Dear 13,
       If I had any advice for you it's this; get ready to fight. **** is coming around the corner for you real soon and I advise you to get more resilient. Guys are not out to get you. I know all the boys say ignorant **** to you, but get used to it until you're done high school. People are different when you leave high school, especially boys. Guys will want to talk to you (just on a friend level), so stop with your narrow minded misandrist thoughts.
       You're going to have to grow up quicker than most of your friends and that's okay. Don't spend so much time by yourself. Take the bus and train more to the city to visit your family. Get to know them now before you turn 17. Don't try to act tough, you are tough. High school is a joke. Spend more time in band and don't be afraid of being a band geek.
       You're serious, so loosen up. You only get to **** up a couple of times, and that's what the teen years are for. (Best to do it before you turn 18). Don't get too fired up and in a rage over high school. Most of the kids are *** holes who have no idea what the hell they're doing.
       Hug your mom more. She's one tough cookie and loves you beyond the stars. You're going to lose some friends, but it's okay because they'll come back to their senses and spend time with you again. Thrive off of heartbreak. Embrace it. You'll turn out to be a more loving person than most of your friends that closed themselves off when they got hurt.
        Start singing now! Start the lessons! You have potential and you will have a way better voice than starting at 16.
        Don't date in high school. I can tell you that not dating in high school was the best decision. With everything going on, it's best to wait.
        Don't worry, you're going to be able to graduate high school despite the financial situation. Mom is going to do all that she can to keep you in high school. (Don't worry, you'll be able to go to Community College and get your Associate's Degree on time as well).
        Open up more to your mom. Beg her to let you use transportation on your own. And by God, LEARN TO DRIVE AT 16. DO NOT WAIT UNTIL 18. The early driving experience will pay off (and you'll be less scared on the road). Don't be afraid of making mistakes. Take it with a grain of salt. It's better to make mistakes now than when you are 20.
        You'll get to travel a lot. MAKE SURE YOU BLOG ALL OF IT AT ONCE BEFORE YOU LOSE THE PICTURES AND CAN'T FIND THEM. :(
        All of your cousins are going to start having kids in 2 years and start dropping out of school. Don't judge them. Don't get too attached to the situation. Some of them mature and some of them do not. It's their life. Get closer with their kids. They are going to lose most of their friends when they get pregnant and they are going to need you. They'll appreciate it.
         Don't get a MySpace and throw out those cheap plastic gold hoop earrings immediately. Throw out all of that black make up ****. It makes you look whiter than Gandalf.
         Your teen years are not going to be like High School Musical or any other teen movie. It's going to be a rough patch, but be sure to laugh because it's really not that bad. Make sure you rise above your struggle because they will use you as an example as someone who made it.
         By the way, you get your dream car, you get to go to your dream university, and you get to move where your family is. Everything that you work for eventually comes to place.

With Love,
20

The walls that scream opportunity
Now scream memories.
My footsteps once walked with life,
Now fade in the distance
Leaving a legacy and trail of unimportant steps;
Last steps of victory.
Each room looks different.
A cold goodbye that shakes a Senior's hand.
It clenches...
Squeezes the bones
As murmurs peep from the floor.
Voices of the past start to mumble....
Whisper...
Speak...
Shout...
Scream....
I turn black and white
With the rest of the pictures
Welcoming a sliver of my soul to join them.My school colors bleed behind me...
like a cape.
As I walk towards my Confirmation.
The golden paper blinds my eyes with its shiny, reflective ribbon.
These exit doors glow.
Fill my heart with anxiety.
Mesmerized by these
Sights...
Feelings...
I don't feel myself walking.
I have no choice.
I'm flying to freedom.
Sweet, sweet freedom.

My life is a lot like the English language.
None of it makes ******* sense.

I can't seem to write about you on paper
Because I know that I am facing you.
I don't wanna face you.
Stay as far away from me.

