Slouched on the bed, legs bent up,
The laptop face beaming.
I just gaze at the screen.
This emotionless laid-back stance makes me think
I'm fresh out of a bath, hair wet,
How relaxed my body feels still.
The heat filled my body like that cup
Of jasmine green tea on my bedside.
Curls are forming at the bottom of my hair;
As they always tend to.
I sit here, no thrill.
As I was en route home,
I had the breeze lashing on my skin,
The wind and the spitting rain,
Splattering on my coat.
It normally creates an illusion of polkadots,
And makeup blackens my cheeks.
I squint to see,
Somehow I prefer this feeling.
Exhilaratingly breathless,
Uplifted and exhausted.
But yet, I am sat here.
Glaring into a screen.

I can't concentrate when I'm with you
You ****** my attention away
You hide my inhibitions
Immediately and greedily
But you're not culpable
I lose all rationalities loving you
I lose all sense of self loving you

Swearing is the coward's way out
To put into words
To eloquate
One's deepest fears and worries
The ones punishable by shame or rejection
Dejected

****

The widest smile
Architecting the happiest creases

Oval vision with the chocolate that is just about lighter than the deep black centre
Yes I have stared that deeply into his eyes

But there's a sadness
I want to solace

If you want to know someone
Deeply
Truly
Sincerely
Read their poetry

Hands are the body's warm greeting
they direct and show and tell
I watch his
as they turn the pages very well

I'm laying down
head on his lap
no sight of his head, nor his torso
I'm turned away and there's a ****** gap

Projecting unfocused black and white images
on the wall of my bedroom
a caress, murmuring, a conversation
and he'll be gone soon

His hands motion his emotions
the page-turning incessant
light from the projection and cheap scented candles
highlighting flesh, bone, and incandescence

I am a director of this seeming aesthetic film
the script is unfinished
without delving too deeply into this memorable moment
the self is being diminished

Siempre regreso a la poesía
La lengua no me importa
Solamente la habilidad de expresarme
Honestamente, sin prejuicio
Mi amor por él es imposible describir
Mi mente siente locisíma

And now you're just a face in the crowd,
That I used to recognise
Every inch of;
The eyelashes that curled more than mine, and
The teeth that revealed that loving smile.

And now you're just a name in a list of people
Blurred out, no longer highlighted;
Just like a on social media page,
No longer giving me intense, unjustified butterflies.
Oh, how they'd flutter inside.

And now you're just a memory,
A photograph, pausing a happy feeling;
But not truly reflecting the previous, sorrowful
Day or two,
In which I made us both cry.

And now you're just frivolous gossip.
Your name bears this nostalgia;
But can never fulfil me like before.
I know I'm your past,
And will never be your future.

It's like all those emotions I'd read about:
The artistic, pompous, ostentatious words on a page.

Distorted human feelings,
Showing the imperfection of our design.

Images of bones, hearts, skin,
Every inner and outer thing that makes us this material being.

We could have perfectly soft skin,
But the most un-soft thoughts.

A harsh, "ugly" exterior,
But the most enchanting heart.

I can't even define what ugly means,
Because we're all art and perception.

And no art, no matter what,
Is that.

My eyes were closed shut
As I awoke
I smoked a metaphorical ****
of a Spike Lee Joint

I interpreted the depths of meaning
Scary reality
The errors of humanity
In the form of a feature film

Portrayal after portrayal
Non-minstrel, realistic black lives
Race-relation vibes
A voice for the underrepresented

Lee makes you want to use your voice
For the betterment of the world
Development of how we want our history to unfurl
Black lives matter still

A blue bicycle along some leaves
bright and sunny coloured
crunching along the grey path, a duller
tone. It is autumn fall as life leaves.

It returns to us, however,
as nature's boomerang:
as the sky cries, as the wind sang.
What is love, if not a sudden onset fever?

Our vision becomes clouded
like the morning fog,
tears fall and rosy cheeks become crowded.

An incontrollable sobbing, at rock bottom
until we reach that point shrouded
beneath the soil, becoming one with autumn.

