i knew that (you) had changed
and i (accepted) that
people grow, for better or for worse
estranged individuality is truly quite a
beautiful and conceptual concept
for (me,) i have endlessly tried to morph into
someone whom i am not
and cannot be
(the girl who) is touched
but untouchable
and not to lie through my teeth when i say
that i cannot give you what you need
the complication of my entirety
is much too complicated
i do not trust
and
i (loved) every minute of it
but all of that love died when i became much too
exhausted
to be the person that (everyone) wanted me to
be

if i had to put into words
the sour feelings in which i had toward your
hold onto me; rather an explanation of the joys as well,
i would start by analyzing your complex personality to
my hair.
as if a security blanket of tiny strands had not been enough
to hold my satisfaction.
too afraid to cut off, and watch fall to the floor
the pieces of the past.
the dead and dry ends of your humor
these feelings: an etching of the damage i so willingly forced
to make it look absolutely perfect in my eyes.
they say, they mock actually,
the presence of change in a woman,
a mark of symbolic movement into the future.
a haircut.
well i have changed
just as you have
but the maintenance of it as well; has become much too expensive for my taste.
the highlights were always too bright: but remarkable
because not only did it change the way my hair looked
but my whole appearance.
isnt that silly; to compare you to a completely
unrealistic dead component of myself.
yes i think so as well.
but as i am changing i realize: that you are very much alive
and so are you growing.
and with it bringing back the joys of the past; a new root in our bond  
the ones i should have remembered
before the haircut.

and i do not know how to describe it
their doors are decorated with
wreaths and flowers
like a welcoming symphony
a philharmonic of hospitality
their lights are always on at the right time
and it seems that they are friendly to the environment
because
their solar panels gleam like a diamond
catching the light at the perfect time
they pile into the car in the morning
with three beautiful children
prim and proper
the husband looks as if he is
something out of a magazine
and his wife
resembles themis
carrying daily
the flames of passion
but the neighbors next door look sad
maybe it's just me
but when i wave, they do not wave back
they do not even smile
the neighbors next door seem rude
to those who pass
but i understand because
everyone wants to talk about the
neighbors next door
when they don’t realize
that
they are the neighbors next door
too.

have nothing on me
as I watch with blissful anger
at how beautiful it used to seem
if life speaks tragedy
I’ll scream at the top of my lungs
to drown out the uselessness
of the moon and the sun
they mock me so violently
but still take my breath away
they yell and they whisper
to go on another day
I hate you and I love you
moon and sun in between
they will always be more beautiful
and to them I will always be seen

i love you.
so much more now than i ever have.
for the incredulous love, passion, and sentiment that you have held.
for the heartbreak, self imprisonment, and emotional torment you have
been dragged into.
not because your soul has made it out even more beautiful than before,
but because of how you have grown.
i love you.
for prospering in a world where others only told you
that you couldn't do it
or it wasn't practical.
because you are growing older now,
and it is no longer about the outside voices.
it is about what makes your heart throb
your body shake
and your bones rattle.
because someday,
you will look back and regret
every moment that you did not cherish.
so stay here
right here
where i can always
love you.

i broke today.
i watched my bones shatter on the ground
and fall into a million pieces onto the floor.
as i stared at my breaking body,
i came to a realization.

the pieces that were one so beautifully sculpted
were deformed and
unfamiliar.
a distorted picture of who i once was.

i cried for the person who resonated
darkness in me,
staring
standing
still.

i will conquer and fix myself
someday
but for now
im okay with not being okay

i find broken tree branches littering the floor of your bedroom, and as ive searched forward, i have come to the blatant realization that the physic resembled closely to your very own build. your own kind of relative nature. cut down and abandoned and stripped of your blossoms once quivering through the wind and giving into the storm. a frail heart etched into your side, telling a once colorful story, now rotting away at your roots.

i liked watching you grow, how your roots shared your thirst, and entangled with mine.  but your roots have been exposed and mine along with them. now the earths crust splits to welcome us home. you, already being picked again, watch as i lie next to your replanted seeds.

