I find myself existing above where everything else is.
I do see the cars gliding in heavy rain, painting me with white Hollywood flashes but I could confidently argue that they wouldn't cast a shadow behind myself. I find myself existing outside of my body and away from everything I can see in some muted soft space in between.

I wonder if it is because I turn everything into symbols or is it because I am 26 and just trying to feel different. To feel smarter or better or kinder. Is that the goal of all this? There is space between everything I touch and no ability to feel the jagged edges or cold surfaces underneath my fingertips. A numbing that would drive me insane if I wasn't so bloated and churning with random thoughts; some good, some bad. Nothing specific.

I lay on the sofa and notice the moon reflected in the large windows. Two moons, a nice distance apart and somehow the same size and light. The only thing that tells me that one moon is a reflection is some guttural instinct. A discernment. I would love to say they emulated the eyes of a cunning cat or some other great power instead, but they looked blank. But they looked at me.

I feel myself reaching the end of this current mind shift. The one where everything has a meaning or everything is connected. I wonder if it has actually poisoned how I see things but I understand it is a natural progression. Instead I am moving towards the prophecies that things just happen. People can say things without meaning, things can exist without history. Pretty existential and less poetic. It should be less freeing but at the moment it feels more non-sensical and there is less music in everything. Ironic that I should find bliss in less blissful things and I wonder if that is an excuse. My next thing should be to write something beautiful.

To fashion something that is delicate with an expanding and deflating tidal force behind it so strong you could feel it in the muscles of your tongue. Or how the knocking on the door in the night pokes crashes of adrenaline into the top of your chest and contracts your torso with sickly electric, charging your muscles to move and how we are in all fact some weird victim to this wet newspaper slurry and sewage mosaic of stone greys and denim blues all coming together as one when you shake your head but leave your eyes open. And we are just trying and trying to swallow what things happen to us and around us all the time

and my question for you tonight
what are you most scared of
in the pale moonlight
when you're by yourself
and you imagine a life where there isn’t any fear
what do you wish you wouldn’t have to bear?

i’ll start, i guess—
i’m scared of loud noises
people screaming
put me in direct contact
and i’ll lose all my feelings

i’m scared of broken ceramics
violence, hitting, cursing, breaking
i remember tea stains on the walls
pieces of a once whole, beautiful cup
strewn about, broken everywhere

i’m scared of the heights
only on days when i feel just too light
that i might just let go
what if i fall and what if there’s nothing that’ll hold me back
or a ledge to hold on

i’m scared of the compact
too many monsters all at once
perhaps i’ll crack
a pressure, eyes upon me
i could disguise, pretend
but i hate all that i see

i’m scared of losing all this kind
of losing who i am
and this battle in my mind
going cross-eyed even as i write
i’m scared of failing, falling,
not being able to swim back up
simply drowning

i’m scared of loving too much
perhaps enough and never being loved back
and it could be a lie or an irony
but i’m scared of nursing a broken heart
or breaking one myself
for i wouldn’t want it
wouldn’t want to see the mess
but it happens, happens way too much
and i have to play pretend

i’m scared of speaking
of what if you see the hidden meanings
of what if you just don’t— and ignore me
what if i speak, and there’s nobody to listen
and even if they do listen, what if i burden

i’m scared of being lost
in the depths, in the lows,
not being able to express does that to you the most
and i fear losing
losing all that i’ve built
every step i’ve taken
every memory i’m sewn in
all the moments out of time i’ve milked
to the very last drop
feelings i’ve penned down, every last thought

i’m scared of— not being enough
perhaps i am not
but even so— i deserve to exist
exist without a doubt or second thoughts
and i shall revoke anyone’s rights
don’t make me feel like it might
be better if i ceased to exist
i fear it and i fear what if a day comes
when i can’t write, listen, see or speak

and what if i lose
lose you, and what if i get punished
for things i haven’t even done but simply being blamed for
and what if you see me with the eyes that carry despise
hatred perhaps, i fear what if a day comes
and i just don’t see you anywhere or here, in fact

i’m scared of a lot more
of being left behind
overlooked, perhaps thrown to the side
never healing from things i can’t even speak of
and perhaps staying the same
missing out, accidentally meeting upon accidents
that could become part of the worst nightmares or
failing, falling on dreams and been a betrayed chore

the list goes on
but i can’t speak it out loud
or answer it when i ask you all about
what are you scared of?
so i just say spiders, and move on.

Is that art?
Is it meant to tear me apart?
An art
Art that embodies the heart

For I need a refresh
A way to sample all this mess
Hopefully a way to de-stress
Maybe one day I'll get

Get it all
Get it soon
One day I'll come out of the cocoon
Although it feels like a typhoon
Hitting me
Shifting me

Tearing me into pieces
Pain that I hope ceases
A way to refresh
An out
Completely new flesh

Today is January 1st, wednesday, 3:48 pm. Hi, i just got home from grandma's/ We ate menudo and she had alot of food. Oh and happy new year. It feels the same i guess. I'm just on my bed. I'll probably just play a game. um i'll write later i guess. - 3:53 pm, E.C
    Um. I'm crying so much. I wanna cut so bad. I cant do this. Please help. I cant. I just cant. I wanna be gone. Just like bubba (my brother) said. I'm an embarassment. A disappointment. Why me Jesus. Why. WHY. I wanna cry but nenas in here. I can't take it much longer. I have to cut. I'm sorry.
   It's dark. I don't know where my knife is.
I'm going to cry myself to sleep.  I HATE MYSELF.
-8:28 pm, E.C.

When it rains, some people run a little
tucking sighs into their collars  
my knuckles tap lightly
on the backseat window
shattering a string of clammy
question marks
you said, we met too soon
before we’d learned how to love
and now I’m grinding restless days  
sharpening them into matchsticks
waiting for a sunny day
to strike some sparks
the rain, keeps stitching up fissures  
while the city slips and slides in puddles
our conversations hang  
like wet clothes dripping on the laundry line  
awaiting the next sun to dry and turn them into  
transparent answers.

Sat next to a stranger,
Asked for advice.
The old man paused, then said:

"Be content.
Keep your balance.
And whatever you do—
Place responsibility before it."

I asked, "What do you mean?"

He looked ahead and answered,
"For your career,
Your behavior,
Even the words you speak—
Each carries a weight.
A responsibility comes with them."

I've always known I am a beautiful person
that all I was doing was hiding behind a facade
of ugliness.

today, on my way to the market
I met a person I knew
but looking at his squinting eyes, I realized
that he didn't know me.
a handshake later
i laughed and he laughed
he joked about the price of the fishes
and I replied, saying "I could buy a fishing net
for half the price of that catfish".
and there in the market, in a barbershop
I cut my hair
down to the scalp
just like his.

coming back I met another person
her skin as fair as the insides of a bread
she joked about my almost bald head
and choking on laughter, I said
"bushy hair equals bushy nightmares".

But the most beautiful thing I did today?
*** sizzling
eyebrows sweating
tongue salivating
I cooked my favorite dish
served myself
and one of my friends
and we ate
facing the hot, afternoon sun.

Don't be like me
don't hide behind a facade.

snowless morning
worries of losing a friend
wake me up

a flock of pigeons endlessly
circles the church tower

twilight grasses
each of them sways
in its own rhythm

lost in the clouds
I study poems of old masters