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River Raras Mar 2018
To hide,
Make opaque the details
Sympathetic outlines
Obscuring what I should be feeling

Imaginary traipses through
Verbal scenery
Clutch your denial between your legs
Drink it while I'm not watching
Mouth agape, skin pulled tight by your truth’s fingers,
Another hot gush of “denial” arches your back and forces shut your eyes
You aren't watching either

We're blurrier than we were.

No definition,
What we are exists in 240p
I'm straining my vision against the harsh grain of a flickering lcd
I'm watching the most important part of your story disappear into sporadic outcroppings of dead pixels
I'm grasping an empty metal frame and begging until I feel like screaming,
“I can't see you anymore”

Sometimes I think I shouldn't.
River Raras Mar 2018
Emotional stranger
No words to voice my stress
You will not hear
My foreign thoughts
We speak different languages now.
River Raras Sep 2014
I've been awake for a while.
You have been in stasis.
A bitter slumber,
With burning dreams

My scalded thoughts writhe,
Frigidity is so tempting.

Am I ahead or behind?
I lost interest in this crossroads,
Years before you approached it.
You will stand and search and see,
That in this flashy intersection of bodies
There is nothing to explore but what you've already seen in your head.
There will be nobody to talk to
But the corpses of those that never moved forward.

I have felt so much more
On this dusty two laner--
Without the distraction of the blinking lights,
Without the screaming of the thought police,
Without a lust ridden billboard selling supposed truth--
It is so much easier to see the horizon.

It is far more beautiful
Than flesh.
And is more eternal

I would see our fingers
Intertwined like you would see yourself
With as many people.

If that is truly what you want
And this is truly your stop
Maybe it's time I unclench my heart
And let you wander;
It's four in the morning,
And I'm exhausted anyway.

I hope by the time I fall asleep
Your ever-shuffling feet
Will let you find home.
June 24, written without spite
River Raras Aug 2014
My brother, I wish you the best.
Hoping this drive is easy on you,
Hoping the friends are good,
Hoping you pass,
Not just the test to become
A practicing personal trainer
But to become somebody new.

My brother, I wish you the best.
I wish you solace,
I wish you solidarity,
I wish you would not leave.
Not just here,
Because I certainly wish that too.
But I wish you would not leave me,
Because where you go I want to go with you.

My brother,
I wish I could skip the months
Because a day at most is what I am used to waiting.
My brother,
I wish you could miss me like I will miss you
And I wish for you never to understand
Not out of shame for myself,
But so you can become all you can.

Friends give you their hand so
One day you can let go.
I pride myself on my grip of stone.
There are other people,
Other places to grow old.

So divided,
The state of my heart
My splitting head aches from the fissure, it is cracked open.
I am proud to know you,
And I know the potential your new home could hold
And therein sits my dilemma,
Wedged king-like between the two words ruling my mind.
The throne:

The crown

Because you are so firmly embedded in my past that you couldn't be
Torn out
By a riot or a ****** or a stateline.

You tore a hole out of this town,
Be sure.
I'm sure I'll trip on it,
When I'm stumbling around,
And I'm sure it will hurt.

I just hope
You read those books I gave you,
And my coffee ends up staining the pages.
Because that kind of symbolic permanence is one of two things I wish for.

And my brother,
I wish you the best.
Dedicated to Gerson Garay

A wonderful friend.
River Raras Jun 2014
How many words
Arranged for you?

How many hours
Awake because of you?

How many kisses
Given to forget you?

How many times have I given up?
I want to say many

How many lies
Have I told myself?
"How many times will my heart break?"
"How many ways will I lose?"

How many of them
Will your soft truths erase?

How many landings
After falling out of dream-state,

How many dreams
Allowed me to caress your face?

I have suddenly emerged
From long
My cells even,
They scream for you,
Shouting out endorphins

You make me feel like a child
Because only children are able to feel pure,
Uncomplicated happiness
The way you make me feel it.
Only a child can lose itself
So completely as I do with you
And only a child would be so eager
To run towards something pretty;
With untied shoes,
With legs not fully grown
And not yet often used,
With an unsteady gait,
But a focus so clear it could only come from a head higher even than the clouds,
Knowing what tripping means
Knowing what falling feels like
Knowing fragility,
And not knowing what it is to care.

How many poems
Have I written you into?

How perfect must a piece be
To start to color in
The picture of you
I've written?

How many adjectives
Must describe love
Must describe laughter
Must describe honesty
Before I can see your eyes glowing in my work?

How can I summon these words
And more
To let you in on yourself
While your fingers run through my hair?

How can I speak?

You make me,
You make me,
You make me stutter sometimes because I'm so caught up in how sweet you are
And repetition is so sweet when you're a part of it
And no matter how many times I say your name,
It will never lose its flavor.

I am more for you
And, somehow,
I am the same as I've always been.
I am more aware of myself than ever before,
And less self conscious,
Because you bring out the beauty in things simply by allowing your own beauty to be with them.
It's hard not to feel worthy of something
When something so wonderful
Doesn't even give you a chance to wonder if you are.

How many chances
Have you given me?

How many times will I fall for you?
It doesn't matter,
Because every time I do,
I remember

How easy
Falling for you is.
River Raras May 2014
Bending or breaking a set of rules
Until the broken system
Finally resembles you.
River Raras May 2014
Hey, where did you go?
You have such a beautiful voice,
And though I've never heard it,
And I've only ever read it,
It always sounded so wonderful through your prose.

I miss seeing your thoughts.
I think I've read you,
Straight through,
sEVEN times at least.
It's been since February that
You finished your work from January.
I want to know your mind again.

You started

You told me I was good,
A shock after my first attempt.
It electrocuted my doubts,
And saw sparks bursting from my creative capacitors.

Then you told me to grow some *****.

You can't change everything.

Then you said you wished somebody would write you the way I wrote her.


When I call words to mind
And haphazardly plaster my paper with them
They're really just scattered collections,
Lessons in literature I've unconsciously taken from my favorite authors.

You're already in every poem I write.

My favorite authors are the minds
That create bodies for themselves
From the bodies of their work and skill.

When you write,
You embody the poem.
All I see in those lines is your hand,
Back bent over your thoughts,
Wringing perfection from English.

Point is,
My poetry is already partly you.
But why would you want
A poem of you
Written by somebody like me
When your own poetry
Is more you than I could ever hope to be,
And when you are such a brilliant writer anyway?
Written for my friend Jami Samson,
Who writes too well
To write so little.

I miss you, please come back.
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