Vibrating strings create
Intensely beautiful sound
Of artistic expressions.
Lullabies, filled with
Internal longings discovered.
N**ostalgia waves hello.

'Tis better to have
Heavy beads 'round my neck than
Your murderous hands.

When I refused to integrate wretched
"Four letter words" into my vocabulary,
I noticed that Love herself is a "four letter word",
And the dirtiest of them all.

If I become blind tomorrow,
I'll know every detail of your face--
Your tired eyes, dimples,
And your imperfectly perfect smile.
I'll still "see" you inconspicuously stealing
Affectionate glances my way.
But, just as before,
I won't need my eyes to find
Your slightly pink lips
Awaiting mine.

Baseless words
fueled by hate,
racism, jealousy, fear.

Words that the adults
choose to turn
a deaf ear.

Pretending,
if they go unacknowledged
they'll just disappear.

They won't.

I have applied pressure to the wound
And have bandaged it quite firmly
But nothing stops the bleeding
And nothing stops the ache
My heart broke for you...
But I have no
Bandaids to
Protect
My
Heart.
I hold
It in my
Hands-- blood quickly
Dripping through fingers.
Drops of blood mark my path
Showing just where I have been,
And where I'm headed to. My heartbeat
Stops. It ends, my love, just as you do.

Sometimes, I look to the towering trees,
And from the clear, cool depths of my weary soul,
I wish. I wish,
And hope that one day,
I might be like the lofty tree,
Only dependent upon nature for sustenance.

Or maybe, if not the trees,
Perhaps the wild horses that gallop
Freely wherever they please to go.
With their heart's desire as the only guiding force,
These creatures live life with a clear mind,
And a clean conscious.

I look to the innumerable stars,
And fear, hope, and dream.

* I wish.

You tell me to close the curtains.
"Close the curtains so the neighbors won't see!"
But one thought rings out clear in my mind --
The curtains won't change what you're doing to me.

Even if the world's in the dark
About what happens under the cover of night,
It still hurts, it still happens, and it is real.
The situation is desperate for light.

You can try to belittle me -- go right ahead.
But I know something you don't know.
Hit me, hurt me, try to knock me down;
I have nowhere left to go.

I've already hit rock bottom;
I've got nowhere left to fall.
So, close the door behind you --
Because I'm going to tell it all.

As I peer through distant memories,
One day sticks out in my mind--
The day my mom handed me a ******* bag
And said go make something pretty
Back then, that was all it took to be inspired.
I ran to my bedroom, grabbing scissors on the way,
And constructed an enormous bow
That I wore as a crown,
And for the rest of the day, I was Princess Julia.
Life was much easier back then.

But things are different now.
In the back of my closet, hidden in the darkness
Is another black plastic bag with my secrets inside.
My hopes and dreams, bitterness and fears,
Insecurity and all of my worthlessness
Are consumed by that black plastic bag.
Each night, I sit on my bed, and empty my brain.
I write it all down, and give it all up
To my black hole of emotions,
If only for the night.

"The telephoto lense is slightly cracked,
But everything else is in pristine condition,"
I said, straightening up.
"She's served me well over the years."
You raised your eyebrows.
"She?" you asked, quizzically.
"Well, of course she.
Actually, Bella.
She's named after my grandmother who..."
I caught myself.
"Oh, you don't want to hear this."
"No, please go on."
I took a deep breath, and continued.
"She was named after my grandmother, Bella,
Who first introduced me to photography.
Grammy Bella gave me her old Polaroid
For my eighth birthday.
It was just..."
My voice trailed off,
"The coolest thing."
You smiled.
A picture perfect smile.
Flash.
I continued,
"My life is a series of documented flashes.
Lost my first tooth; flash!
Played in my first concert; flash!
Sang a solo for chorus; flash!"
"Wow," your voice cracked,
Nothing more than a whisper.
" I think I'd like to buy it."
I stumbled through the filing cabinets
Of my subconscious mind,
Thumbing through old flashes...
"Actually, it's not for sale."

Underneath a moonless sky,
    I watch my life pass by.

Moment by moment, hour by hour,
    I steadily lose all my power.  

It seems as though I have no say,
    In what occurs during every day.

I'll hide in my closet, praying not to be found,
    Until the day that I'm out underground.