Plug in the kettle,
But in your soul,
With settled heart beats,
Your man is cold.
He loves to call bluff
And shakes your mind;
Poorer than paupers
You, fighting blind.
Plug in the kettle,
Put in again
Some assorted teabags
Of taste in men.
Dunk it in slowly,
But it all spews.
What's left for yourself
What can you do?
Fry your tastebuds in
Oil from your part,
Take out the teabag
From your boiled heart.

Kiss my cheek
I’ll feel 100 times better
I know how much you don’t want me to cry

If you kissed my cheek
The tears would have no choice
But not to stream

The thing that we dwell on,
Sometimes reaches a threshold that we
Cannot function anymore we have not
Attained a full level of this
Subjective, unattainable thing; its absence is
depression. These peaks and troughs we
deny are just fleeting moments in
something that will become our history.
Our children will look and say,
You should be grateful, you had
it all: the money, the possessions
the happiness. But it’s not all
that is it? It’s the people
on my continuum. I’ll meet you
and you’ll pass me by on
the street and we’ll never say
hello because you’d much prefer to
be consumed in your possessions and
self. Whereas I’ll meet another and
we’ll share our ideas and maybe
even our lives together. You’ll inspire
me to write about something, or
perhaps we’ll never meet. We can
Only speculate what role you play
In my life at this moment.

I lost the words that used to come to me like
An avalanche of ideas
Flowing, streaming, drowning my brain in words
Pouring into my mind, not tears
But like kettle-boiled water to make that morning coffee

It is frustrating how now the images
That once focused my mind like a camera lens
Are distorted polaroids
Of long forgotten friends
........

Que día
melancólico, precioso.
Es raro,
no está
como otros.
Un poco
de sol,
un poco
de viento -
como siempre,
mi amigo.
Los nubes
me miran,
mientras yo
estoy mirándolos.
Música bonita:
batería suave.
Un camino
corto, bonito.
Mira, gira
el mundo
cada día.
Estoy aprendiendo,
estoy creciendo,
es claro.

Ten
You and I had a start
And now a history  
Your irises reflect mine
Chocolate brown mystery
Soya chocolate milk
Don't be sad, promise
me you'll try not to be
Here you can find solace

Eleven
Uhhh

When you skip the rhyme
And you scan the lines
And you feel whatever you can,
Whatever comes to you: it's what I am.
A sobering experience
Highlighting our differences
As I'm allowing the typed letters to form words
And the words, often absurd.
Like the water will hydrate your body and skin
The words will do the same to your mind and soul within.

A selfish part
That I will never
Share with him
A passionate part
That I could never bear
To express to him
A beautiful thought
Destroyed
By an ugly action
A talentless wording
To a mediocre
Melody ...

Through this lens, I look at a flower
Magenta in colour.
Snap.
Further along the flowerbed, I see a red rose,
Its petals immaculate.
Snap.
As the Canon focuses,
As each pixel becomes clearer and more vivid,
And colours more vibrant, I
Snap, snap, snap.
Through my lens, I turn the camera and
Observe your ****** expression;
What do I see?
Snap.

I picture her hands and
An image comes to mind.
Nails painted red and
Fingers wearing rings of every sort:
Sometimes gold, silver,
A diamond, and even sometimes
A turquoise stone.
Her hands,
Always pristine
Always giving
Somehow she always gives
Selflessly.
It's in her hands that she provides
And cares
And devotes
And yearns
And loves.

I will always remember her hands
Because they are the hands of someone who gave me life
If only my hands were so pure
So excellent
So impeccable and
Distinctly memorable.

We are children of migrants
Sitting still on the shoulders of giants
Their sway, far movements, trials
Ancestry in homelands from distant miles
Holding onto their language and their culture
Losing parts but finding a juncture
Between the old and the new
Naturally forming dual identities too
My name has a meaning
Your lack of effort to pronounce it is demeaning
The more impersonal we become
We only leave but a crumb
A trace of our heritage
The consequence of parentage

To be human means
to be hideously capable
to grow like nature
but to never stop.

