Some people glide through life—
clean suits,
straight spines,
their hands untouched by the dirt
we call home.

And then there’s us.
We shuffle, we stumble,
we laugh too hard at bad jokes
and spend too long staring at walls
that don’t answer back.

Our lives are broken bottles
held together with tape—
still sharp, still dangerous,
but ours.

And if we ever make it—
if we ever find a way to rise,
we’ll leave claw marks on the edge
to remind them
we were here.

a little silicone monk--a baby boy doll,
wise beyond the years of any say-so.
convincingly timeless.
a meditation mistaken for controlled
derangement, the smell of silicone--
exempt from olfactory free association.
mysterium membrum virile by production, bald-body austere.
an earth plop, feet out/hands out--as if
to be raised up permanently.
left eye sealed shut, its slow illusory swell.
right eye's blue slot stuck to what sped open.
a myopic forest pushed out, its almost fake nature--now where's the would be
foundling?

The wind comes along
and cools your body
and lifts your spirits
and softens your day,
and pushes you gently
in a certain direction,
or blows so hard
you must stay wide awake;
and on those days
when it’s hot and still,
you want the wind to cool you,
don't you, and at those times
when you’re all alone,
you want the wind for comfort;
and on those days
when you’re not quite sure
and you want to see
clouds hurrying by,
you want the wind
to show you where
your heart must go,
but you cannot have it,
it comes when it wants
and it blows where it will,
it belongs to another,
one greater than you.

I was created from air and tears.
I was born from humility,
which is foreign
to this land, to unknown skies.

I do not want to be a dream
that disperses in darkness;
I do not want to remind of existence,
which misses the lie.

With each subsequent vision
I come closer to a universe
that, hastily invented, does not associate
with tenderness,
does not connect with silence.

Please think, before the last tear,
the definitive flame of a smile,
falls asleep in you.
My body, divided into chapters,
becomes an apocalypse,
for which it is worth visiting paradise,
admitting sadness.

I do not want the future
to belong entirely to me.
I do not want the reflections of shadows
to hurt my heart.

I watch your illusions furtively -
I am leaving this place, looking for
another penance.
I will no longer dance as the ballad desires,
as the dream indicates.

I will not become the foundation
for senses.

There's a sweet melody inside,
telling me to close my eyes and listen,
and my dreams have never been so dark -
you've been telling me to keep a distance.

There's a shadow where I walk,
moving close and telling me to listen,
but my mind is keeping me awake -
you've been telling me to keep a distance.

There's a new person in my life,
all the people tell me to forget you,
and I know I kept coming back,
but I think it's time to listen.

There's a sweet melody inside
and my love for you is growing weaker
and I know that I should listen -
you've been telling me to keep a distance.

I cannot do this anymore—
this labor of unraveling myself
only to be misnamed, misunderstood.
I was linked to him, yes—
a tether fraying in the dark,
his absence a wound,
his indifference a quiet violence.
What was I, if not the ghost
he left behind to haunt the living?

The side effects are sharp-edged,
a prescription for forgetting
that forgets nothing.
This is not healing.
This is not cure.
Take me back to the before-time,
to when you cared enough
to name my anguish aloud,
to call it what it was.
Now, I am the sum of your silence,
a woman folded into herself,
trapped in the space
between betrayal and breath.

But still, I stand—
because someone must.
I forgive myself
for believing in your promises,
for letting you map my body
as a battlefield,
for holding your hands
even as they burned.

Darling, don’t go—
but don’t stay.
Disappear so completely
that your memory loses its teeth.
Leave me to the emptiness,
to the choices stolen by your indifference.

My guardian angel comes not with wings
but with hands—
earth-stained and firm,
building me back, bone by bone.
They know the language of endurance,
how to feed hope to the starving,
how to offer a second chance
without demand.

Here is the truth:
I am no longer yours to define.
Here is the reckoning:
I reclaim my name,
write it on the earth with every step,
become a body of love
that bends but does not break.