaze.
Curious hands, hypnotising embrace.
Rushing hands, the usual regret.

Lust overdoses, her soul feels sore.
Another heart rash. Regret. Repeat. Regret.
emotional hangover,   unread morning-after text.

You could go hide
In the edges of the earth.
In the deepest of the oceans.
Yet, my soul would know,
I — would know,
you are there.
  For it finds you more still
Than any precise satellite
or Gps there could be.

I guess I’ll always be looking for you

In every crowd

And I know,
You won’t be there.

But maybe,

someday,

our eyes
will meet again

They keep on taking,

I am already empty.

What else can you strip me of?

My soul is already naked,

My flesh exposed

My heart vulnerable and lost

It’s a lovely day. Another lovely birthday. Sadness keeps expanding.. by the 29th, it has rooted in my heart

I’ve got a Time Machine.
But I have to warn you,
It’s a painful ride,
going to the past.

You don't have to search anymore
It’s okay, I’ll be your company
As we’ll be dreaming under different skies
Cloud nine resting , still, we can settle,
My embrace will be your home,
Your eyes will ground me
This feeling, our only battle

I’m selfish, I know
I’m stubborn, which, may be worse
I overshare… just not enough
I tend to ignore the facts that may be relevant
I’m amusing, yet I can make you sad
You’ll always want to know more,
you’ll never can
Poetry writes itself, doesn’t it?
Now I’m here, stuck,
with the image you want for me
no makeup will cover the fact that
I am still sad about it
No poem will soothe me enough
To ever forget about it

La galaxia de la que fue parte, colapsó
Con fuerza de mil soles,
cual supernova
Resurgió
Donde el viento sople, ella ira
Creando micro universos,
Al saludar

Que inmensas son
aquellas melancolías
Llenas de quizás— reales, tal vez,
Solo en alguna otra realidad.
Un sinnúmero de fotos
En una cámara sin revelar

A tote bag filled with poetry books and a head full of dreams
of you