Stone were thrown at me
not the physical ones
but the verbal stones
do you catch my drift?
that voices that haunt me in the middle of the night
claw at my mind
they scream in agony and fear
do you see the unknown that i know so well?
time feels like a stretch
time is useless as it not?
they say emotions can control ones action
yet when my emotions are bottle up
they end up spilling from its cup
it's as if crimson flames lick my skin
anger courses through my veins
fueled by my own hate
I drift apart from the realm of reality
do you not see me hurting?
do you not see me drifting for reality?
i'm my own destruction
i have to set myself free
one day i'll see clear skies
as of now my skies are grey

There is a difference between holding your breath
And not breathing at all
One takes a lot more effort
One is the product of carrying too much
The other of carrying nothing at all

When I walk into a crowded room
I will hold my breath until my lungs find a reason to relax
My face will flush and I will eye the exits
And I will imagine any possible scenario that would allow me to leave
Which is to say,
I’d rather be in danger than be here

I’d rather be in a secluded single bed hospital room
Than brushing shoulders with conversations that don’t concern me
Smiling uncomfortably to an offensive joke because
You don’t know me enough to know the fire in my bones
That I could ignite and burn you to the ground.

You also don’t know how I wish I could extinguish that
How I burn down everything I touch
How I wish my embers would die down
Lacking oxygen might not be the worst thing

No, being alone in a crowded room wouldn’t either
Saying unironically that I stand alone in a crowded room
As if it has never been said before- might just be
Or maybe my sparks are burning this poem up too
Ruining its changes

You gotta understand,
The thing about fire is
It is a beautiful beast
A chaotic dancer who knows both sides of
Everything beautiful and everything not


In my eyes fire eats its beauty
It eats the life from inside out as it spits remnants of relics
Too tough to melt
So when we are in the flames
Like our salem sisters we think
How can something
so grand
So intriguing
So important
Be burnt down by a people so ignorant
Only to reveal what is truly important
How could you not see that as a compliment

How can you not see that we are all the flames
And that we are all also being eaten by them
As we consume everything around us in turn
And that maybe we just need to catch our breath.

Don't let the guard down, don't let the guard down.

I'm already standing too close to the fire.

I can feel the heat and yet l can't back away.

What if it's not meant to burn me?

Frozen to the ground I stand, waiting.

Hoping the flames aren't meant for me.

my grandmother
used to stand over an open flame
every cold morning.
she would fan the fire
allowing it to breath.
then she would boil the water
for the cinnamon tea.
this ritual was for  
all the men in her life.
just so they could awaken
to the smell of spice and
ignited flesh.

at least she kept warm.

strong men like to drink cinnamon tea.
they like to mix their coffee into it
every morning.
it's a beverage with double the damage.
they also enjoy dipping their tongue
in the boiling drink
so they can
sample the taste
of a woman’s burning.

my grandmother
still makes her
te de canela

every morning.

Looking at me, you see a pure, young soul.
But look inside me, you sweet summer child.

Inside me are so many people
I am Che Guevara with the lance of poetry
I am Vladimir Lenin with the shield of quick wit
I am Petőfi Sándor with the armor of ambition
I am Mahatma Gandhi with the horse of music
I am Fidel Castro with the arms of an endless mind
I am Spartacus with the flames of unending hope
But I am The Uncharismatic Man with the burdens
The burdens of a tired arm
The burdens of a twisted tongue
The burdens of clipped wings
The burdens of a deaf ear
The burdens of numb thoughts
The burdens of a dying sun
I've risen up and gone down just as quick
My rebellion was for naught this time
I've grown exhausted from the fights
But I'll never put down my arms.
I'll never cease the struggle.
This war never ends.
So fight with me, brother.
Fight yourself, goodfellow.
Defeat the oppression, comrade.
And never give up...
Not until I give you the call to surrender.

gossip
like a
raging fire
burning, glowing
wild flames
steam rising
crackling popping
red, hot
spreading uncontrollably
who knows
what will
survive, escape
amidst the debris
everything lost
anger, tears

and the
fire fighters
come only
to explain
“source, unknown”