Of all the times
We have encountered each other thus far,
We have never been alone.

I do not know who you are when you are alone,
Or who you would be if you were alone with me.

The idea of it all
Makes me curious.
Like I just might want
To find out.

It was a big gulp of breath
a gasp for air
and one long, infinite conversation
encompassing all of the
hard questions
leaving no corner unturned
walking through the spectrum
and never sparing a fleeting detail.
It stuttered to a stop
halfway through the lecture.
And now I may never know
what could have been covered.

There was once a boy who almost drowned
inside his own self pity and doubt.
But if you could ever get him to smile,
he would sit in his car and whistle a while.
He whistled Coldplay, he whistled Muse,
he whistled notes only birds could use.
He whistled the sweetest, saddest songs,
that made you wish you could sing along.
There was a time that came one day
when I sent that whistling boy away.
He almost drowned, but then he was saved
by the only girl that made him cave.
So when he came back, there I met him,
there, in his car, with the lights all dim.
And there he played his Muse and Coldplay
And there he whistled until the end of his days.
It reminded me of how life should be,
a sweet and complicated melody.
He taught me to whistle, the best gift of all
a gift I can always quickly recall.
I realized then that we'd always be friends,
until he whistled no more at the end.
But for now, we'll sit and whistle a while,
I'll do my best to get him to smile.
I look forward to when I see him soon,
so he can whistle to me life's beautiful tune.

Nobody knows about the time
I once carved the shape of a butterfly
etched it onto my skin
right where thigh meets waist...
In the end,
reincarnation got it wrong.
It was a simple mistake
because I was always meant to be a butterfly
for this life
and all the lives before
and all the lives to come.
I wouldn't mind so much
if being a human meant
I could still fly and be free.
And drift from place to place.

I would rather sit on the fence
than stand knee-deep in the mud.

Spider web lashes
Trampoline lips, make me fall
I always bounce back

Crossing over the train tracks
to get to where you were
it wasn't that hard.

I never realized all the other obstacles I had to endure
until it was too late
until I stopped coming over.
A bridge, our high school, some shopping centers.
And stoplights. So many stoplights.

Sometimes, I still hear the train whistle from inside the depths of my room late at night.
I wonder if you hear it too, at 10:38 p.m. on Sundays,
and I wonder if you think of me.
But I never go that route anymore.

If I could choose which death to fancy,
I would fancy the choking death
I am quite familiar with choking
It's what happens to me when I am
Enveloped by your presence

If I could choose which death to fancy
I would fancy the arthritis death
Being weak in the knees I have felt many times
When you melt our lips together with a kiss
I don't know if you can die from arthritis, but if I could I would

If I could choose which death to fancy
I would fancy the burning death
I feel the flaming sensation quite often
When you command your hands
To touch my skin

If I could choose which death to fancy
I would fancy the loving death
Because I think I learned what it feels like to die
When I met you

How invigorating
When the dew from the night
Carries over into the day
And my flower is a sight
To behold a certain way.

How enchanting,
An aroma to trap
A sweet smell to entice
Any insect on the map
And the King Bee for a price.

How misleading,
When you want what you think
Is all you need in this world
And it leads to the brink
Of your demise, and just think,
Only for a girl.

How simply pathetic,
The way you would blindly trust
Me opening my flower petals for you
When it was only for lust,
But darling, insist I must,
it's simply what I do.

No good comes from
Playing out conversations
Inside my head-- a broken record player

Baby, if this was a jumbled song, I had long since driven myself mad with the tune.

But no good comes from me reaching out to him. Not when the melody is stuck in my head, and my instinct is to selfishly hit repeat.

As the water and suds recede,
I allow the bubbles to seep into my ears
the sound like Pop Rocks candy
exploding in my brain
drumming in my ear drums.
When it is over,
I wring out the washcloth
and watch as the water does
a tornado dance down the drain--
and my tears with it.

But the bubbles will linger on my body
will cling to me like a desperation
I once felt from you.