there is a place i dream of
with fields of green
weeping willows
wallowing words of wisdom
lullabies of the greater presence
those backroads
where time is slow and the
wind whispers wonders
of a
greater tomorrow
tranquil silence just
loud enough to hear yourself think
a thought that you took too quickly
a peaceful nothingness
i dream of clarity and answers
in this place and i hope that
maybe one day i will not
have to dig into my mind
marveling over minutes
that have not yet passed
to make it through the day
but dreaming this dream
and longing for these trees
that will only grow in
my least wakeful moments
reminds me that
one day
i will wake up and be there
dreaming once again for
one
more
breath

do you ever sit
quit, still
and wonder who
may be thinking about you
at that very moment

do you ever sit  hunched over in lecture
wondering
if your car is the car
someone has picked out to watch
speed by on a rainy day
passing the time

or ponder
if your car headlights are the ones
shining in through the little boys window
at midnight
singing him to sleep

have you ever thought about
who is longing for a way out or
what the person on the train
sitting next to you has to say about
polotics

do you ever smile at a raindrop
cascading down glass
at a child lauging
or being right in class

how about the wind
on a humid summer day
or the way you can change someones mood
by the little things you say

have you stopped and held the door
for the man that walks with a cane
or wondered why
others cant do the same

have you stopped to thank those
who have helped you succeed
who have clothed your back
given you everything you need

have you looked in the mirror and
said hey its okay
i like this better
than eating a salad anyway

when was the last time
you held out you hand
for someone in need
and said yes you can

have you been the best you
have you ran the extra mile
have you high fived
yourself
and finished with a smile

do you ever sit
and wonder of things to come
or imagine all the things that
you could have done

i am selfishly lost in my own dictation and imaginary metaphors.
i have blatenly forgotten to thank you
for making me feel the essence of innocence that has been so eternally masked behind my insecurity of loneliness.
the way you express your body language,
as if it were a puzzle -
a mystery to keep away the longed clarity.
unfortunately, the tactics you hold to be true about yourself, have been unraveled. mistakenly poured out into the air, and
have landed into my arms.
my whole being is engulfed in the comfort of
the warmth you so willingly radiate.
I promise to hold onto it.


oh
and
thank you.

there was once a myth
that was told to me
about a little town
that bordered south seas

a town of right minds
with enterprise and gold
where thoughts of innovation
and imagination had been sold

this town was  small
quite quaint indeed
where unique animals were born
and new creatures were to breed

in the town there was a tinker man
who some had become afraid
had gone quite mad
as he did sound insane

he hid in his shop
and let not a citizen around
until his annual sale
in which there were no sounds

some felt bad for the man
who was born to tinker
so many would hover
stare and linger

“i created terrific creates!”
said the tinker once more
until one day he ran
from his little tinker store

the lady marilee came
to observe this strange being
as though she was not phased
by any animal she’d been seeing

by then it was gone
this creature disappeared
along with all others
when new townsmen appeared

“it disappeared so quick," the tinker cried,
i couldn’t take a look,”
it croaked and crawled
and it shivered and it shook!”

the lady Marielle
hindered at his story
and retained her shock
as she glowed with full glory

“your eyes mr. tinker !”
theyre as white as a ghost
surely the creature made you ill
maybe tetnus at the most!

but it did not bite
nor did it sneer
and marbile ran
to the tinker man near

"did you find the creature"
she asked so soft
but as soon as he turned
he was taken aloft

"why marible look
your eyes are as mine
but i do not feel sick
i feel finer than fine!"

all the townspeople were frightened
as they walked into town
and threatened to banish
in an uproar sound

soon they were driven out
with their pearly white eyes
and all creatures stopped breeding
every shape every size

since then the creatures of this town
have been gone along with some
who encountered the tinker man’s
unique little one

where did they go
or where did they fall
nobody knew
except those who had saw

legend says
that those with white eyes
had possessed a soul
so much greater in size

watch out for the pearly eyes
for they will turn back
these creatures are evil
and have created a tact

they collect all the souls
and **** out their lies
while giving them all
but shiny white eyes

all those who banished
these innocent victims
were stricken with bitterness
unfortunate delirium

now there is a law
given by the state
that no man can enter
or they must face their fate

i never believed
until i walked to the border
and there stood a line
of warning signs and a police order

