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  May 2016 Klaryssa
Joshua Trevino
The spaces between
our heartbeats & hands narrow
whenever I see you.
  May 2016 Klaryssa
some people only see the sun
as something that gets in their eyes when they’re driving
and i don’t wanna be one of them.
i wear sunglasses a lot so i can pretend i’m not bad at eye contact;
maybe it’s the same idea if you think about it like that.
god is still playing on the radio and all i can hear is static.
i don’t have a car, but if i did i think that it would still stall.

sometimes life tries to sucker punch me in face
and i’m really bad at ducking, i spend a few too many minutes
in front of the mirror wondering
if i’m going to grow into this version of hating myself
and ******* in.
not my stomach, but my lungs.
because whenever i panic, it feels like they’re caving in.
it feels like i'm new orleans after the levees broke.
every hurricane has a name and, sometimes, i’m trying to forget yours.
and i’m still trying to stay ahead of the curve,
i’m still obsessing over the curve in your neck.
i’m bad at details
but i could be good at the big picture.
i could be good at you.
which is a ****** way to say that
i wanna get drunk and tell you about my insides.
i want to tell you everything about me and still hear you say “i love you”
and not mean it in spite of anything
like if a tree falls in the forest,
it might not make a sound but it leaves a mark.
all these poems scrawled in my margins make their marks.
poetry doesn’t exist until someone hears it,
i do not exist until someone listens to me.
i used to think i didn’t really exist until i knew you.

and i know i try too hard sometimes,
but i figured it’s better than not trying at all.

yeah, i’m a few years behind, but i still listen to isabel and evan.
i don’t know about god and i can’t seem to believe in heaven.
i don’t know much about milk and honey,
but i know about rice and black beans.
broken hearts and bad dreams.
***** hands and rhyme schemes.
those kind of things.
because growing up is a whole lot of growing into yourself
and whenever i’ve got big shoes to fill i just stuff socks into the toes.
there’s a not a single “grown-up” that i know
that doesn’t wake up feeling 13 years old sometimes.
so i stopped waiting on a miracle.
i packed up all my ambition in my backpack;
the zipper got stuck but that’s okay.
i stuck my thumbs in my pockets, i’m walking.
there’s more time that way
and i think we all need a little  time in some kind of way.  
i’m a homebound hitchhiker who doesn’t know what direction to head in,
how do you get home when all the lights are turned off?
what does it mean when the place you call home
is somewhere you have not been in years?
i’d ask my dad, but i’m trying not be cruel on purpose these days.
my father protested in the streets,
young revolutionary trying to change the fabric of his country
into something more breathable.
do you have any idea how much of my life i have spent silent?
silence is the biggest privilege that i have ever had.
silence is the loudest thing that i have heard
silence is the sound of police sirens and fists,
of flatlining heart monitors and pretending you didn’t see that.

but if heaven exists, i still hope it’s quiet.
i want it to be quiet.
because there has to be a halfway point
between chaos and silence somewhere.
no offense but listen to "coloring book" by chance the rapper, it's got the creative vibes flowing for me. PS sorry i write about my dad so much but like if you knew him you would too
  May 2016 Klaryssa
Joshua Trevino
Why did I fall in
love with every single smile
thrown my way tonight?
scribbles on a bar napkin
Klaryssa May 2016
Some people identify other people by their names
Their aliases they carry
The things they have made
The things they have collected
I like to know people by their hands
A first meeting requires the extension of a palm
The act of dancing requires hands
The art of getting to know you is by grasping your fingers

My hands are sweaty
I am nervous
I bite my bottom lip
You look down at me
Not in depreciation
But in admiration
In a way that your 6’1 presence becomes safer
You reach out and retrieve my hands from my pockets
They say eyes hold our souls, I was too busy looking at your hands

They held your roots, held your dog, held your mother’s hand when you were held the first time
When you ever cried for the first time you claimed her finger in your tiny palm
Like a fist protesting loneliness
You held it up like a secret you wouldn’t keep on your tongue any longer

School was the place where you held pencils racing against time and stress to memorize your multiplication tables
You wrote spelling words out in study hall

            And over

                                And over

                                                    And over again.