The diamond in the rough.
The one who converts
yet never conforms
and is known
for being unknown
always on
the outside looking in
and enjoying the view.
The red in a sea of blue.

When it comes down to enlightenment
Consider me the lightest of them all.
Soaring above, the rest of them silent,
I shall leave this place leaving you appalled.

There are liars and cheaters on every block
of seemingly perfect cities.
And being the hypocrite I am, I only mock
when what I really need is pity.

For of all the pathetics living today
I am the worst of them all
I shamelessly hurt you in every way
and you will only see me fall.

I deserve to have all the hate in the world
crammed into my body oh so nice
so all I can do is be tortured and curled
so demented, as a sacrifice.

Maybe then I'll get some sleep tonight
by realizing I only deserve the worst.
And there's no way I could make it right
since my very existence is cursed.

I write better
when I can scribble and scratch
eradicate and erase
in a notebook
you can smell the pages and
the words become tangible and touchable

I need to stop creating all my poems on my **** phone
it's so impersonal

Pour me out.
Take me back to a day
of oblivious existence
Where our only issue
was being together
drinking it all in,
and never feeling
full.
Today,
I reached my tipping point.
And I might just finally topple over.
Shatter into a million pieces.
Scatter to the ends of the room
slip into secret cracks and crevices
you didn't even know existed
and will never find.
Clean the mess up halfway,
wipe up the water
sweep up the noticeable shards
assuring your guilty soul,
"That will suffice."
I hope you step
on the forgotten jagged pieces
you left behind.
And hear a crack
as your dry skin
meets glass once again,
but in a different way.
And when you look down
assessing your feet for damage
I hope blood seeps out.
Stains the floor red
forever tinted
with the same kind of pain
I get from knowing this
glass breaking,
earth shattering,
heart crushing
end to our story
is permanent.

When I saw you I swore you were deity
of purity or corruption I could not discern.
Mighty as so,
I named you after a Greek god-
built you a temple,
because I want to shovel
buckets of grapes into your mouth
and quench your thirst.
And breathe heavy.
And dig into lushes.
And tender bruises.
I can let you smite me.
It is true
the fallacies of this earth word
are many.
I just hope I give you
reason enough
to stay.

Burning all of the pages
I've written about you
would be equivalent
to setting a forest on fire.
Except I couldn't do that.
What a waste of paper,
what a waste of trees,
that I planted and grew,
watered them with my tears,
watched them flourish
with the many colors of you
glistening on all of the leaves.
The only thing you've written about me
was my name on the back
of a scratch piece of paper
crumpled up and forgotten
and you didn't even finish the sentence.
Just a little tree sapling.
Well, you can burn that
with a flame torch
for all I care.

Slight stirrings of slumber
lifting their heavy traces from our entwined figures in the late morning brought us to murmur mini kisses
into wherever skin met mouth, wanting to waste the day away in an oxytocin coma.
Not even the thrum of rain woke us up,
but it was brought to our attention that we were both ravenous.
Whispers and nods on the matter of waffles,
and then at a snail pace we remained loyal to the pursuit of our destination. To the cafeteria we walked not hand in hand,
but side by side,
enveloped in a dry space
surrounded by a world of maddening wet.
He held the umbrella.

With a childhood comfort,
most of my existence
I have had dreams
in the light;
because I am not a cave man
with electricity at my fingertips
whenever requested.
This light, with
a firefly hum and glow.
Then I reasoned with myself.

A lack of melatonin
rushing through veins
never did any good
to anyone.

Last night,
I slept
in pitch-black darkness
and now,
like
oh my oh my,
I can't differentiate between
my dreams in the light
or my thoughts in the dark.

Boy meets girl.
Cute couples.
Kissy kissy.
Warm bodies pressed.
Memories of love.

All I remember about that bitter cold winter
Is being alone.