memories of the people
are still told in all ways
and those of their ancestors
never enter the town today

there was once a myth
that was told to me
about a little town
that bordered south seas

i wish i was a rug
because maybe then id be used
to the feeling of others
walking all over me

i wish i was a rug
because maybe then id be soft
and give people a reason to say
"what a nice addition this adds to the room"

i wish i was a rug
because if someone soiled me
i would be able to be washed
and cleaned and brand new once again

i wish i was a rug
because even though its used
and ***** and old you just... couldn't get rid of it
because its been there all this time

and you couldn't imagine life without it
but if you do

i still would wish i was a rug
because that way, being thrown out
wouldn't seem so permanent
because my time would be up
and i wouldn't feel a thing

and i wouldn't have any idea that you replaced me
if i were a rug

i have spoken
to the ghost in which
resides within the depths of
me

for it resonates in my heart
and lives within
the ache of my chest
       it haunts my home
  &
       my body hurts
it crawls like the spider
spindling through my veins
deforming the vessels that once
so beautifully sculpted me
nobody said you weren't beautiful
for the sunflower that grows,
nay,
      thrives
even though i hadnt tended to it
lives on without me but

maybe it was the ghost

because
i have spoken to it ,
for it dictates the lack of
productivity within me  
      (they had mentioned that the
economy was weak)
however,
everyone told me that she was beautiful
but even the arc de triomphe
is flawed.
i wanted to believe otherwise but

maybe it was the ghost

who are you?
because i had heard that the ***** dishes
in
     my sink
weren't going to get washed unless i found
out who you were
you blasted old thing
      rotting away
                   at my soul



i bet you had
heard otherwise but

maybe it was the ghost

when i was younger i was afraid of the dark
but now, i frequently find myself stuck in it
when i was younger i could turn on the lights
but now, my lightbulbs just seem to burn out
when i was younger i could run to mother
but now, i am too old to hold
when i was younger i used to be afraid
but the dark taught me that it was time
to realize that i had to grow up

and being afraid of the dark
was the only thing keeping me young.

if i stare at the empty wall
for any longer, i fear that i will
start to mimic its lifeless brevity.

simple. but heartbroken in its execution.
refined, but lonely.

i can hear the water drip
drop
from my sink.
if i listen any longer i fear that
i will start to mimic its monotone nature

forgotten in its own space.
but embracing its own flaws.

i fear.

There is strength within the masses,
For women who face injustice.
But as you walk with your head higher,
Your voice speaks to trust us.

Because you are so much bigger,
Than the monster that lives within.
Than the marathon you ran,
As you walk away with a win.

Even though you're tired,
And even though its hard,
Your beauty resonates stronger
For your heart will aways guard.

Now your footsteps turn to gold,
Once you battled evil with glee,
Just know I walk alongside you,
A perfect roll model you are to me.

And the women who could not stay,
To tell the tale of their feat,
Will rejoice up above,
For you have not walked away in defeat.

I'm here to say I'm proud,
And I hope one day you will see,
That the strongest are these women,
And the faith we put in she.

three words that linger
in the stale, blatant silence
horrific statement

i wish i could live in your world of
"what life was like before you"

because now i feel as if i will become
your

"life before you"

in the most
utterly non-nostalgic and guilty ways
and i don't want you to carry what i carry

do not let the healer know they have already died

they cannot afford to recognize that human suffering - let that be physical or not -
is not theirs to fix, just to cradle

healers push their own suffering down
to make room for others’
until there is no room left for their own
a twisted safe haven

do not let the healer know that they died long ago

they are already tired of death
they try to cheat it everday
let them be foolish so they may save themselves when others suffering can no longer be cradled by their own soul
let them die with a million others
so they may carry the healer home.

sometimes, the body suffers.
and the once warm and undoubtably
skin caressing,
hand held goosebumps cover the surface
of porcelain skin.

but, much like a clock and its gears,
if one piece is missing,
the heart cannot work.
and if the heart cannot work,
sometimes the body suffers.

cold for no reason other than the
pocket of regret.
but,
fortunently, the amazing thing
about the human body
is that
it heals itself, painfully, slowly through time.
these times are forbearing but
sometimes, the body has to suffer.

