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 Jan 2016 Marco Mondragon
Tea
I've spent centuries
in this agony
My body changes
but time stays still

All this time I've passed
waiting to be found
like a bird inside a cage,
my feet chained to this ground

I can't keep my monsters at bay
but I can't run away


In the eye of each soul
all I see is fear
and my own still whispers
"I'm not from here"

By now I thought
I'd have more power
But at the end of each day
"it" still devours

Even though there's love in my heart
I still feel like falling apart


Each fight feels like
dark mirrors inside a maze
and all I see in this reflection
is my own empty gaze

My mind is light years
away from this place
Still the only thing that saves me
is your warm embrace

And when it feels like I have no choice
I recognize your voice


I'm so tired of this fight
But your love still keeps me warm
Together, we'll win this battle
Together, we'll breathe through the storm.
I don't like history repeating itself
So I'm starting over
I just hope you'll be a part of my future
 Dec 2015 Marco Mondragon
M
Untitled
 Dec 2015 Marco Mondragon
M
sometimes I say to the Lord,
this is too much. You have given me too much
but then I remember what I asked him
and I remember how much more so many people have
been through- that Joseph had a woman he could never
have, a child that would never be his, and instructions
to go on a journey to a country that enslaved his people
because the authorities in his own country were out to ****
his family. And I dare look at the Lord and say,
"You have given me too much" when martyrs
have died, Daniel came out of the lion's den,
many men went into the flames saying, "if not,
He is still good", guns have been pressed to heads
with the question "are you a Christian" and the response
could mean death, and life; or life, and death.
How dare I look at the Lord and say,
"You have given me too much"?
I cannot. I daren't.
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
when i heard that you were going to die, my mother told me "baby, these bodies are only as strong as the next car crash". invincible until two metal birds try to occupy the same airspace and then hollow bones suddenly are no good for flying anymore. i watched the same thing happen to you, without the screeching brakes. when your blood tried to occupy the same space as your lungs, your heart suddenly didn't know what to do so it didn't do anything. i'm writing this poem without any line breaks because i'm scared that if i give you any empty space, you'll take it and run and i can't let you die like birds flying south for winter. this isn't that natural. i can't justify you dying with a stupid euphemism like "if you love something, let it go". this isn't how it's supposed to be. god created the word "goodbye" to try to make up for the fact that we ever needed to use it in the first place. i'm supposed to be able to use it but you couldn't hear me even if i could. i'd tell you goodbye but it's clear neither of us are good at letting go.
i'm taking comfort in jet lag
i'm thinking of the catharsis in a glance
i'm measuring stages of grief
in atmospheres traversed
i'm changing my name to stale blood
i'm hurdling 27,006 feet above where you are
i'm wondering if emotions can become
airborne
i'm wondering if anyone knows
i'm wondering how everyone here can
just not know
how they can not break down entirely
when they hear someone running to
catch a flight
i'm choking on pressurized air
and promises
death decided i shouldn't keep
i'm breaking sound barriers
trying to find
the last octave you could speak
i'm crying at the sight of sewing needles
i'm sleeping in your bed
i'm dreaming of breaking the teeth
that took your mouth for granted
i'm pressing flowers from your funeral
in a book that promised eternal life
i'm cursing your death certificate
i'm still waiting for a curtain call
i never wanted to write this poem, especially for you.
i realized i no longer remember your birthday

at the realization of this realization i
crumbled on my bathroom floor
and cried for joy at my mind
learning to replace the long memories
of birthday candles in your living room
with a comfortable void
like the space after they were blown out

these things learned to be left alone
until nothing but the peace of
forgetful numbness remained

my heart surviving its own efforts
my heart surviving you

me
surviving you
i am forgettable
i am dull
i am a background character at best
never the hero
never the love interest
never the happy ending
always the passing glance
always half acknowledged
always the plan b
never the apple of anyone's eye
nothing special
nothing new or brilliant or beautiful
nothing memorable, no spark
i am beige
i am boring
i am only loved out of obligation
i do not exist
to you
or to anyone
or to anything
at all
vestige: (noun) a trace of something that is disappearing or no longer exists.
i want to grow up next door from you
i want to be seven years old with you
i want to put band-aids on your
skinned knees

i want to meet you in a book store
i want to talk about poetry and art and trotsky
i want to buy you a book like i'm
buying you a drink at the bar

i want to sit next to you on the train
i want to make small talk about the weather
i want to lend you my coat and forget
to ask for it back

i want to be a field nurse
if you're a wounded soldier
i want to change your gauze
and sneak you extra meal rations

i want to be a bystander
talking you off the ledge
i want to lead you gently back into the world

i want to be careful with your heart

i want to love you softly and abiding
agapē love: selfless, sacrificial, unconditional love
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