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Sol Mendez Jan 2016
She writes poetry
Because she often finds herself talking in a room full of people and yet her words bounce from the wall and she's hoping that one day those very same words will embrace her tightly
she writes poetry
Because she still hears an echo when she speaks in a stadium full of rowdy fans
She writes poetry because when she sits in a blank room and hears:
"and how do you feel about that?"
she knows that her feelings are not worth $150 a session
Her feelings are not worth a strong dose of medication
Her feelings are like the California drought
People are aware of the damage but continue to leave the water on hoping it'll just "wash away"
But problems just don't wash away
Problems are meant to be fixed
And people should never feel like feelings are problems because feelings are free
They don't need a solution
I write poetry because I am not afraid of feeling sad
I write poetry because I refrain of treating my feelings like they are some type of disease
I write poetry because I am she and she is me and it's perfectly fine to feel alone as long as I can call the blank paper drenched in my words
*My home
in response to Alice Walker's How Poems Are Made, A Discredited View
Sol Mendez Apr 2014
I’ll check on you 2378 clicks a day
I’m not obsessed
I really like that glow on your face
The glow you get from your screen
when you’re talking to me

I’m sorry that I cannot teleport to your room each time I think of you
I’m sorry that I ask Siri
every 2 hours
“Does she love me?”
Only to hear—
“I’m afraid I cannot answer that.”

I’ve memorized all our old messages like a script
I say I love you
you say you love me too
I say I love you more you say
you love me more than the most

We were the lead actors…
The stars of an unexplainable love-story
Gliding on a red carpet
Bright red
as the hearts that bubbled above us each time I rested my lips on your lips
except it was no act

When I’m typing on my phone
every thought is about how my fingers used to touch that skin of yours
Type type type
“I miss you”
Don’t send.
Type type
Delete.

I’ve called you about 13 times
The ringing in my ears has become my new favorite soundtrack.
It’s just a lovely piece it goes from 5 rings to: “please leave a message after the beep” and that’s when I shed a tear

I ask
why did I meet you at this time when technology is taking over true contact?
Where did I go wrong?
why us?
Will our love ever exist again?
Can our ****** technology tell me the future?

"I’m sorry but the answer to your question is not available please hang up or try again…. Goodbye."

The message has been running for 32 minutes and 54 seconds
I’ll hang up
I’ll try again
Goodbye
A poem I wrote last night. I wasn't really aiming for this genre but I know it can be a relatable subject!

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