my college professor always told us not to be spiritually unhappy. he told us to search up and down and sideways and abide by all truths and rules instead of teaching us calculus. he told us to let the flowers on rolling hills and a man walking alone in paris to be the most beautiful things we have witnessed and the boys snickered and the girls cracked their gum but i listened.

my college professor once told us that somebody, someday, will look at you like you were the best thing in the world, and i could tell that he'd been hurt before. then again the word hurt could mean an infinite amount of things.

he was young, about thirty, and i could imagine him with his excuse for a girlfriend sitting on a park bench with him at two in the morning cautiously blowing smoke into the air like it meant something more than happiness. and tears running down her face mirroring his in the limelight. street lights glistened at the appearance of any human body at this hour.

“have a cigarette with me. what were we talking about? do you remember?”

her own voice echoed in my mind. oh god he was happy. he liked the way she dressed in all black on saturday nights and she appreciated his company because smoking cigarettes in the park alone just wouldn't be the same if she was without him.

"i’ve written my number and my name on old benches clutched my sweaty palm to the edges, too afraid to ever give up the security of a lone object that quite frankly had quite a bit of meaning to me.” she said.

she found herself sitting on park benches alone  not because she had to rest, or maybe another destination to go to, but because she liked the feeling—

"everyone in this world is all together but we’re apart. alone. it doesn’t matter whether the man standing next to the bench will sit down or not, i sit on park benches to be anonymous. even if somebody did ask for my story, i could make up anything i wanted, and that person would fade away and another would come along and i would make up another story just to pass time,” she said.  

and that made her spiritually happy.

and maybe thats just the reason why our professor wanted to pass that along to us.

oh mother
you are so beautiful.

oh mother,
you have endured so much pain.
you have braved an entire lifetime more than many.

oh mother,
your bones are strong,
and your smile resilient.
your hands may quiver but they are passionate with the hands of life.

oh mother,
your soul is pure and the elements are jealous.
if only the sunset could radiate your colors.
if only flowers could uphold your strength.
for they wish to
uphold you.

oh mother,
do not be weary, remember who you are.
for the leaves of green must return
to their original state
and remember who they were before the cold
even if it means becoming
bare.

oh mother,
even the sunflowers rest in the winter and
I know you cannot.
but the brevity in your existence,
the elegant movement of yourself is
needed.

oh mother,
lift yourself like the lords rein.
for you have carried crosses,
but only the strongest ones walk
alongside Him.

oh mother,
I love you.

the heaviness of my heart
collapsed upon your arrival
and welcomed itself
back into my arms
upon your absence

there is a comfort in the silence because you are with me
replace the ringing in your ears to steady whispers and
abolish the goosebumps caressing your flesh into silk
if i wanted to be afraid (oh i had been) i could
but
you make it impossible
everything is more consolidated in your arms
even death
and maybe if all i can see is a sparkle in your eye
than i have achieved the greatest realization
of      them     all

oh how i  have witnessed a miracle

dont be disgusting
you say
like i had a choice when i spoke
like that thought wasn't
rotting within us to begin with
it isnt like that at all

im thinning
youve never driven me this far before
not in the dark like this
a sticky
sugary
dark
where cavities are opened
and emptied
and what you say isnt quite true
even when you say it twice
it isnt like that at all

i want to use you and she
interchangeably
so there can be more or less distance
between us
not armrests
or elbows
or six months
but a world
a breath
a ******* butterfly epiphany
it isnt like that at all

and i think even to this day
you are no more grown up than i am
but now youre driving
and youve suddenly decided that
i am the innocent one
it isnt like that at all
how disgusting

the taste in my mouth is sour.
how typical of you to take over my senses
like this.
i envy the past, it deceives me so quickly.
driving into a foggy, caramelized darkness
until midnight.
i hear the wind, and feel the strands of my hair
once again
i would get the chills, the cold wind smelled like freedom.
it would billow out of the window,
and your hand would be entwined in mine.
i still feel the touch .
i didn't mind your thick skin.
but it played me so well.
it peels now,
i can still sense the old you.
and thats what makes me purse my lips.