Back in '99 everyone sat on their stoop,
while we ran through the water from the fire hydrant.
Double Dutch ran all the way down the block until 9 p.m.
Neighbors sat on the porch with beer in their hands while smoking a blunt.
We had no idea that half of the block were trap houses.
Or the fact that there was a bed bug chamber not that far away.
Bugs travelled through all the row homes right after we left.

Eighteen years later, I drove down the block.
Some stayed, some moved away; still doing the same old thing.
Some windows boarded up, some broken.
No double dutch, no street ball, or chalk on the sidewalks;
Just the same old bugs crawling around.
Buckius St..what a small *** street.

Don't worry...
We give the world vision
Words with color
Tasteful. delicious. language.

We stroke sixty shades of beauty
Accent the body
Observe. perfect. imperfections.

We layer music like cake
A sonorous crunch of bittersweet flavor
Crisp. textured. harmonies.

We expose raw motives of human beings
The aperture is our eye
Zoom. Focus. Click.

Don't worry...
Don't let Corporate America fool you.
Sure, we need doctors, lawyers, nurses, and politicians...but at the end of the day,
       that painting
       that melody
       that book
       that photo
  sparks dreams. desires. emotion.

It was never a crush.
Only strong admiration.

I imagined your lips soft and strong,
With a little tugging in between.
Not too much tongue,
but one long kiss of passion and a bite of lust.

Your neck seems like a good place to hide.
Warm and comforting.
Though your thumb would caress my cheek
And my hands lay on your shoulder.

When I stare at your lips,
they don't speak.
Not to me.
Reality eats infatuation
And watches the clips in my mind.

Your lips
Are no match for mine,
But have have died on me.

I noticed you afar in your tainted uniform and deeply ironed apron.
When you walked with swagger and a little confidence, your dark hair stayed in place and reflected from your sunrise brown eyes.
Straight shoulders that arched your back and showed the bottom of your rose tattoo on your right bicep.
You approached me with that cocky charming waiter boy attitude,
sparkling white teeth and cunning smile.
Definitely a University boy
Can't be no older than 22
I slipped in a couple questions along with my order.
Are you local?
college boy?
I'm not an expert at flirting and you can probably tell that I haven't before.
You went easy on me.
"I board at the University ten blocks from here, but live three blocks from the diner. I crash at my mom's occasionally, but I like college."
You made it look like you were doing work by filling up sugar canisters.
I was enjoying the coffee too much.

It was 2:45.
You got off at 3.
I grabbed a pen and wrinkled napkin on the corner of the table.
I dotted my "I"s with stars and wrote 10 digits meticulously with a steady right hand.
You handed me the check and walked cooly back to the cash register.
Time was ticking, but I didn't want to be desperate.
I flicked my long straight black hair to my shoulder so it could bring out my eyeliner.
I walked to the register and nochalantly gave you the check.
I smiled and gave you the tip.
You threw the tip aside as the register flung open and held the written napkin in the light.
I walked out in confidence and exactly at 3:00.

I forgot my headphones.
  Taking the 6AM bus.....and no headphones...
       Brilliant!

I look out the window with a cold hard stare.
The bus accelerates from the station.
Vroom glug glug glug Vroom! glug glug
           Vvvrrrrrrmmmmmm
    It leaves and makes a sharp right turn at the corner.
The passengers make no effort to stay still in their seats.
      They are asleep.
  Chomp....chomp..gulp....chomp
The passenger two seat across from me eats a bag of chips.
     Sssssssstttttttt
   We stop.
        Ssssttt. KER-SQUEAK!
The door slowly opens.
   Clip clop Clip Clop Clip
A business woman walks consistent steps similar to a metronome click.
   Behind that make-up is a woman who is still half asleep.
  Ssssstttttttttttttt      Vrrrrmmmmmmm
                 SNAP...SNAP.....POP!
  Her gum clicks to her tongue as she flips out a magazine from her large Coach Bag.
         scrit     scrat      scrit     scrat    scrit    scrat
As an old man rubs to nickels together;
staring down at the platform with his hand rested on his leg.

