i've always waited for you
i'm still waiting for you
not my eyes but my heart
searches for you in dark hallway's
because you are the only one who makes me feel safe
i've been undercover for a while now
hiding parts of me
that you soon unraveled
just the thought of you
feeds my soul
your language
fuels my brain
your first kiss planted my seed
you are helping me bloom every day
you are sunlight
and
i am rain
we fit hand-in-hand
your voice deep like the ocean
your touch soft like sand
I am your sand
I am the weather down rocks and
minerals crumbling to make your sand
I came to you
arms hanging
legs limp
lips crinkled
eyes puffy
heart broken
you took me in full embrace
you didn't mend me
you melted me
baby I feel warm
you are the best thing in every room
you are poetry I love to write

water swirls in the bottom of my belly. my words grow legs and dance on my tongue and begin spilling out of my mouth only leaving an echo because you didn't respond. i let you take pieces of me i didnt know i had.  i am a dice you role every morning on a game board. wether the number is 1,2,3,4,5,6 they all still stand for "hurt her". rip her heart out and throw it on the ground. pick it up. drop it again. kick it. and she'll pick it up the next morning. and ill hurt her again. ill hurt again. ill do it again. if you leave. hold me tight one more time. stamp your kisses on every inch of me. ill leave the music on to swallow the silence. ill leave the door open wide. just in case you come back. just in case i can't open the door again. my limbs are limp. my head is swarming with bumble bees. their buzz sounds just like your ring when you text me. i let the bees in because lets face it my heart still jumps out of its cage and walks around looking for you. i hear the creek on the 4th step of the staircase and my speakers blare "wait" by M83, praying you turn around. i begin to go places that remind me of you. this is the type of pain that feels nice. this is the type of pain that i'm already feeling and you haven't even left yet. you're my daily dose of psuedo happy pills. you're 4am thoughts that itch at my scalp, begging to be written down. i am kitchen utensils. used daily. but left in the sink until someone else comes to wash me off. until someone else comes to ask if i am okay. until i come and throw the dice away. ill still be a game you'll always want to play because you have me figured out. you know all the corners to cut. all the cards to take from the pile and hide until the very end. until then i'm just a list of untils. and that will be the end of me. until.

i watched a movie. i felt empty. no i feel empty. i am empty. i'm not going to say there's a hole in my heart or pit in my stomach. because my heart isn't my heart and my stomach isn't my stomach. i think it's someone else's. have you ever seen a confused a dream with life? or stolen something when you had the cash? have you ever been blue? or thought your train moving while sitting still?  i was interrupted with the voice and emotions of someone i don't want to be. i lost myself in the emptiness of the own little world i tried to create. i couldn't keep it up. the wood of my so called home was soaked, but not from the rain. the salty water wasn't a good combination and my home began to weary down. there would be no drying. there  was no sun where i lived. my home collapsed. but my home wasn't my home it was my heart. no it was someone else heart.  a heart i tried to mend with some classic jack johnson tunes. the heart pounded the sounds of "this **** isn't going to work" these vibrations of music you want me to feel isn't enough you have to start over