Your hollow pupils have penetrated the light I am trying to create
Constricting in the ever so dimmed attempt at shining  
You're constricting yourself in this life in fact
Hulkish hues paint your pore-filled skin

Even in this way that your eyes are in my direction
I sense the tense, debilitating anger you feel
I am therefore trying to strengthen every atom in my body
And every cell in my skin

To teach you to yearn rather than fight
To cry and sorrow rather than battle in this never-ending war
You versus yourself
The I versus me, a mere lexical difference

My pores are even struggling to breathe, the way you look at me
Like my lungs are in this moment
Like a weight is constantly on my chest
And that air, is too heavy to inhale

This sapling is being propagated
Pulled out of the dried soil with its roots naked and visible
Held up in the light
Now it's becoming too tall for its small terracotta ***
It needs fresh soil
Nutrition to grow it taller
To make it stronger
To make its roots deeper
A never ending story of growth
Quite close to only the beginning

Do not forget how healing poetry is
a simple free verse of jumble and ramble
let it become your addiction
it is healthier than other tar-filled junk in your lungs.
Never underestimate the power sketching out words
as though your brain is a map
you want to travel around it
finding its cold and dark places
and basking in its glorious sunshine
when you feel light and content.
Whether handwritten or typewritten
the words flow from your lips
or your heart or the depth of your soul
with a yearning to be heard
shouting, increasing in volume
please hear me, and don't look back!
Even though your body is never illuminated inside
your brain is illumined with ideas,
bounties you never imagined you could muster up.
I don't know how I feel right now

I miss the sound of typing on the Mac keyboard
I miss the serif font of the words I observe on the screen
I miss the fluidity of which the words flow out of my mind like seamless fountain water
I miss the inspiration from a deep love
I miss insomniac nights, with bright Apple lights
I miss creative expression
I miss thesaurus searches and RhymeZone
I miss lyrics from frank songs
I miss rhythm and blues background music
[Unfinished]

Sent

It's fuzzy in my mind
I need you
My thoughts are racing
I need you
You are so kind
I need you
I miss embracing
I need you

Water trickles from my eyes
I need you
The water flows increasingly
I need you
I fail when I try
I need you
Thoughts start to firework unceasingly
I need you

Who do I need?
I need you
Is it me or you?
I need you
What we think we need
I need you
Who am I talking to?
I need you

My corpse-like body is heavy and hollow
I needed you
I still would if I were here to follow
Give me a hug, a kiss, a something true.

Deep inside I am a ball of colour.
Waiting, wanting
To explode into a firework
Releasing, bursting into light.
My tears are colourful:
Royal purple, sparkly, and shiny.
My heart isn't just red,
It's shades of love.

But I am being held down by you.
You're suffocating my colour,
Putting your hand over my mouth
Choking, deflating every bit.
And now I'm like the smog from a chimney:
Dark and coal-like, and I stick to you
Like a horrible odour:
Disgustingly attached.

In the very beginning,
my heart was on show but it
was actually covered
by an unsanctified dust.

In the very beginning,
I wasn't "feeling it" much.
Your eyes beamed whenever you
saw me. I felt it. I trust.

In the very beginning,
we spoke Frank truths so
don't expect Amy Winehouse
type level dedicated.

In the very beginning,
the music you played made me
nostalgic of past lovers:
our hearts left syncopated.

In the very beginning,
I was so attached to me
I smelt the selfishness from
my natural pheromones.

In the very beginning,
you walked so far ahead that
I got frustrated. A way
to see and hear how I moaned.

In the very beginning,
I definitely didn't
feel your soul as I do now.
Every pure inch of you.

In the very beginning,
it was quite different to
the very now. I wish you
the very best. Life anew.

In moments of almost silence
the only certain sound is the buzzing of my fridge
and as the buzzing gets louder
and the flesh ***** so well-known for pumping me lifeblood
is draining life out of me

It's racing again

My eyes feel heavy
layers of light eyeshadow at the centres of my eyes
glittery and highlighting
highlighting that this whole thing is becoming society's cliche
in my head
it's all in my head

It's racing again

Until the calm comes
counting can't console me
and
nor can you
you're trying
I see you

it's racing again
it's just got to pass

pass

please pass

Today,
and only today,
I've learnt to love the rain.

Sunshine,
was my best friend,
warming my skin and darkening its pigment.

The moon,
had its cratered imperfections,
but ultimately, was a guardian of safety as it lit up the night.

