Her beauty shrouded,  
Her personality hidden,  
In crippling anxiety,  
From which her depression is driven.  
Her true self,  
Only to be shown in flashes of happiness,  
Small moments of laughter.  

All the while,  
She's so ******* herself,  
Her emotions contagious,  
Infecting me the more I see them.    

It's ridiculous,
Emotions that are not mine,
Overwhelm me,
Her sadness drives me crazy,
And yet she suppreses them,

What is killing me,
Multiplied by a hundred,
Can only be seen,
After staring into her eyes.

This is a love poem.
This is a poem for the girl I haven't met yet,
with the long brown hair
and the eyes that always look down.

This is a poem for the girl who thinks this is about her,
and this is a poem for the girl who thinks this is about her.

And it is about you.
It's about your eyes,
and how they don't blink sixty times a minute and
I'm jealous of that,
because you don't have to deal with time passing by as quickly as I do.
And sure, you have a kaleidoscope heart, but
you also have a honeysuckle smile.
And sure, a lot of the time, you see the bad -
but that doesn't mean you can't see the good, either.

I want you to twist my skin between your hands, like an Indian rug burn,
and change me,
because we both know that it isn't as hard as we pretend it to be.
Always look forward,
and adjust me with your fingertips until I'm whatever color you want me to be,
because I'll change for you.

Everything (physically) erased, nothing ever forgotten. Every word spoken or written is engrained in my brain, I will never be the same. Unlike no other you came you conquered you (changed). Seven existential hours that would change my DNA and internal making, making, making what I knew up until then surprisingly malleable. Your words your actions your face your voice filled up every millimeter of me that everything else inside was pushed to the brim and seeped out of my pores. Everything I once was became everything you ever were, ever are. There is a chair in the back of my mind that is reserved for you to sit there and continue to hotwire (my mind) and thoughts into something much better than I ever could have fathomed. Your puppet strings control what and who I am and it is impossible to think there is any other living organism that could possess that undeniable ability. There is a keyhole somewhere inside myself. There is a key inside of you. Keyholes the size of pinholes as vast as Sirius. Small, believable, existing. Keys the shape of orchids and birch as natural as the metamorphosis of roots (into) trees. I never knew what (my) purpose was until you. Or maybe I always knew what I was before you and you opened the windows to the (soul) otherwise known as brown eyes so timid to everyone besides you. The smallest organs became so (full of) nothing but visions of you. There is a special place in my slowly beating heart perfectly executed to fit all of you. A twin bed that only holds one girl has an infinite amount of room for whatever (love) you could continue to bring into my life. The impossibility to (for)get and erase has left me with an endless amount of hope to see you again. The possibility of knowing that you are still somewhere out there and I am still somewhere down here, although unsure where. I cannot ascertain whether or not feelings are reciprocated but I know I know they are. I know you know where you are. I know you know I do not know where I am but you could figure it all out for me. You had it all figured out for me. Plans stretched farther than the 3000 miles separating my red string from yours. Our strings are still connected. There is nothing in the world that can cut them no matter the distance no matter the people no matter the time no matter the place. I know and somehow you know fate will bring our two oceans together. One calm ocean full of creatures so logical and tides so serene they make a beautifully flawed human being known as yourself. One ocean plagued by waves and uncertainty as to what is below the surface that makes up a human being, me. Both oceans surround land full of love. Our continents will merge. Our love will emerge. (You, only you.)

R.I.P
Robert Louis Guerrero Jr.

That's really all there is to say
Everything to be put on my headstone
To mark my final resting place
I can't be certain when it will be my time
I have lied many times over
I have cheated just o get where I am
I have stolen things that should of never been tampered with
I mocked the life I was given
Secrets hold bounty's of truths
That no man or woman should ever know
But here is one
I attempted suicide four times
Each time I failed
I cut my wrist almost every night
I recently stopped for the sake of my heart
I drink like alcohol is going out of style
I have stopped again for my heart
You may be wondering why I have 1996-????
As the title to this redundant poem
Well it's to say that even though I am 17 years old
I am too young to die
Even the good who have died young
Wish they lived to see tomorrow alive
I have been told that I'm too young to hate this world
Yet I have seen enough of it to know
This place isn't for me
I'm not going to **** myself
The world is
They're going to pull this trigger
They're going to carve rivers into my wrist
They're going to determine whether I live or die
That is the reason for the "????"
Because I don't know when
This world will surprise me
By introducing me to Death's cold bony hand

7:34 AM and I still love you
Last June, I loved you
Five years later, I'll still love you
& that my dear, is my problem

I am your eyelids and the train-tracks of your stitches. I am the cracks in your bones and the wealthy mind riches. I am the fluid of your language that speaks in every sentence of your prose, I am the syllable you cannot speak though your tongue still knows. I am the chapel of your rib cage and the rage that it slows, closing the gates to the crosses in rows. I am the dirt under your cuticle and the follicle of your skin, sprouting a thread of your body within. I am the anxiety of your brain and the ecstasy of your flesh, crawling at the sense that you attain and possess. I am your lost baby teeth and the way that they chatter, I am the neurons, the synapses, the white and grey matter. I am your saliva burning caverns in the cave of your time. I am the line of your lips and the lungs you call, "mine." I am your soul, your secrecy, your sanctity. Your spine.