     Bump....Bump..DING
  My stop is up.
Where has the time gone?
I fell in love with these sounds.
  My ears didn't even have to make love to music.
Why should anyone ever want to drown sounds out?
That's our problem.
We drown this world out.
     But the world is beautiful when it wakes up.

Gardens make me feel alive.
For as broken as I am,
The flowers calm me with their simplicity.
They never worry.
They are bunched together and make the best of each other.
They talk so soft, to the point where we can't hear.
They speak to the sun with happiness,
Sway to the wind as they sing in harmony.
The night comes in and hum themselves to sleep.
The sun rises and the cycle goes on.
My heart is now the garden.
I know the flowers sing to the beat of my chest, when I lie down, and drift to sleep.

God cried as He took you away from me.
Satan's angels incircled me with fear and sadness, trying to blame God for their dirtywork.
God struck a lightning bolt down to Hell to stop my body from shaking.
It was that moment...
I hated the devil, not God.

Another lonely Spring with a bountiful garden.
The scenery is beautiful, but my frosted and despair heart remains in winter.

I lie in the meadows of spring with flowers that kiss my cheeks and caress my face.
All by myself....
I've always played with flowers by myself.
I wanted to share it with you, but you found someone else.
Were my flowers not as pretty?
Not as free?
Not as colorful?
Not enough...variety?

The colors twinkled your eyes,
Beamed you cheeks to a soft pink tint,
Rushed the blood in your veins,
Made you howl at the moon,
and dance in the sun.
But you threw my flowers on the ground and ran off to the garden across the field.
-the garden that you thought had more life, colors and beauty.
The flowers now sing a dirge when the wind whistles the air,
waiting for your face to show up again someday.

You were different.
You are different.
You could have been mine,
But as soon as the flowers bloomed...
As soon as the rain subsided,
The grass danced in the wind...
The birds sang their song...
You grew too.

The sweltering Florida sun beats on my head.
Can it sweat the alcohol out my body?
My headache declines
As thunder inclines
And groan at the sight of lightning bolting into Poseidon's sea.

It's 10pm and I am sitting in my room covered in blankets watching silent films before I drift asleep.
Am I alone or lonely?

It's Saturday night and I am in a basement full of friends, wine and hookah.
With every puff and and gulp, I wonder why you are home and not laughing with me?
Am I alone or lonely?

It's Sunday morning and I awake at seven.
Would love me past Saturday night?
Am I alone or lonely?

It's a Thursday afternoon.
The sun from the porch door shines into the living room and warms my body.
I wonder if your hugs are warmer than sunlight.
Am I alone or lonely?

It's Monday morning.
I slouch on the carpeted bus seat and watch the rain fall on the window as classical music soars through my ears.
I blend in with the other passengers and I want sunshine.
You make me feel so bluesy.
Am I alone or lonely?

At the desk in the library, it takes longer to write this research essay than usual.
I struggle and wonder if you could put the words in my mouth.
Am I alone or lonely?

When you are standing in front of me, your face hits me like a train collision.
The orchestra plays in my mind, but all I hear are the same augmented chords.
I can't read you at times. Are you worth it?
Am I alone or lonely?

When I lie in bed at night, I ponder why I need you,
Why I want you.
It takes me time to think of your voice, which I find soothing.
Or the jacket that you never take off.
I close my eyes, turn to the side and sigh.
I am either alone or lonely.

Never had my hand held in the night,
Or been caressed after a night's work.
A little nudge to calm my temper at times.
A rub on my shoulder when the tears are choking up my chest.
To remind me of myself when I don't even know who I am.

25 years of aloneness;
A toxic comfortness;
The cycle will go on and on.
That thought of knowing, "What if?" is much better a thought of my own imagination.

I used to be ignorant
Despising culture and language.
But now I see hurt
Fear
Anger
Frustration
Hunger
Instability.
Over thousands of miles away they cry and dream.
Like me.
They grew up faster than me.
Became more cautious of death.
For its mask is not as hard as its bite.
Whispers of muerte slither through the gusty winds at day and night.
Women and man disappear into this muerte mist.
It slips into their dreams as they sleep on trains.
Jolts them awake at times,
Falling to another ground of death.
For this muerte hangs on like a burden,
Waiting for the bandits to arrive,
To follow their shadows
Then leave the ***** work to them.

