I'll leave you behind
Look through the lenses of my own life
I can't hear you when the woes are behind my ear *****
There's gold on the horizon

The economy is my charity
Hey, recycling is encouraged
I don't want to feel guilt for being nourished

Coconut cups
I don't want to have to hide them
I promise you, happiness doesn't come inside them

We're all here
Please allow me to try to enjoy it
I think I'd do the same no matter my cast
It's easy to say that from up here
But I think I know I mean it
I need to shake this feeling

I wish I was one of those girls who could laugh for fake candid photos
I wish I didn’t like to dance so much
I wish I was into white guys who were blind about their privilege
I wish I laughed at the things they laugh at
I wish I wasn’t Cuban sometimes
I wish I wasn’t Lebanese either
I wish I liked makeup tutorials
I wish I liked putting hours into my hair
I wish I was dedicated to my beauty
I wish I knew how to cook for a man
I wish I knew how to keep my room neat
I wish I liked corny quotes about happiness
I wish my deep thoughts didn’t sabotage my relationships
I wish my mind wasn’t so scattered
I wish I could join a sorority
I wish I could put up with most groups of girls
I wish I saw sexuality as black and white
I wish I wasn’t lazy
I wish I understood the science of dressing like an instagram girl
I wish I was better at school
I wish I didn’t get along with guys so well
I wish I didn’t have a weird sense of humor
I wish I didn’t resent my parents
I wish I never tried drugs
I wish I wasn’t so experimental with myself
I wish I wasn’t so hopeless
I wish I got through breakups more easily
I wish I didn’t like my hair short
I wish I would take off my makeup before I go to bed more
I wish I didn’t like talking about controversial topics
I wish I didn’t like going against the grain
I wish I got ready faster
I wish I had a more realistic idea of time
I wish I had bubbly handwriting
I wish I liked Vera Bradley
I wish I didn’t like it when my ******* could be seen through my shirt
I wish I liked pop music
I wish I didn’t notice how they frame commercials
I wish I was one of those girls that only had *** with 4 people
I wish I didn’t like it when my **** looked big
I wish I liked baking
I wish I didn’t like ****
I wish I didn’t like vibrators
I wish I could talk about materialistic things for long periods of time
I wish I didn’t struggle with depression or ADD
I wish I didn’t get ***** playing cops and robbers growing up
I wish I wasn’t cynical
I wish I didn’t like trap music
I wish there was a plot twist to this poem where I didn’t wish these things at all

Oh, hello..
I ask Motivation to ravage me
So **** and out of reach
I wonder if he’ll notice me

Hey, Motivation.
Do I look **** with this Adderall?
When I dress like an adult?
When I spread my books wide open?

When I arch my back right out of bed
Does it make you want me?
Motivation, get out of my head!
I’m kidding... I like it when you taunt me.

When I think of you
I salivate
Look out my window,
watch you all day
You look so ****
that special way
You work those other students.

I’ll bite my lip and I’ll slowly crawl
Right to class, backpack and all
My eyes intense with innocence
Please don’t take your eyes off me.

Motivation, you know just what I like
When you make my grade point average rise
Look, Daddy-- my schedules so tight
But I still manage to squeeze in several hours to write

Oh Daddy…
Can I play with your friends?
Maturity, and Ambition?
I’m a spoiled brat but I’ll listen

Tie me up so I can’t deny you
Tell me “I’m gonna be inside you”
Please, Motivation I want to ride you
Have your friends watch…

After that, you can tell them to join in
So collegiate it must be a sin
I’m a ****** to this sort of thing
I guess I’ll take off my immaturity ring

For all you guys I’ll be so special
Fill my head with names until I go mental
Like “hardworking” and “determined”
Until I’m submissive to school and working.

Now let’s pretend
That I’m the student
I’ll call you sir,
Please don’t be prudent
Here’s my homework
Make me do it.

Mr. Motivation….

You know whats *****?
My bedroom floor.
Here I’ll  bend over
And clean it more.

My goodness, this isn’t like me!
I’m married! Don’t you see?
This is merely fantasy!
I’m incapable of priorities!

…When it’s against to whom I’m wed.

For now I’ll ride my washing machine
I’m faking that I am with thee
But this isn’t homework and my room’s not clean
I am just a bored wife of Apathy.