I knew from that moment on
every word and every phrase and every sentence
thought up in my head and emitted from my fingers
would turn into cadaverous dead bodies
that would turn into silhouetted skeletons
that would turn into fine powder blowing in the wind
that would disappear into a deep and dark abyss
deeper than any abandoned tire in an old forest
and darker than the pupils of my eyes
I knew I would be forever forgotten

"Surviving solely
On caffeine and nicotine
Hazy baby
Crazy maybe
But I am a being
Forever being."
- The way I use to describe my daily muse

Terms are the worms of the garden of expression;
Words must be chosen in the utmost discretion.
Through the rhymes, walking the lines
Between Romantic and pedantic.

Simple semantics-
There is no such thing.

In humanities we learn about semantics
(among other areas of expertise).
There's no humanities without semantics (among other areas of key).

The instructors instruct,
"It's easy, it's simple, it's breezy"
But the instructors don't conduct
How semantics can never be easy.

My toes have bruises
From all of the times
You've stepped on them
When we embrace.
I can no longer feel.

My tongue has cuts
From all of the times
I held back on saying
I love you.
I can no longer speak.

My eyes ache
From all of the times
I have looked at you and
Caught you staring first.
I can no longer see.

The one part of my body that isn't hurt from you is my heart.
No matter how many times you break it
It still beats on.

Our hearts are the same.
They pluck the same tunes,
create the same vibrating frequencies
that we hear as individual notes.
It's the same reason why some songs
touch our insides more than others;
because they contain melodies crafted
from the same instrument that resides inside us.
It's the same reason why some souls
become electric when put together;
because the pretty voice inside your head
is perfectly in sync
with the rhythmic drum beats of my heart.
I can hear it.
It's music to my entity.

I am the most naive girl in the world
it's like a verb
I naived like my hair curled
it's like an herb
I drink it in like tea, all stirred and swirled

Silly little girl
when will you learn

I remember the moment she was done.
I was sitting in the middle seat of the truck, how appropriate.
It was the most excruciating silent car ride of my life.
The kind of silent that shouts volumes.
There was no hesitation when we reached the destination.
She leaped out of the car, with her bag, with all her things, with all her belongings
And proceeded to slam the door in our faces
Even though he said her name
He called her name
He shouted her name.
She closed the door forever on what could have been.
Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like had she stayed inside the car with me.
But she didn't. She left.
And even though eventually she came back, she never really came back.

I remember the moment she was done.
But mostly, I remember sitting right next to my father in the car,
As his foot plunged on the pedal
As his tears began falling
As his mutterings increased
As his face crumbled into grief
As I felt mine do the same.

Don’t let me wake up please
I don’t want to wake up with thoughts like these:
Love? Is that some sort of cheese?
Don’t let me wake up thinking
I’m worth more dead than alive
I don’t want to wake up by your side
I don’t want to open my eyes
If you aren’t who I dream of at night

Don’t let me wake up with regret
I haven’t felt much regret yet, yet,
I feel like it’s coming faster than an air jet
Filled with important people I have never met
I don’t want to wake up
Wondering when it went wrong
Trying to remember, but forgetting the song
Wondering if I should have known all along

Don’t let me wake up as my mother
Don’t let me wake up as my father
I want to wake up like a lover
With roses by my bed and not a revolver.

The bell rings.
I am one of the many cows that herd towards the door,
mooing impatiently to exit.
By entering into the hallway,
I find you easily
because I know where to search,
and we have grown accustomed to
picking each other out in crowds.
Our eyes lock for a fleeting second,
then we both find a spot on the floor to inspect
as we wait for me to
make my way towards your stationary self
and your pocketed hands. Step after clunky step.
Once I arrive, in place of exchanging greetings,
our bodies 180 turn and make our way among fellow cows.
Our lanky walks fall in sync with each other, clumsy
in all the same places.
We walk side by side together. This is routine.
We do this every day. Two among a herd of cows.
Moral of the story:
To everyone else, we are nobody.
To each other, we are somebody.
The favorite part of my day is knowing someone is there
Waiting for me to find my way to them.
The best part is I always do.

You're the full moon that I look at
Bursting bright with your moon beams.
You're my very own Texas weather,
Because it's never what it seems.
You're my mind when I am sleeping,
Filling me with lucid dreams.
You're my ocean on a sunny day,
When it glistens, when it gleams.
You're the library card I misplace,
Yet can always be redeemed.
You're my favorite fuzzy sweater
Held together by the seams.
You and I, we go together,
And we make the perfect team.