Violation
   Slaughter
     Harrassment
       Theft
         ****
           Barbarism
            Fresh Prey

This is only the beginning of these actions.
Running doesn't escape their fate.
Insomnia pumps their veins.
Exhaustion wears heavier than the thick skin.
Muerte masks cover the faces.
Women
  Men
    Children
      Babies

It laughs and taunts at their survival.
They can't see these masks or stop them.
It's a struggle in itself to keep that omen away.
They know them too well.
Smell too many scents of fear.
Hate to see these people strive for a new life that they were meant to live.
There is more power over the border of America than what we hear.
The innocent voices of the dead sing to everyone of all colour, but our ears won't wake up.
We are more dead than they are.
Los inmigrantes necesitan ayudar con su nueva vida.
Tenemos esperanza!
That's just a phrase that gets thrown now like a piece of paper tossed in the wind.
Like knowing the sun rises and sets.
No one here cares about the struggle or hears the sound of the muerte masks.
Working families are the ones dying,
and these muerte masks are thriving.

My hand meets your soft shiny keys.
The touch sends a cold shiver down my spine.
Sixteenth notes flutter like a butterfly
Colours soar through the air
Two eight notes caress both hands
Eighth rests pause time in which we kiss.
Our souls sing a duet -
It's not me composing anymore.
We ended on a deceptive cadence,
but our love was never resolved.

My soldier traveled across the sea.
He gazed upon twinkling purple Crete stars and thought of me.
He felt the undertones of my body in the grey blue Bahrain Sea.
I sent him my warmest love when he stared at the sparkling sun.

My soldier came home when my letters arrived.
Time was too long.
Her silky hair laid on his chest,
just as the dry Crete wind blew,
when I whispered I love you 6000 miles away.

2 papers,
Coding project,
Oral Presentation,
A Concert Band Concert,
3 more Radio Shows,
4 finals on the last day of school.

I am way too calm, cool and collected to deal with this.
Another mental breakdown?
I don't sense one. I don't feel one.
But that's the worse part..because it has a way of surprising me.

Eat.
Work.
Sleep.

Repeat.

Eat
School
Sleep

Repeat.

Robotic Routine.
Robotic Movements.
Robotic Thinking.
I'm not meant to exist.
*I'm meant to live.

Being single forever does not mean there is no value to my life.
I'm used to this independence and I don't want it to change.
It does not mean that I think I'm ugly;
For I believe that I have a beautiful soul and have been blessed with attractive physical features.
It does not mean that I'm anti-men.
It means that I don't need a man to return the love that I have give to people everyday.
It does not mean that I stay inside.
I thrive off of travel and multiple personalities.
It means that I am an advocate for self love and soul searching.

You should smile more.
It creates a rippling effect greater than that dark waves of your hair.
Your voice puts me in a monotonous trance.
It wakens up my soul yet could put me in a lucid dream.

That colorful sleeve on your arm reveals your true beauty
Although I cannot decipher it.
It has a way of speaking to me;
           Who you are.

The hazy grey sky drops snowflakes to kiss my cheeks.
He contracts the gust of winds for me.

I gingerly take my gloves off,
Stretch my fingers,
Place my hand on the cement of snow.
He mists my hair with a crown of raindrops.

Cold snowflakes chill my bones.
His chilling love boils my blood.
My lungs cake with frost.
He pushes the sun to melt his touch.

His warm melancholy tears drop on my eyelashes.
My breath vanishes my handprint.
His snowflakes nip my lips goodbye.
He yearns my love.
I feel his love.
He sees my smile and lets me go.

I'm not tough like them.
I'm not aggressive like them.
I'm not mixed like them.
I'm not beautiful like them.
I'm nothing like them.
And it kills me that I'll always be overlooked by them.