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Kimberly Santana May 2014
He wants to be an engineer. He's talking about Newton and Hooke and I can't really keep up. He spits out equations and formulas, numbers and letters, my head hurts just thinking of it. His eyes are getting wider, brighter. It almost hurts to look at him when he gets like this. I know people are confused when they see us. He is math I am words. He is a top ranked school I am community college. He's filled with equations, formulas, and theories. I am filled with poetry, books, and literary devices. And in the fall we will part and despite the promises of keeping in touch I'll be just another thing he's left behind.
Kimberly Santana Apr 2014
1.MY MOTHER WOULD STAND IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR AND PAINT HER LIPS RED FOR A MAN WHO WASNT MY FATHER.

2.MY BEST FRIEND STOLE HER MOTHERS LIPSTICK TO IMPRESS A BOY AT SCHOOL AND THE NEXT DAY SHE CAME INTO CLASS WITH A FAT LIP.

3.THE BEAUTIFUL BOY FROM MY FIRST PERIOD CLASS FRESHMAN YEAR BROKE MY HEART WITH LIPSTICK STAINS CRAWLING UP HIS JAW.

4.THE INSULTS ON THE BATHROOM STALLS WERE WRITTEN IN BLOOD RED LIPSTICK.

5.MY GEOMETRY TEACHER USE TO SNEER AT ME WITH SCARLET LIPSTICK ON HER YELLOW TEETH.

6.THE GIRLS IN MY FAVORITE BOOKS ALWAYS MADE ME CRY. THIER RED LIPS STILL HAUNT ME.

7.WHENEVER I’D TAKE IT OFF MY LIPS WOULD STILL LOOK PINK AS IF YOU’D SPENT HOURS KISSING THEM.

8.WHENEVER I THINK OF RED LIPS I THINK OF THE SCENE IN ****** WHERE HUMBERT IS ******* HIS LITTLE NYMPHET IN A DESPERATE ATTEMPT FOR HER TO STAY AND HER RED LIPSTICK IS SMEARED ON HER MOUTH AS SHE STARES UP GLASSILY AT THE CEILING

8.WHEN YOU FINALLY GOT OFF  MY BROKEN BODY THAT NIGHT MY RED LIPSTICK WAS SMEARED ACROSS YOUR CHEEK. YOU PULLED ON YOUR PANTS AND ZIPPED YOURSELF UP . YOU THUMBED THE RED MESS ON YOUR CHEEK AND SMIRKED AT ME AND SAID. “GOD I LOVE THOSE RED LIPS"
Kimberly Santana Mar 2014
Please fall asleep so I can take pictures of you and hang them in my room.

You’re laying in between my legs, your back against my chest. I’m afraid you can feel my heart trying to escape my ribcage. Your fingers are interlaced through mine and I feel like I might throw up because they’re sweaty and I’m terrified you’ll be grossed out and let go. We’ve been in this position for hours watching movies and playing video games I want to freeze this moment in time.

So when I wake up I’ll feel like yeah everything’s alright.

You say you have to go and I swallow the bile in my throat. This is love in the worst way. You pull yourself away from me and gather your things. I want to grab your hand and pull you back down to me. Hide in this bed, under these covers and never come out.

You are still here, you are still happy, you are still smiling and laughing. You are still the only thing and everything I need in my life.

You say that I won’t give you space. I suffocate you with my hugs and the way I hold your hands and the way I always call and the way I yell. You say maybe we’re not a right fit and that you’re sorry.

And it goes in in out through the mouth breathing exercises I will never figure out til I am running in circles

You only ever call now to tell me to stop driving by your house. You said we ended weeks ago. That this space was necessary. But how could being away from the person you need more than you need air be necessary ?


or walking in circles, or crawling in circles, or laying on the ground

I’m laying in your backyard looking up at the same sky we would draw figures in with our fingers. Your father comes out and yells, he was never fond of me.

And I can hear your dog whistle from my bedroom*

I’m icing the bruise on my face. You’re on the speakerphone apologizing for your dad. You say I can't come by anymore. The only sound between us is the static of the phone and the sound of your dog whistling.
Kimberly Santana Mar 2014
This is not a sad poem about a boy who doesn’t love me or a boy who suffocates me or a boy who angers me.

This is not a poem about a boy who calls me drunk at 3am and tells me about other girls and says how everything is my fault.

This is not a poem about a beautiful boy with beautiful words who only sees me as a friend.

This is not a poem about a boy who is possessive and yells at me when I don’t give all my attention to him.

This is a poem about a boy who laughs at my bad jokes and loves how I love words. About a boy who watches bad TV shows with me and plays with my fingers while his arm is around my shoulder. About a boy who plays piano and sings and makes me geniuenly happy.
Kimberly Santana Mar 2014
Cranberries** stain your hands like the color of
Blood bright against the porcelain of your sink after brushing your
Teeth too hard. You’ve picked only the hideous cranberries because fruit shouldnt feel
Unrequited like the only love you’ve ever known. Jesus how you’d hated when they’d
Stretch in the morning followed by,” How do can I get your lipstick off my
Collar?” You’re trapped behind
Glass. You are his
Trophy but most definitely not his wife. He says you are lucky. As if you are
Charity and his wallet will give you some vast improvement in
Direction. You’ve wasted all your
Time. Your body used up. No man will want what another has had. Does he know how you
Shake in the dark when he goes
Home to her? You’ve picked out these cranberries to quench the
Hunger that starves you from love.
Kimberly Santana Feb 2014
Snowflakes** adorn my skin, i’ve never been partial to the cold. The sky is
Red and i wonder briefly is blood could be reflected upon the sky. My
Nailpolish is chipped and i remember how you once said you liked it that way during that
Ice storm that kept us trapped in your cabin. The
Crunch of the snow under my feet sooth me for some reason. You’d freak out if you saw how
***** i was.
Leaves dance around me. Its getting
Darker, I wish you were here with me. I finally reach the
Gravel and i’m sure i stepped into glass. It sliced into my skin like
Screwdrivers drilling into the earth.You’d kiss the boo boo with your soft lips and caramel eyes.
Tongue pressed against my teeth i hobble farther away from the forest
Blood trailing behind me. It was just
Yesterday you were chasing me around this very forest stealing kisses every now and then.
Sorry i sent you away. Im sorry you let me.
This poem came out of an activity I had to do for my creative writing class. Our teacher gave us the first word for fourteen lines and we had to provide a poem to go along with it. This was the outcome.
Kimberly Santana Jan 2014
don't touch me, i ******* hate it when people touch me
don't play with my hair, you will get your fingers caught in a knot
dont kiss me, i will be bad at it and i don't wanna disappoint
don't try to get me to have *** with you, the answer will always be no
don't try to tell me you love me, *i will believe you and take and take and take until theres nothing left of you to give.
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