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Marco Mondragon Aug 2015
My stomach is aflutter
Her beauty I dare not approach
For if I am unwanted. I will be put to shame for my dull desire of just wanting to be with her.
....
i am no refuge
if the past 2 years
have taught me anything
i am more shrapnel than shelter
with willing hearts
strewn in my wake
but i am kind
i will not salt your wounds
with these tears
i will keep my distance
but these thoughts like water
circulate silently around you
never straying farther than
these arms can swim
and i am weak
i am so weak
for the smile that found me
in the sound and the strangers
much softer and worthier than i

but your songs still medicate me

and you said you'd keep me warm

and i don't remember
what i said next
but it doesn't matter anymore
because

you said you'd keep me warm

and i am still shivering
so sorry for not posting in so long. i'm proud of this poem.
Marco Mondragon Jun 2015
Under the sun of salvation my soul rests.
My thoughts remain beautiful but crucial.
Too wicked to understand.
  May 2015 Marco Mondragon
N
I couldn't wait for the day the sun didn't feel like it was trying to burn me, or for the day the rain wasn't trying to fill my lungs. I couldn't wait for the day the highway wouldn't sound like it's calling me to play with it, or the day sidewalks quit threatening to swallow me whole. There was something about the way my fear of love made the words wrap themselves around my vocal cords. I'm sorry I've never been able to get those three words out without sounding like I'm going to choke. I couldn't wait for the day my love for you didn't feel like a consequence or for the day I could convince myself that what you felt for me was real. The truth is I'm not used to people staying longer than I'm able to hold myself back from pushing them away. I got in the habit of writing my love to you on the parts of my skin that I'd never let you see, so that tearing off my clothes would be the easiest way to show you how I feel. My veins are filling with ink now, a mix of red and blue filled with words left unsaid. Some nights I talk to the walls, some nights they tell me about where your knuckles made dents when I'd whisper in my sleep about leaving you; I never really thought you'd be the first one out the door. Loving you was making excuses. Loving you was throwing diamonds in wishing wells, knowing my hope wasn't worth the price. Sometimes when the highway calls me, sometimes when the sidewalks threaten to swallow me whole, sometimes when the rain fills my lungs with water;  letting you go looks a lot like the final death of me.
  Apr 2015 Marco Mondragon
Rapunzoll
My mind keeps pictures of you up on its walls
                            again
                         ­         and again
I find my thoughts drifting down that river of memory
orbiting around you, like forces of gravity drawn
to the idea of us (if there even is an us)

If I could then I’d lock you outside my brain, leave you out there to rot
in the abyss, where your words couldn't penetrate me
and your lips that work like anesthesia forbidden to numb me again

I won't do you the injustice of romanticizing your imperfections
You're no nebular, you're a black hole, a gaping flaw in creation
Your eyes that held millenniums of history, now hold me no future

You made me forget what it feels to have stability
To not walk out of a room and forget why I left
You make me want to shred the skin you touched
Like a reptile, to become reborn, purified from my past.

There never were any butterflies in your stomach, only parasites
but you fed them to me readily like a disease

So no, I won’t dedicate you another love poem
                 no I want (deserve) better
This isn't what love should be
I’ll write you a poem where the words convulse on the page
and you’ll forget to read it (you always do)
© copyright
Marco Mondragon Apr 2015
Somewhere in great nature, Panama resides.
Many different colored roaming birds;
Dozen cows and wild horses gazing together in herds.

Far beyond the city, cows chewed grass
and pigs sat in warm ponds at noon,
and stray dogs barked after moving vehicles on a hill

As the sun began to die and the moon began
breaking the clouds, i'd lay awake, silently listening to distant animals and insects running off into the warm night
while tree branches tore through the wind miracously

And suddenly the utmost sound found its way into my mind. That of the little motions of night creatures
and stirrings and the thought of waking up in the pink light of early morning and beginning another adventure with my sister.

Panama is a place where people ****** an utter stranger with love and suffocate you with warm embraces
Oregon is becoming more and more a distant memory filled with fading faces.

With every breath, my body is filling itself with the beautiful essence and details of this country
All the blissful regions, rocky and slender
Out and about
Discovering the fresh and the bright.

In the ministry our words poured out like fragrance
Wisdom and peace was brought to those who inhaled every word

This trip has fulfilled its purpose
Teaching me to forget the things behind and stretch forward to the things ahead  (Philippians 3:13)


                              ~ M Mondragon
My trip to Panama
Marco Mondragon Apr 2015
One gloriuos flower of many flowers,
The tenderness of patient minds, so
Many of variuos kinds.

Waiting to be loved
By its enemy,
A mindless dove

Generously blooming
Ready to be praised,
But be careful what you do
You'll bring forth eternal sleep once its raised.

Surrounding flowers fill themselves with tears,
Many sorrows reach vast valleys
Drowning their anguish,
Afraid to face their fears.
Their sun will no longer glow
Who will come along to lift her up and help her grow?

Praising purple and full of death
Even a harmless act can leave
A beautiful thing out of breath.

                                        ~ M Mondragon

— The End —