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tell me
why private thoughts
become so loud and violent
upon our faces that
they peel the layers of skin,
and our own form of sun,
burns us alive inside.
i waited patiently for your breath
like hot summer nights,
a whisper of a wind, a secret
tantalizing, lost in lulls of sleep
and i'm restless in bed,
sheets suffocate me with the
lies of your body, and
ghosts are more familiar
than your scent.
tell me, i screamed it with my
eyes as you slept.
i once held your palm and
felt your fingers slip,
did they reach for hers
instead?
© copyright

poem on adultery
still going through writers block. posting stuff i wrote a few months back and forgot about.
i was the type not to get scared,
when i was seven, i climbed to the roof of the house,
and danced, not like a bird that could fly,
but like a chick barely just hatched,
ready to throw itself from the nest.

i used to dive into the deep end of the pool,
to sink until my lungs would burst and
i felt like there was no greater joy than living.

i hated few things except the dark
maybe because i thought of monsters,
but now i just think of death.
i despised routine and any type of
cage i could be put in,
i wanted to live as though each day
was my first and last.

when i was seventeen, i thought i found
my soul in a boy that loved everybody.
i held onto memories, like he held on
to grudges and his ex lovers.
and he never made any promises,
but i hoped i would never live to see
him become a broken one.

i fell in love with the thorns, but not the rose,
sometimes bad attention,
is worse than no attention,
i used to think i could withstand a hurricane,
but now the slightest gust can send me away,
i think painstakingly of the girl i could be,
and the girl i am, and it's been a while,
but i wish i was still as good
at sharing how i feel as i am at hiding it.
© copyright
there's a summer growing in my mother
there's something burning
blistering something soft
my mother's woman
is souring like warm milk
it tells her this is natural
this is the way an organic thing rots

there's a winter growing in me
there's something cold
splintering something soft
my mother's woman
is freezing like a lake in december
small and cold and stagnant
and everyone's too scared
to put too much weight on it
i'm trying to be strong
but strong feels cold
cancer feels cold
what does that make me

there's a spring growing in my mother
there's something growing in my mother
there's something putting down roots
my mother's woman
is growing plastic flowers
from hospital bracelet stems
she waters them with her iv drip
it grows and tells her it's natural
it grows and tells her it's right
it's not right

there's an autumn growing in me
there's something about believing
in a god that shows mercy
that dies
when you watch mercy
get its *** kicked by mutation
my mother's bravery
is getting its *** kicked
by biology
my mother's hope is a thing with feathers
my mother's faith is a thing with leaves
and both of them are dying
she tells me it's okay
it's not okay
it's not okay
this is it. this is the poem i've been too scared to write.
 Apr 2016 Marco Mondragon
N
You told me you didn't like the way I stared for so long at sunsets. Almost as though you didn't want me to fall in love with something that was leaving. What you never considered was that the most comforting thing about watching it leave was the knowing that it would come back even more beautifully at dawn. You told me you didn't like the way my cheeks shook when I laughed, so I began laughing less passionately. You told me you didn't like the way I bit my bottom lip when I was deep in thought, so I stopped getting lost in my own head. You told me you didn't like the way I whistled while making the bed in the morning, so my morning tune got silenced. You told me, you didn't like the way my voice shook when I told you how much I love you. So I began saying less often. I did all this, to make you love me more. I did all this because I wanted to be the reason that you didn't leave; I know you've spent your whole life running. I wanted to be the home you couldn't find yourself getting away from. I was clay in your hands and you moulded me into everything that I've never been. I wish I would have been enough for you to come home to. I wish that my kiss felt as welcoming as the front door mat. I wanted to be everything that I'm not for you, but I just needed you to keep me.
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