why am i like this?
how do i scare everyone away?
i am your biggest fear, your phobia, the monster on the streets.
i paint my claws that i only ever hurt myself with.
my hair is a nest where nightmares hatch, & the mascara dries on my cheeks.
these eyes find the flaws, but they also see the scars and weep.
what? don’t you want to kiss me?  
or are my chapped lips too angsty?
do they say “crazy *itch” at you?  
do my endless questions also itch at your skin?
at least your skin seems comfortable.
but how dare i make this all about me, when we all go through the same.
right?

wrong.
because i am your drama queen.
i declare a set of rules, i keep records on what you say,
i write letters to your name & invest in you each day.
each day i put on my armour & climb the watch tower.
i see you on your horse.  
you are not the knight.  
but you shine regardless.
you earn the trust for you to enter the iron gates.
once you are in, the damage is done.  
it just takes your leave for me to feel the sword.
what hurts is that i tripped over it.  
my vulnerabilities were out  
in the open.
& you accidentally hurt me.
this, humans can’t promise not to do.

i am an addict.
i write my insecurities & my inabilities down,  
& my pride goes into poetry.
i do nothing about anything.
& i can’t.  
stop.
some would say it’s pathetic,  
how one can be so overwhelmed by the underwhelming,
how one can be so distraught by the daily doses of life.
if i accept it then i have given up my responsibility.
if i ignore it then it silently damages me & my capability.
if i address it i am holding on & i deny my viability.
whatever i do, it has won,  
& it has left me with nothing.

but that’s what a loser does.

sometimes i feel my feelings feel too much.
sometimes nothing makes sense.
sometimes it feels normal that nothing feels okay.
but that’s okay.
sometimes i stress about stressing about stress.
sometimes i hate my irrational abnormality.
sometimes i cry about my weakness.
but that has to be okay.

yes.
there isn’t a definitive answer to my questions.
there seems to be more struggles than strengths.
there isn’t a clear path, or a silver platter with a cure for me.
my clothes cover my cares like sugar coats the pills i swallow.
The pill being _.
but i make a choice.
a lot of the time it seems i don’t have one.
but i do.
sometimes i am influenced to make it,
but i do.
i do.
i always do.

always.

doctors and scientists are trying to find
the causes, effects, & answers.
i sleep & wait.
but instead we should be
talking
listening
trying
supporting
helping
fighting
& never ever letting go.

even if they prove it is part of my genetic makeup
i will wake up,
i will get up,
i will make up,
i will stay up,
&
i will help myself,
help others help myself,
help others help themselves,
& help others help others.
i will highlight my temples with wisdom & peace.
i will shadow my eyes with beauty & light.
i will paint my lips with humility & kindness.  

my genetics will not make up whether i give up or not.
they will not make up my mind,
or make up someone else’s.
my genetics are not choosing if i live or not.
suicide is not a choice.
suicide is not make-up.
suicide is not a gene.

& suicide  
will not take part  
in my genetic makeup.

i laughed at all those jokes you made about falling
yet here i am feeling tears fall because i realise
i tripped at every sweet sentence you said
& now i can’t tie my shoe laces to stop myself.

my shoes were dancing with yours
to a song i associate with you now
& although i know someone kicked you before
& that you’re not ready to throw out those old sneakers,

my laces are getting ******* with yours.
you’re kneeling down to undo them,
& i want to do it, too, to protect myself,
but my heart laces are making me fall.

& then they wonder why kids take off their shoes.
oh, the irony; they don’t get hurt.

the calm synth exhales.
i close my eyes as the rumble of the wheels turn.
palms face up on my lap, i pray.

señor, cuídame en este viaje.
estás conmigo.
inhala; exhala.

my stomach dips with the beat,
the bass picks up & so do we,
right on cue in perfect harmony.

i’m not scared of flying.
i found a peace in that moment
where the song, the sky & my soul
snapped into sync so smoothly
that i sighed in serenity.

i’m not scared of flying,
but sometimes of where i’m going,
& of what lies ahead.

but let me have this moment,
where daniel & kali
soar through the clouds with me,
where everything seems to click.

let me breathe,
despite the lack of oxygen outside.
& save a seat for Him.

~ pilot of life, perfect attendant & guiding wind.

mira.
la cafetería llena de ruido,
y el té que se derrama de tus labios
sin querer.
las páginas que cuentan historias,
y las ventanas que muestran vidas.

pero sigues pensando en otras cosas.

mira.
él no pensará en ti.
él no se preocupa de cómo estás.
él no está esperando por alguien como tú.

mira.
no por él.
mira.
por tu bien.

pues ya no pienso en ti así.
gracias.

~ amigos de nuevo.

quiero traerte a mi país,
y enseñarte lo que me hace feliz.
quiero llevarte a los bares bonitos
donde cantan y arman jaleo.
quiero pasar por debajo
de las pérgolas preciosas del parque
con mis manos colgando
de donde dobla tu brazo.
quiero llevarte a la iglesia  
y bailar y alabar contigo.

pero lamento
que no será posible.
es solamente un sueño
que veo yo solita.
porque tú estás pensando
en tu propio paraíso
y no creo que me incluya.
si no, me lo dirías.
duele querer algo con
alguien que no desea lo mismo.

duele  
ver alguien tan cerca de ti
que piensa que estás  
demasiado lejos de él.
no sé cómo la gente lo hacen  
cuando se enamoran  
en otro país.
la mente se queja,  
el corazón lamenta,  
y el alma llora del dolor.

he sings:
all he wants is nothing more
than to hear her knocking at his door.