Rain,
my least favourite of them all,
made my clothes smell of damp and ruined my mood.

Now,
I appreciate that
it cleans
showers
beautifies
and adorns our world
it provides the air with a fresh smell
maintains the beautiful flowers
and the grass' greenness.

How could I have ever hated the rain?

So happy,
oh so happy am I,
to have learnt to love the rain.

I’m split into two
Then I’m whole
I’m up and down
Then I’m left and right
Full of clichés
Then completely original
I’m gravity
Then I’m space
I’m a mess
Then I’m flawless
I’m thoughtless
Then I’m eloquent
I talk for hours on end
Then I’m mute
I’m glue
Then I’m detached
I’ll run
Then I’ll be stationary
I have many thoughts at once
Then I’m blank

I won’t write poems for 2 years
Then I’ll write 6 . . .

Isn't ugliness powerful
Being ugly gives you the power to learn
Or to be
Humble

The invisibility is suffocating
It's a tight mask or a dark smog floating around
Forcibly bound and stuck to the ground
How can one be down to earth when the nettles are stinging?

Love was supposed to create visibility
To show everything
To stop the quiet speaking and let thoughts loudly sing
To make comfortable the feelings of vulnerability

The heart knows
And every time it remembers it falls into bits
Hitting the floor, experiencing the blows

I wanted to be your visible, I want to be a piece that fits
Nothing of your life shows
That I am in it, that I am in it...

I write about love
Not because I am the best lover
Or because I am the most lovingly loveable
Or am I able to express love correctly
I love love
Love's love
Giving and not taking so much
Selfless and not selfish so much
Kind and not hating so much
Compromise and not greeding so much
That word is nonexistent but love is love is love
A reason for the whole wide world to love
And a reason for me to write about love
Until it sounds like it is no longer a word

Shut your eyes.
He's late, surprise surprise.

Try to pray.
He's gone how many days?

Breathe and meditate.
Forget the date.

Walk slow and observe.
Is he what I deserve?

Don't think about reality.
Did he make a pass at me?

Heart rate drop.
Arrive at the shop.

Think deeply.
Shop cheaply.

Peace within.
Put out the bins.

Be present.
Feeling really absent.

Speak gentle.
Am I mental?

Spiritual.
Experienced through material.

With you
Most moments are characterised by enjoyment
Laughter
Beautiful stomach-aching laughter

With you
Every moment is savoured
I do not want to watch a screen
Watch me, I will gaze at you
A look in each other's eyes feels like fulfillment
A blessing
Your kind eyes say you feel it as much as me

With you
I want the moments to last, nearly forever
Time will pause, I am present and mindful
You inspire me like I knew you would
I want to know you
I want you to know me for every second that I am

With you
I only want to spend these moments with you
Now I know exactly how I feel about you
I want us to embrace

What is happening to me?
Rather than growing up into the tree, that I'm meant to be
I am becoming the monster I always knew
The monster I never looked up to
Who never lived under my bed
It has been said
Rather next to my bedroom
You take the life out of me, and it's way too soon
I am only young
This little tree's life has barely begun
You feed me worse than Oliver's gruel
"Sir, can I have some more?", no you absolute fool...
No, I do not want anymore of your negativity
Shoved down my neck, regrettably
I am going to say goodbye when I am done
Done with you, the moon, and I the sun
Perhaps my rays were too much for you
I ended up blinding you, too
Glaucomic ... You say I'm blinded by love
Take it, shove
It
****

You're meant to know more than me
And teach me how to be
But I guess I'll settle for this monstrosity

Seven
There's a yearning for love
A soul's peace you cannot find
In your night escapades
If you talk to me, we'll explore your mind

Eight
You are a breath of fresh air
Oxygenated, pure, sweet-smelling
A bountiful positive force in my life
Highest vibration of energy dwelling,
And lingering in my head

I thrive with excitement when I have mulled
Over when we first met. A wind stroked my
Hand, as did you. But softer, than that breeze.
I cried and wailed until soothed by your warmth.

Not only do I remember that first
Encounter: I recall and reminisce
Over the sunrise and sunset you showed
Me. A peek-a-boo of day and night time.