Tonight, I'm gonna do it.
     I'm gonna call you.
Tonight, I'm gonna tell you why I never wear my hair
     In a ponytail anymore, no matter how hot it gets.
     I'm gonna tell you about the time you grabbed my hot tea  
          And threw it in my face.
I'm gonna tell you that, these days, I don't bother with
Makeup anymore , and though I (somehow) get complements
          I'll never quite believe them.
I'm gonna tell you about the time you made my mom cry
     And how much she feared you after that.
     I'm gonna tell you what it's like to be
          The only one...
To be in constant fear, yet forbidden to tell another soul
All at the same time.
     You're gonna tell me why you kissed my boyfriend
And lied,
So I'll finally understand.
     I gonna tell you about all the things I wish I was
          And the things I strive to be
(All 89 of them).
     I'm gonna tell you why I had to leave.
I'm gonna finally tell you that not only did you suppress my appetite and worth,
     But also my passion.
          And that was the worst of them all.
          I'm gonna tell you about each and every pound I am
          Away from perfect.
I'm gonna tell you about the time I almost gave in,
And finally,
               About the day I told the truth. . .
And you're gonna listen.

Here I am--
in the middle of my favorite cafe in old town.
My soft brown curls fall in front of my shoulders
and almost into my lipstick stained mug.

Here I am--
in my new sundress that shows off my hips;
I'm armed with my composition book, favorite pen,
and a genuine smile.

But there you are--
Walking up to the counter with a new Beauty,
holding her the way you used to hold me:
gentle but firm, and keeping her content.

There I go--
escaping through the smudged glass door
before you ever noticed me,
giving you a chance to stumble upon your new Serendipity.

Here I am--
Wrapped up in my blankets
Captured  within my own harrowing darkness.

Here I am--
sinking further into a reclusive state
whispering *It's just too much.

My two worlds collide
On an almost daily basis.
The world inside my head,
And, well, you.
It's like, you're what I wanted...
Or what I thought I did.
But now that I have you,
I'm second guessing
You.
Me.
Everything.
You pick me up
On Friday nights,
Kiss my forehead, and tell me
Just how beautiful I look.
But...it's not how I pictured it.
It's not like the movies.
I don't get those butterflies...
I get an overwhelming feeling
Of numbness and
Apathy.

My head is filled with little voices
Consciences, perhaps, of different backgrounds
And motives,
Each putting in her own
"Wisdom" on the matter.
They ask if I have told you,
But it's just not my truth to tell.

I thought I saw your face
Among the three thousand kids
At school today.
My heart nearly exploded out of my chest
And onto the floor,
And a wave of nausea overtook me.
But even so, I plodded through the crowd,
Hoping to find you
And say something, anything...
But you weren't there.
Pathetic.
My face went pale, my lips were cracked and bleeding,
And when I looked up with teary eyes,
There was no one in the hallway but me.
Loser.
I collapsed into a shaking heap on the floor...
My history teacher shrieked and ran into the hall to try to help me,
But it was too late.
I'd already hit rock bottom -- there was nowhere left to go.

I didn't plan for this to happen,
But Life pays no mind to my plans.

I remember the day I looked Life
In the face and said
Today will be beautiful.
A coy smile came about her
And she slowly shook her head.
Anything you say, dear;
But I have other plans instead.

That was the day my sister
Got into the car
Where she took her last breath.

But a few years have passed now,
And Life gained compassion with her age.

I sternly told Life
I will not fall in love with him
Again she smiled, but made no sound
As she silently clasped her wrinkled, feminine hands.

Look at me now.
I didn't mean for this to happen
But he's always on my mind.

I've never told another what I'm about to tell you.
Five years ago, when you were in the hospital,
We knew you were nearing closer and closer to your end
With each passing hour.
Mom called to say you weren't strong enough
For the surgery that could have saved your life.
There was nothing we could do.
I sent up a prayer, pleading for your comfort
No more suffering, you'd been through enough.
I uttered a silent sob, and the phone rang--
You were gone. No more.
There was nothing we could do.

For years, I blamed your death on myself.
How long do you keep the number of a dead man?
The answer is simple- forever.
I must have called you 100 times;
I knew you couldn't answer,
But I just needed to hear your voice again saying,
"Sorry that I missed you. Leave a message and God bless."

The voicemail is gone now,
And that phone number is no longer yours,
But it will forever be etched into my mind.
After all, *there's nothing else I can do.