i need to find my senses again
just like you need to find yourself.

the world has
asked me why I have become
so blatenly cynical,
when the irony is within the way
that it has so
willingly wounded me.

why gorge and wallow in the darkness?
why take in substance less likely
to harm the living?
minds deteriorate quicker
than flesh after all!
and bodies
were not built for fear.
so build the strength while you have it.
folding words like origami,
and stretching beyond
the sick feeling of failure

you lived.

you cannot write about
what you don't feel.
and heavy weather
cannot stop a driver
from reaching a destination.
really, vitamins were only
long stings rolling down internal skin.
you always got sick anyway...

I loved the way you held out your arms
when we hadn’t seen each other in awhile.
waiting for me to jump into them
embracing you, drowning me in your presence.

I’ll miss that you
innocent, wide eyed, happy.
You’d whisper in my ear.
you’d make me laugh.

I don’t recognize you anymore.
I can’t remember your voice.
but if you ever need me, I’m here
waiting for you to jump into my arms.

I’ll always embrace you
I’ll always drown you in my presence.
and God, I’ll always be happy.

I place myself alone
sitting on a wooden dock
overlooking the ocean
imagining myself as
the wind because I believe
that would make me happier than
the emptiness I constantly feel
at least the wind has the water
but
I fight fire with fire
I **** out poison, yet not enough
I am toxic
so I sit, so I envy
and I curse a higher power
and I wait for you to walk
with a heart of steel to comfort me
to hold me, to love the poison
that is I
I don’t let you in
and I am still alone
I watch the snakes wrap themselves
around you
but still you do not understand
even though you do not feel them
and I don’t believe that you ever will
so in turn, I will sit alone
until my demons escape
until the wind and water show me
that I am free

i visit the lake at night.
darkness of the hour engulfs me &  casts shadows upon
the painful silence.
invisible waves
                   crashing  
is unsettling yet
welcoming


                                       home.

an addictive aspect lives within me as i stand
willingly, accepting the change of scenery that i
inevitably
experienced  three hours before.
what had occurred in those three hours was painful
the innocence of daylight
laughing lovers, seagulls
they are gone now
but i stand willingly
                    accepting


                                      my mother.

calls me to come back
she is worried.
but i stand
                  willingly

it hurts
but it’s okay because
the sun still rose this morning and
the birds still sang
and I never noticed that
while you were
by my
side

If walls could speak they would sing you a song
Of the memories that once lived in this quiet room.
It had been two months in passing, two months too long
A tide of memories like a sea voyage gone wrong.

A ship headed out on a mission to please
Those who dared step off of land for a change.
But ships do sink even when the storm is at ease --
When a lost longing for salvation is no longer strange.

So pack up the memories and store them away
Forgetting those who chose willingly to leave
And love those more deeply who did choose to stay
When the waters were rough and give thanks for today.

Because the still sun rose and these four walls still sing
Surely now without them, you are destined for great things.

your words flow thick
off of your tongue
sweet molasses and all of
what nature had to bring you

like a dew fall dripping down
your “not so humble”
pure persona that was once
whispering ghostly phrases
of happenstance and
good fortune
in my ready ear
as you
attained what you pleased with
no shame in your
dirt worthy hands

black like charcoal; your soul

you walking away from what you know
only now with a more guilty conscience
I’m sorry I was naive enough
to take dew fall as
the end rather than
the beginning
my mistake to feel right?
because why beg for sincerity
when chivalry is far more an
act than a much deserved victory
for mankind

you tear me apart you know?
the kind that satisfies you
and makes my bones chill
and yours feel like
muscle as you puff out your chest
in some half gracious attempt to feel
“strong” like a ReAl MaN!¡

to me, you were the beginning again
and all I needed was
the dew fall

I used to lay with my mother in the morning
my brother and I
half asleep in my parents bed
I remember taking her hands into mine and
feeling her knuckles
she had a green pillow
sewed in with flowers
even at 5 years old - the hands that raised me
were mesmerizing, they were my safety
I did not realize it at the time
she was tired
and their bed was monumental
it was what I looked forward too every night
as my father sang me to sleep
100 bottles of beer on the wall
and ill buy you a mockingbird
I looked forward to the morning