Do I dare count the men
Who have slithered between my legs?
Is “What’s your number?” just a possible question
Or is it a question that begs?

Do I dare add merit to fluid actions
That ripples through life’s ebb?
Or will such an answer create disruption?
Will it wrestle with my head?

And if this is so, do I have a duty
To answer this knocking question?
Am I neglecting, truly,
A responsibility privilege presented?

Can I face this number without hurt?
Is it truly unimportant?
Or with it will I uncover a sting?
Will I unveil undue torment?

Curiosity rears its head
Maybe years from now I will face it
But for now I fear that I’m much too vulnerable
Granted its importance was merely created

I am just as curious as the man who created
The importance of such summing
But his legacy is much too strong for me
Through shallow eyes
Such as mine
It will endow me *unbecoming.

Secrets kept
Led to nights spent wept
I could **** a person
But somehow this is more personal to you than death
How selfish of you
But that message will never get through
So I carry on bruised
By social irrationality..
You ask for my story, you feel entitled to it all
But I muffle it all with the misleading sentence "I'm hurt."

You see it seems romantic..
You asking if I'm okay
Wanting to know where I got my edge--
But the answer will be the death of us..
And you'll never fully understand..
And a jaded view of what I've been through will only taint my life's understanding

I'm not ready to see that side of you..
The one that tells me you're not the exception to the rule
A rule that shouldn't even exist.

You aren't ready
And I can't risk letting the foundation of my fears,
this thing that has changed me,
Be leaked into that society to become novel gossip
and merits for scorn.
Despite what we've learned from history about irrational opposition and shame,
Our society still isn't mature enough to handle this with care.
They will mishandle my substance
Because what's a thousand pounds heavy to me
Is paper airplanes to all of you
Ready to be tossed around, crushed up, disposable..
But my heart will remain heavy
..And tired.

So the only thing I can truly tell this story to
Is my knees when I'm holding them in,
trying to protect my chest from exploding;
I can share this story with my cheeks
And send tears down them like messengers;
I can tell this story to the shower ground--
It catches me when I can't help but collapse where my cheeks, and my knees rush to my aid like the few friends I trust

I am a liar.
And I need to continue to be a liar,
And I'm sorry to you,
But sorry for me,
And sorry for a society who hasn't given me much of a choice.

There's a dance in my brain
a vibration in my soul
an explosion in my conciousness
and a zig zag in my walk

there's intention behind my smirking,
at the same time not at all
I created it
but i let it free, and i let it be

I swivel between intensities
it gives me such a high
art exists in every dimension of my reality
welcome to the conscience of a creative mind

I visualize
but barely look out of my eyes
I'm trapped in my mind
I'm trapped and that's fine
I'm trapped in the freedom of a creative mind

Compelled! So compelled!
to create (to create)
anything... anything at all
For you to see
whats inside me
and for me
to set these things free

A year ago today my grandfather passed away, but he did not die. He lives.. and if you want to find him, find him within the crevices of my actions, my tenacity, and success. Crouch down and find him underneath all that I believe in, all I stand for, and all I will accomplish. Open me up and find him in everything that empowers me. He is the fight inside me.

Abuelo, a year ago you passed away, but you did not die. Your story radiates through my reality. Because of you I wear Cuba on my sleeve and I made sure that when you passed you did not take our story with you. Abuelo, I knew you were of Cuban pride, but I did not know that the shop you struggled to open is what allowed Cuban culture to cultivate so strongly in Elizabeth, NJ. I did not know you gave refugees gold jewelry for free so they could sell it for profit, and that you trusted them to pay you back whenever they could and settled that on a handshake. I did not know you were part of an organization of Cubans. I didn't know that hundreds of men revered you within that organization. I did not know you can make a room full of grown men cry. I learned this at your funeral.

A year ago my grandfather passed away, but he did not die. I am here, in the US, succeeding without financial burden. I am here because he left everything behind, including old friends, a successful business, his money and his culture. I am here because he took all four of his children with him. I am here because he refused to stop there. I am here because he had deep-seeded ambition and pushed through every challenge with his chest out and his head adamantly on his shoulders. I am here, I am happy, and I am secure--And because of that, he lives.

Abuelo, I must confess I took some things from you without asking. In the pocket of my heart I hold your ambition. In the pocket of my conscience I hold your integrity. Abuelo, you are in peace, but never will you be put to rest. Not within my lifetime.