do you know what it's like to have a pit in your heart? i can feel it right now i can hear gymnopiede playing in the back ground filling me with a sanity but not enough remember what Rupi said " it was when i stopped searching for home within others and lifted the foundations of home within myself i found there are no roots more intimate than those between a mind and body that have decided to be whole" but instead i fall in love w the little things that i mold into big things to make myself feel important. when people see that i'm stressed and deprived of sleep and love i feel significant to their daily lives.
i want to be the rose in the garden that everyone wants to tend so they can revive the gold medal for the best green thumb. i want to be the bookmark of every bibliophile on the planet but little do they know that rose wants to die that's rose has thorns inside poking her every hope. rose hopes for love but not just any love. rose hopes that a dandelion will come who will be intelligent enough to pull the thorns out and so beautiful she will gasp for another breath just to see their petals. on weekends rose absorbs enough sunlight to get up for work. she tends to the clothing at the retail stop at the local mall and as she folds the endless piles of destroyed denim she admires the many flowers that tend to one another.she can smell the scent of the flickering candles upstairs and she makes her way up to the candle shop on her break she never sets foot inside, she worries the flicker of the flame will catch her petals. rose doesn't want to be alone when it happens she wants a dandelion to come and save her from the flame she wants dandelion to roar as loud as he can and blow the flame out. and be there ready to sweep rose off her stem. rose wants everyone to be happy she try's her hardest to make sure her garden has enough light and water and that everyone's petals aren't frowning. rose has tried too hard she ends up being the loneliness one her garden. she returns to her shop after break she goes back to folding the same endless pile of denim and she admires the buttercup walking with the california poppy looking at the lights hanging from the ceiling. the dutch iris and the crocus intertwining their petals. honesty and honeysuckle are pursing the petals together under the mistletoe. rose gathers her tools and makes her way to her wheel barrow parked by the restrauants she passes the children frolicking in the lot and she catches the heart beat of excitement of the little girl who's eyes are glued to the ipad that is playing alice and wonderland and rose can hear the garden scene and she cringes and feels like she's been swallowed by a world who doesn't know what passion is. rose wonders where the little girls mother is and she catches her mother sitting on the lap of the magnolia and she longs to be a mother but a mother who watches alice in wonderland with her child and frolics with her kids in the parking lot but pays attention to the cars coming just in case her motherly instincts have to kick in.
rose returns to her garden and flips thru the channels hoping to find a romance movie on. rose does this to her self. she absorbs her self into all the love she can get because deep downside she fears she will never find her dandelion. rose finds her self drowning in an ocean of tears. she crys out to the garden are my petals not light enough? is my stem to thick?. rose wants to dig herself a grave and burry herself there with the fake petals of a dandelion so that one day when the walkers in the cemetery hear the clanking of her stem crying out for love they will dig her up and see how much she coveted the love of a dandelion and they will find the real petals and place them next to her.  rose will tear honey because that's the sweetest thing she knows she will wipe her tears and lick the honey off of her petals. rose doesn't want to hide in her sunken city of petals she wants to tell you who she is. hello i am rose.
i've been trying to get rid of the file cabinets in my brain that i have been organized alphabetically. A- aster i love you and i promise your prayers for a new kidney will be granted. B- bleeding heart i want you to know i will drive you in wheel barrow to the hospital so you
can be sewed up. C- carnation please don't fret the world loves you and im so sorry you have a price tag that will eventually be ripped off when the children at the elementary school down the street buy you on february 14th just know that you're so much more to me than a valentine's day gift. D- daffodil you're too precious to feel unwanted your lover will come soon.i can hear the crys of them but please go back to the bed and sleep. i'm able to open my pedals up and hear the weeping of a dandelion "thank you for being there for them and just know i've been hear all along, rose. you're tired i can tell by the wrinkles of your palms please promise me rose that you will baptize yourself into the ocean of love that you keep drowning in. " rose pulls the dead roots that are pinning her down in her grave and gasps for another breath to see dandelion before the roots come back from under and tug her back down she is able to string her broken english together and whisper " dandelion i already have"

ive been told i'm naive. i have this problem of letting go i like to cling on tight to memories and most of all people. as soon as i meet someone i put all of my faith in them right away. they always end up hurting me and i feel this heaving in my chest and the pit of my stomach wants to grow legs and crawl it's way but i'm addicted to hurting. i don't know how to get rid of the memories i wish i could be like a snake who sheds but for some reason i like the layers to build up with sadness. i like the way music can make my soul break even more,but still give me a bit hope for someone new. why do i depend on others? i know how to be happy but i want someone to share it with. i want someone that feels like home. i live in this city in mind where the lights shine only at night the mornings scare me because it's a new day where something could go wrong but at night i like to travel to my city. the lights shine thru my bones its being lit up like a christmas tree when you're getting an MRI. on the bad days i try to hang the lights but not from the ceiling i want them to turn off. my bones beg to be brittle the fat that hangs on is suffocating them. my ilium believes the fat is the reason why she doesn't receive love. but ilium is wrong. ischium try's to remind her about the men who pinned those hips down before placing their hands on her mind give me your hands and feel my city. we could build our on world. our city will be for us and you can help me appreciate mornings and i can show you the night and i'll hang the lights where they belong. my heart is racing and this city has drowned me in nostalgia and now i don't know if i have someone to share my city with and then you never realize how lonely you are until you shut the lights off and the light music plays and it's like you remember having someone to share the tranquility with but yet you never really did. you never shared the way music is what's flowing thru your veins and what's pumping your heart. and i can see the look in his eyes and he doesn't get it. he doesn't understand that at night when i lye down i don't hear my heartbeat like he does i hear banana pancakes,cry baby, miss mirage, big jet plane,wait for me, only love, i hear music baby i hear the voices of artist that have constructed notes that soothe my mind their pieces have become co workers who are trading shifts because their not sure if there tunes have what it takes to pump oxygen today