To memorize the letters and the syllables in order to ingrain them on your brain
You reached out and touched the stove because your insatiable curiosity wasn’t ever satisfied with hearing
“Don’t touch! It’s hot!”
The first time you were ever burned
You learned through your fingertips
Your fingerprints forever marked on everything,
An entire universe exists in places you have been
Another plane for things that have pieced your soul together
With stitches
From careful hands
Quilting your memories

The scars that mark the backs of them fascinate me
I connect them like constellations that will explain your mind to me
I get to hold them
Those hands in mine

You say you can see my life in my eyes
But life starts from the hands,
Your mother clutched the treasure in her stomach the first time she realized the idea of you, manifested into cells multiplying apart
She was protecting you from the outside world
You knew you were safe before your brain could process thought
You had felt love for the first time
Your first love, her hands.

Hands are judged before personalities
Hands are the first things people witness
You held back tears in your eyes with your fingers, peeking through the cracks to see if playground bullies learned to walk away before your hands discovered what it felt like to form fists

You paint with your hands
And the remnants of a colorful past lies in your palms

My father taught me a man is worth his handshake
He taught me that callouses marked our futures
And slamming hammers whistling tunes of a day when gloves would protect him
Consumed him in  youthful hope
And things we overcome became our characters
He told me you can tell the “good ones” from the “bad ones” based upon the integrity in the thumbs
Do they stand on the sidelines?
Or connect with yours, firmly reaching for more truth

Some people have hard hands that tell a sad story with hopeful dreams
You can tell the intentions through the eyes
But they are carried out with the hands
Some hands choke on words as they twist around nervously unsure of what to say
After all, body language 101 wasn’t taught in elementary school

Your hands have kissed a lot of air
They are dried and firm and balanced
You have fingernails like college students writing notes
They are learned  on what you have touched
Remnants of fuzz and crumbs beneath them from things you found in your jean pockets

I run my finger over the back of your hand
I feel as if I have traveled through mountains and rivers and deserts
It becomes a familiar landscape before I jump into the valleys where your fingers start to spread out like the roots of a tree
Your hands are your roots
They hold you firm
They hold me in place
I was going to fall
They caught me-
Your roots

Hands are weapons
Hands are shields
Hands are warnings
Hands are promises

Hands are sometimes all we have
If I only ever had yours, I would be just fine.
just trying to get back into the flow of things.
  May 2016 Klaryssa
Daniel Magner
Cap and tassel,
freedom from academia.
A swift, ****** birth
as I'm shoved through to real life,
supposedly born grown,
a bright smile and a firm hand shake,
along with a list of accomplishments.
I have none, my resume made
completely of Diablo Rock Gym
and Chipotle.
Maybe I can still fail a class,
tell the professor I copied
my A paper, get expelled
and start all over!
Or fade away quick,
sink fast before anyone notices.
I'll slide into some forgotten swamp,
survive on worms,
and my own words,
                                    my own words,
             my            own                 wo,
my                   own            w
                                 my                      own
                                               my          ow
            m                                                   y
Daniel Magner 2016
  May 2016 Klaryssa
MS Lim
Dreams I'll collect
and  I'll scatter them among the moon and stars
they will build a castle for our love high up
we'll have wings to fly in freedom without bars

Vows of love I'll collect
into the sweetest bouquet for you I'll weave
my poems I'll gather and with celestial perfumes sprinkle
only this I need to hear: 'My darling,  your love with my whole heart I receive'
* inspired by a poem of Klaryssa a fellow-writer in HP
  May 2016 Klaryssa
MS Lim
In the beginning was words and also at the end
in them we are consumed, scorched and burnt
in the between of love and hate, of sorrow and joy
words ruled all the way and life's most poignant lessons we learnt--

words become us
we are words and thus kept alive
in the beginning was words
and also at the end--there's no escape from such strife.
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