My head is hazy with darkened daisies;
There's demons in my room

To myself I lied about all that's inside;
Everything happened too soon

I swear to god I saw faces that nod-
I heard voices in my head

They warned me of lies and trampled butterflies,
But their word to me is dead

The walls are all liquid and my bed is infested-
I do this to myself you know

Seeming to be quite close to becoming full on ghost;
You might as well let me go

Oh, those winding curves and me with no brakes.
Oh, those long legs and me with no reaching arms.
Oh, those pearly whites and me with no available floss.
Oh, those voluptuous locks and me with no comb.
Oh, those big revealing eyes and me with just a windowless soul.
Oh, those velvet hands and me with not even cotton fingers.
Oh, that woman of absolute perfection and me with no way to contain her.

I always knew your biggest pet peeve was not being taken seriously, but here I am today mocking you. But if I say your hair is a mess, I really mean it looks unbelievably adorable when it curls up like that, just so.

And I know you could never be my chauffer, I know that now, and it isn't because we both don't even have our licenses yet. I'm simply coming to terms with the fact that I live inside of a bubble, underground, a million kilometers below sea level. And you are a shape shifter, only able to transform and transcend into creatures with wings. Maybe they don't all have wings necessarily, but wings could be a symbol for freedom, and they most certainly have that ability.

So one day you are a falcon. The next you are in outer space, being a creature that isn't even discovered by man yet. No matter what, you're still free. And I am still imprisoned.

You would think being inside this cell would teach me that no, you do not care what I think about your hair curling up at the ends, just so. And that yes, you are way too high above the clouds for an underground lady like myself. But I just never learn.

Perhaps the only way I will ever learn is when I find a new shape shifter. One who is not limited to beings of the sky, but one who can morph into anything. Maybe even a petite, rusty old key that can unlock me. And set me free.

And maybe, just maybe, that new shape shifter won't even have curly hair.

P.S. Please come soon.

I look at the same place
Once
Twice
A thousand times
And I still will not be sure
That it is reality

I don't always say what I mean
And I mean a lot of things I don't say
So I talk with you in my head
And you, and you, and you
I always get replies

I catch myself smiling or frowning
And then I give myself a scolding
But the worst is when I forget
Which conversations were real
And which ones were not

Sometimes
My body twitches
And I can't stop

He walked away
But he looked back
What I would say
If I could have
I miss the days
Before gone bad
I miss the way
We were not sad
You cannot stay
Well that is that
It's your choice babe
I hope you're glad
Choice I would make
Wouldn't be that
But it's too late
Too late for that
He walked away
But he looked back.

A hummingbird’s fragile heart can beat up to 1260 beats per minute.
That’s a whopping 21 beats per second,
Which is rather fitting,
Because my pumping ***** manically pounds against my chest at a constant rate.
It only comprehends one anxious speed: fast.
What is also fitting,
Is that hummingbirds are capable of flying in all different sporadic directions,
And I am never meant to be in one place.
We are not meant to have a standard sightseeing radius of one cul-de-sac,
But rather drift and soar to various dimensions and realities.
Without this freedom, we both simply cease to exist as an entity.
And so, when we find ourselves trapped-
Which is the one primitive and instinctual fear birds and humans alike have in common-
Desperation and panic cannot begin to describe
The depth of the dark cave of unfitting enclosure
In which our brightly vibes of body and mind find ourselves in.
We ****** and thrash ourselves in a suicidal manner against the bars,
We refuse food and drink in silent protest and rebellion,
And then beg and plead with our captors to be let free at last,
Wondering why, the hummingbird and I, deserve to suffer.
What did we do?
Claustrophobia is a serious issue. And it does not have to be in the form of a cage.
And it chokes.
Hummingbirds are delicate creatures.
If you squeeze too tightly, their eyes will bulge out of their skull,
And their heart will race to extreme measures,
Until they are crushed and are no more,
Leaving the captor’s hands wet and sopping
With blood and guts and feathers.
Please do not crush me.