& all i want is nothing more
than to be the one opening up my own.

she walks through streets of calmed anxiety,
a technique she has nailed into closed doors.

tranced, coffee sipping, malamente listening;
she lives in her mind for the hours she has to rest.

the summer soars; the light winds are for
whisking away the days til she returns.

though today she practices for the worser days,
she can’t help but realise these are more than okay.

oh, nobody knows
the things in my soul,
the things that i hold

& oh, nobody sees
the things in my dreams,
the things that i keep.

~ stigma.

use your brush
whether it be cracked or stained.
use it to paint a picture
that shows people why
they are made.

use it to write the words
that went unspoken.
use it to keep your mind
from swirling murky clouds
making you broken.  

paint me a picture
to explore what you do;
not for me to judge
but to admire what  
the Lord has poured into you.

~ share your gifts.

the way you cross my mind like your swinging in time
to the sound of harmonies in tune with mine.

~ swing dancing.

i am aware that there must be so many letters
just like this one.
but i promise you, that this love is real.
you hid yourself behind your tear-stained face,
you ran away from your own name.
you took part in the name calling & shaming, &
you hurt yourself more than anyone else did.
but i forgive you.
i forgive you.
i
forgive
you.

because it is you who came here
to complete God’s purpose for you.
not anyone else.
he designed, delivered & devoted.
he designed you in his image.
he delivered you to his world.
he devoted himself to you.

he loves you. he adores you.
& i love you too.

if i can’t, then who will?
& how will you grow & love others?
& how can you not love someone who he holds so dearly?

so here it is.
i am not promising that it is easy.
because it won’t be.
there will be days when you wake up
hating & crying.
there will be days when you question
your importance, your purpose, your life.

but i promise you this.
i choose to love you.
i choose no more to be your enemy.
if i am tearing myself down,
how can i build others up?
every second that i love myself,
my father smiles even more,
& the sun shines straight through the cold clouds.

& he is saying:
“i am your valentine.”
true love is a straight road to my heart.
the rest is an obstacle.
i don’t need cards or kisses,
pennies or pockets full of poetry.
i only need my heavenly valentine
who hugs me into unconditional,
unfailing,
& everlasting love
without precaution or judgement.

& he teaches me to love the woman in the mirror.

in english we say i miss you,
like the person you seek comfort from
is nowhere near.
in french they say tu me manques,
like that person
is literally missing
from you.

what i’m trying to say is:
te echo de menos.

you’re not here in my circle of proximity.
you’re too far away to hold close
or kiss,
or even meet for a walk & a talk.

& maybe it’s selfish
or silly
but i find myself  
daydreaming
of you
or how you make me feel

when you embrace me & my being;
talk softly to me & laugh with me;
walk calmly near me
& search for answers in my eyes  

or on my lips.  

we’ll always be friends.
but i think you’ll be that friend
where i feel something more.

safe & calm;
happy & warm;
soft & blissful.

& while i can feel those things
with my friends & family,
it grows differently with you:

a gentle glow of light  
in the depth of my soul,
kindled with every touch;
every word;
every look;
every smile;
every inhale of your cologne.

i hope it never dies out.

i used to question:  
what if it’s just the idea
of you
that i miss
& the short time we spent together
that i relive in my mind?

but i know it’s not just an idea.
because if it was, i would want that  
with anyone who piqued my interest.

but it is listening to music with you
& sipping cider in busy bars with you
& sitting on cold benches conversing with you
& lying breathing with you
& how did it get to this,
when surely you don’t feel the same?

i could see it,  
& maybe you could.
but maybe that terrified you,
or made you think more than you should.

pero que será, será; whatever will be, will be.
the Lord will have his way,
& it’s okay to feel,  
come what may.

so is this simply a nebulous picture
that i once dreamt up on a train?

no, it is you.

i
    m i s s
                  you.

when were you going to tell me?
how did you think I would feel? did you even think?
you took what you wanted & locked me out,

making me say sorry so i could come back in,
expecting me to make amends.

mirrors always seem to shatter my heart. their sharp shards would draw out the blood.

~ mirror beauty.

you once said i always have a choice.
i was mad.

you said that to someone who was helpless.
you said that to someone who had tried everything endlessly.

but you made me see that i was giving up.
that i had given up.

i am crazy.
i don't deny that.
but while i am attempting the embracing,
all i need is an embrace.

you won't give me that.
i respect you for the respect you give.
i know i have baggage.
i didn't expect you to carry it.
if you don't believe
that you are the one to help me with that,
to adore me for who i am,
to keep me 'til i die,
then that's okay.

it hurts.

like a paper cut.
it requires all my attention in this moment,
but if it won a role in my life
it would be the grains of rice i eat
from my favourite dish i cook
on the wednesdays of a busy week.
mostly insignificant, yet memorable.

i'm not saying you are a paper cut;
i'm saying you paper-cut me.

papers cut unintentionally.
knives cut with purpose.

that's why it is paper.

it stings.
it will seem tiny later, but right now it screams.

it needs healing. it needs prayer.
it needs trust in the bigger picture plan.

my bigger picture plan will have you in it
i am sure. for you have great lessons to teach.
but don't think you are the only one,
or that you are the only teacher.

my bigger picture plan will have you in it
for i have known you long.
my bigger picture plan
is not mine to organise,
but it is mine to live.

& even if you aren't in it after
i (dramatically) mourn this paper cut
with yellow rice on my fork,
r & b in my ears,
& type up words with teary tissues,
i thank you for everything you gave me.
i pray for your wellbeing,
& i praise God.

soy profesional en fingir que estoy bien.
incluso empecé a creerlo.
miento al espejo. los cristalitos se caen;
cortan mi piel & la sangre se derrama de mis ojos.

~ autolesión.

you didn’t say the wrong thing you just said it to the wrong person.

~ naomi joseph.