nostalgia has become my best friend
the smallest things will make me relive this memory that i never really had. like when i hear the vibrations of no one ever loved, i have this aching in my bones and my heart feels like spears are flying in at every direction and i cry out for someone i never really lost or the way pictures of places make me yearn to go back to countries i've never seen. i've been homesick for the place we never had and longed for someone i could never have. home the scent that lingers to the bedroom i can smell the  batter of the aunt jamima. syrup is expanding on the kids plates, sticking like the glue they will soon discover their first day of preschool. and as i stand here in front of you now i can't fathom if this is another one of my vivid dreams. i've been in a mental daze for years now my mind is scattered like a meadow of sunflowers who can't seem to shine through my orbit nerves. the painting of the paris that dangles like saucepans behind my bed is yet another country i've tried to crawl into, but it's painful my knees are developing carpet burn and my elbows are full of red mountain ridges. and i can't seem to reach the summit of this mountain. honey do you remember the glue sticks we have hidden until the kids first day of school? give the glue to them. let them learn how to unscrew the cap, pop it off like the corks of the first champaign bottle they will open on december 31st. give them ropes that will leave a ribbon of red on their palms by the time they reach the clift that their mother dangles from. tell the kids to use their little muscles they've been strengthening with their daily glass of milk, to push mommy to the top and glue my feet there and make me promise i  will never jump. home the first place the kids got to use glue, the new place where whey will build a foundation of trust with their father on a mountain where glue wasn't enough to hold their mother down. mom. yes sorry, i was just washing the dishes, go color a picture for your father. soap drips from my prunny palms leaving ***** dish water memories. when i see the steel sink, i hear the garbage disposal weathering the rocks down of a mountain i've been struggling climb. breaking down every memory i've ever had. slicing them like apples except there's no juice. but there is aunt jamima batter, enough batter to linger scents to my room every morning. enough syrup to stick to the cheap paper plates, from the corner store. corners i will turn until i reach the summit of this  mountain.

why is it that womanhood is so vile? people bash our bodies opening us up like watermelons to see how sweet we are inside. squeezing our dreams and hopes like oranges into a glass cup. i think you are threatened of our bodies sweetness. threatened of our anger. get used to it. we are every fruit you wish you could pick from the tree. when our trees shed leaves you run because god for bid my ovaries drop an egg  and my legs split like a canyon with a sanguine river flowing for a week. you get down on your knees begging for our bodies s so long that when you stand your ankles crack like the noise i make on my way up the stairs from the night shift. i let my spine arch on the bed creating an invisible hill that you will try to climb. we are becoming stronger by learning not to brush off the  cruel cat calls you make when we walk by but instead we lift our middle fingers and tell you to woman up. tell you to grow some ******* ovaries because let's face it your ***** will never mount our courage. no it's not that i don't think you are strong but i know you need to change the way you speak to women. stop calling us a ***** just because we won't send you nudes. not even the pics we found on google of the old wrinkly breast. stop shaming me with my body parts. stop saying that's gay why the **** is something weird gay. do you remember when i said you are threatened of our anger no baby this is rage this is something i don't like to wear its like a heavy winter coat that clings to my sweaty carmel skin during florida winters.  but don't be threatened of our sweetness we are honeycombs. our kisses are golden yellow and thick. we love the feeling of our honey dripping on your lips.  we want  you to covet our thoughts not our thighs. take in our cellulite like oxygen but not until you learn to march with us and fight for our basic human rights and show pride for us when we wear our flowly skirts and tight jeans because don't you dare say my lacy bralette was asking for it. if you understand now hit pause now and take a stroll over to the orange groves and peel back our thick layers of glory and now now baby you can taste our royalty