No matter how many blankets,
My feet and toes are still icicles.
No matter how many hot chocolates,
My teeth still chatter and tremble.
No matter how many good memories,
Winter is still the coldest time of the year.
No matter how much I try to figure it all out,
You're still gone.
And that is one thing
That won't change with the seasons, so I have learned.

Any relation is translation for complication
of the heart
You looked around and then you found
a place that is in the dark
You did not care of the burden to bear
from sharing a hollow one
But a heart is a heart and right from the start
it felt like what's done is done
And so I say time is taking me away
and I am growing older
So why not come with me today
and stay until it's over
I'll never get tired of your big maroon shoes
if you won't get tired of my wild curly hair
I am in love with everything that you do
and I always smell your scent everywhere
I just hope I did everything right
At least I know I did today
cause you're holding me tight
And I won't ruin the day
so I'll discontinue to write
So we can enjoy on my driveway
the ever so lovely night

You're somewhere out there,
a charity case for devout Christian couples in diners,
sleeping in your car, in the woods, at night.

You haven't come back as the wind just yet,
but it could be worse.

I wonder how you will stay warm this winter
in thirty degree damp cold
that seems to seep into your bones so thick
with nothing but the clothes on your back.

I don't understand your fascination
your fetish for hands
But what astounds me more
is your love for my hands
Maybe it's because they always arrive
unexpectedly
(whether a slap a scratch a caress a cradle)
you never know on what reasons they travel by
Maybe it's because
they mimic your fickle and indecisive
heart

This girl is no apex predator.
My glass is always at midpoint.
Yet I could literally drown myself in self pity.
And I'm about up to my hips in disdain.
Six feet deep in a predetermined hole
leaves a rare species with few options to begin with
even fewer still.
I suppose I could get used to the mud,
except there's a learning curve.
It's difficult to wade through the ground
when you've been treading neck deep through the water
throughout the entire duration of your lowly existence.
They keep telling me evolution is always inevitable.

Come with me to Neverland, he said.
Never have I ever
wanted to get lost in a land so bad.

"Water?"
"Okay."
"No wait, a tea."
"Tea?"
"Yeah, mango?"
"Okay."

I walked for eternity
and could not find one place
to sit and rest my tired bones in peace
that did not have car atrocities echoing in the distance
and did not have styrofoam cups poisoning the ground.

For once, I would like
to know what it would be like
to find a clear creek and
scoop up the crisp water
with my bare hands and naked soul
and drink its essence
without disintegrating
from the chemicals.

You should know
I am quite aware
Of ALL your longing stares
And it makes me really uneasy.

You should know
To avert your gaze
Stay away from my maze
I don't want you if you're easy.

blame it on those eyebrows arching over baby blue lies.

That which slips by is time.
He reaches a point in life filled with dismay
And supposes it is here that he shall stay.
Her presence will do him well, well enough
That you could stretch and almost call it love.
And there is no point to wish or yearn
For they reached the point of no return.
And they will do just fine.
Thank god this story isn't mine.

Once,
I built a city.
Quiet, serene, pretty.
All of my people were quite content
With a world of no sudden movement.

Then,
Someone came along
And sang a fast song.
It gave the people something to savor
And it caused their loyalty to waver.

So,
Everybody decided to leave.
A fact I still cannot believe.
**** that exciting song of temptation.
I tried so hard to change this situation...

Now,
I have a city.
Quiet, serene, pretty.
But I was abandoned by all.
Now all I have left are my walls.

You were mine.
I watched our show again today
It reminds me of that one day.
At the time,
I needed your touch just to belong
The TV never remained on for long.
We combined,
Like seawater mixes with the sand
I only wish I knew beforehand...
I was blind.

Those nights in which I stumble to bed,
Makeup still intact,
Jeans and shoes remaining,
Uncombed, unbrushed,
Unwritten and undefined...

Bring on the days
In which I don't give two ***** about anything.