After the light and dark, I must keep you
Near. You are replaced with a night-light in
The shape of your moon: a crescent-like smile.
Some safety, I cling to you for refuge.

However much I want to need you now,
Let me go and let me do what I want.
Drive cars, use electricity. It's too
Much. High phone bills, but not from ringing you.

Time went on: I changed and grew, you blossomed
In spring time. You brought me gifts I treasure
Every year. You and I are altered. You
Age drastically. I try to savour time.

Things have changed like season fashion. Winter
Means scarves, you are ice cold and white as snow.
Illness. You do not dress yourself in coats.
Mother nature, address us, you are unwell.

Your face wasn't a photograph,
Nor was it perfection.
No emotion, no sanction.
Very three-dimensional
Very real.
Every inch of your body
Your words, your life;
Real.
This is tearing me into thousands of tiny pieces.
Ripped pieces of paper
In an overflowing mountain in a bin.
A scrapbook
Inside live scribbles of my
Dead, overly sensitive insides.
Every single tear dried my body
Of hydration.
Can you die from crying too much?
Syllables of your words:
Promises to being a better person.
But I want to be elsewhere
I can totally close my eyes and
Become blind temporarily.
Regrettably, it was my fault.
My very own words, caused me the hurt
That you then further induced.

His smile melts me
Like a vanilla scented candle
Diffusing the fragrance to nearby nostrils
I stink of infatuation
Falling for the six foot two body
And the sweet bloom jasmine soul
Jeep dream adventures
**** fried chicken

Just friends
Jolt

Sobriety from fantasies
I remember now

Ojalá que crezca.
Ojalá que crezca porque
quiero ser una flor.
Una flor con colores brillantes,
al mismo tiempo, una flor inteligente
que sabe que la belleza no es el exterior.
Me das agua porque
con un poquito yo sé que pueda.
Crecer hasta cimas alcanzables
con los pies en la tierra,
y las raíces firmes.

Ojalá permanencia enseñe cosas bonitas:
de la vida, del sufrimiento, y dolor.

A silence drawn by the fingers, and drawn from the mind.
Every emotion is awakened in a slumbering poem that once was silenced by an oppressor.
And "who is the oppressor?" you may ask.
The same selfish dictator that allows empty words to evaporate into the air, and denies the floral mind from blossoming.

One. Your curls are meticulously moussed
That is how it sits on your skull so perfectly
Rounded and beautiful
Your smile resounds some kind of light when you allow it to show

Two. Worldly green eyes
Holding so much in
Don't hesitate to break the shiny glass that seals the nature from breaking through
The blinks and movements speak so much more

Three. Your face interests me beyond words
All the sharp edges and peculiar turns
A windy road provides path to expression on your stunning face
Please never stop talking

Four. Your skin is gloriously golden sunshine
Enkindling the kindest, most empathetic inklike irises
And your laughter, sweet
Sugar cane

Five. Patterned skin
Lines and lines
Wonderfully experienced
Let's travel along your skin like a railway

Let's not build anymore memories
Before we live to try not to remember them.

Very, very often
people compare mental
illness to a
monster. Big, parasitic,
and life-stealing.
I wouldn't not
use this comparison
myself. Because, anxiety...

Its teeth are
cracking my bones,
peeling my skin,
closing my eyes
to the rationalities
of this beautiful,
beautiful world. I
am not, me.  
My thoughts are
destructive hurricanes to
my own mind.
They dig deeper
each time, into
tiny spaces of
my brain, my
soul, and heart.
It's a dark
reality, with supposed
reasoning... but no,
it's a parasite,
growing inside my
head. I try
to think I
am good, but
all it says
is 'you are
bad'. I try
to think, they
like me, but
'I am unlikable,
unlovable,' in the
face of this
Earth. How can
you greet a
thing that lives
with you everyday,
let alone, how
can you say
goodbye to it.

I utterly adore the way
You say what you say.
And you inspire me
In more ways than one.
It's the simpler way of expressing
These undue feelings.
Little do I understand my own
Although I try.
But writing about it, singlehandedly,
Enables me a power.
You write with your fingers
But this feels incomparable.
Every word seems to
Divulge your clever thoughts.
I want to be as open as you,
Yet as passionate too.
As good,
As loved.