I held my brother
In his zoo pajamas painted with pandas
and I held my brother
as fast as the sunlight radiated in my bedroom, he was small and he was and is -
my safe haven
my brother snuggled up against my neck
and she held us, half asleep
and morning doves sang their songs

—-

that is now my lullaby
nothing mattered as I held my mothers knuckles
nothing mattered when my brother
squeezed my arm
I was never afraid of my mothers knuckles
I was never afraid of my father singing
I was never afraid of my brothers grip


I woke up this morning in my own bed
alone and tired
morning doves did not sing
they screamed
and my brother is still far
and my father is taking care of my mother
and my mother is taking care of my father
I woke up —- and my brother is far away
my father is growing older
and my mothers knuckles are nowhere near me
I ran my fingers across my
own hands
and I pray that one day

my knuckles will be remembered
the way I remember hers

cloud vs. a silver lining
important not only in daily life
but through sickness and health

my mother sat down on our living room couch and looked me dead in the eyes after her chemotherapeutic shot. she told me she sat down in the oncology patient room, waiting for her round for the month. she said it depressed her. she said the nurses were anything but compassionate when they loaded her up with medicine. a painful sting coasting through her veins. she never unlocked her eyes with mine, until she told me that the nurse smiled at her and said, “at least now you can get a new set of *******”! I can tell she was hurt. she couldn’t do this, her health wouldn’t allow for it. she told me she was crushed, that it was a cloud. I thought about this for a long time. I thought about the clouds that others added into her life. “at least they caught it early”, “at least you’re alive now”.

I looked for a silver lining. something to let her know that clouds pass. that winds blow away the grey. that the weather is never unchanging. that she was strong. I looked her in the eyes once more and told her I loved her. not that I was happy that she was still here. not that one day she may be able to watch me walk down the aisle, or hold my child. not that I was sorry or felt for her. just that I loved her. and she smiled at me, a genuine smile. not beaming with happiness, but a little spark showed through all kinds of pain.

love, that’s her silver lining. so that’s mine too.

its funny, i sit here most of the time with metaphorical phrases churning in my head as i write. everytime i sit down to create i feel thousands of gears turning in my head.

sure, i’m real when i write. my passion lies here, my heart the same. but to me, maybe writing in metaphors is a way to mask a little bit of the hurt, a little less real then telling the truth.

it takes a lot of bravery to go back in time and reflect, to create poetry. writing takes you to a place, not always light. not always beaming with happiness. and i appreciate that. i appreciate the pain that poets go through everytime they relive, rewrite. because it should be. i know that.

i think that’s why i sit here, hurting most of the time. i think, wow, the one thing i love to do hurts. and that’s why i’ve been wanting to write about you and so many others. those who have escaped me. those who have stood by my side. maybe through my own selfish mistakes. maybe by their own demise.

every person that enters or exits my life has been written about. be that in my soul, on paper, or displayed on a computer screen. you’re there. and that’s pretty ******* special because its nice to be seen. i can’t tell them in person how much they meant to me, because i’m simply not good enough at doing that, i mean cant you see? i crave acceptance in all aspects of my life, and i am too fragile emotionally to let them know what i really mean.

for me to sit here, to dig, to romanticize, demonize, glorify. willingly be vulnerable with myself and others, it’s a lot. i’m nobody to be pitied, not by a long shot. no poet is and that’s not what we look for. just harmony, balance and not too much more. it is something that writing gives us. because the pain of retelling the latter and the late is almost worth the harmony that the release brings to create.

maybe aspects of myself have been lost throughout the years, but one thing remains. my writing. my poetry, my endless drafts, and journal entries stained with fallen tears that could be around for centuries. they tell my story. of you and everyone else who has left a mark on me. i am who i have been given and THAT is what i mean. what i have been given will forever be apart of my writing, therefore, a part of me.

this is a tribute to poets everywhere, as they caress their soul. as they mourn themselves in even the brightest of times even as they grow old. when they reminisce on the nostalgia of greater moments through rhymes. but most of all, this is a tribute to me as i strive to make myself feel. even if it’s anything less than alive.