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darkcloud Apr 2019
i don’t sleep
thinking about you
i don’t eat
thinking about you

i am hurting
thinking about you
i get lost, staring in the abyss
thinking about you

my eyes burn more than usual
thinking about you
my heart weeps a violent melody
thinking about you

my nerves send extreme warnings to my brain
thinking about you
i am a dog in sheep's clothing
thinking about you

my face blank with no emotion
thinking about you
my fist clenching
thinking about you

my pupils black and dry
thinking about you
twitching and grinning
thinking about you

smiling and laughing
thinking about you
turned on
thinking about you

fruity scents rush my nose
thinking about you
i forget where im at
thinking about you

i hate that i continue
thinking about you
i can’t wait for the day i stop
thinking about you

i’m tired of
thinking about you
i am exhausted
thinking about you

release me from my chains
the darkness swallows me whole
i don’t know who i am
all because
im thinking about you
currently in a slump. poetry frees the mind more than anything. enjoy.
Tengo un obsequio
en el alma de los sueños
se bebe como licor
o se fuma como el tabaco.

Me miro en un charco
de agua enamorado,
mi cabello largo,
saludando al viento
y mis pies con calcetines
aunque no hace frío.

Tengo en las manos
el tiempo relativo
tengo un reloj
que marca mi ubicación
pues cuando muera
el tiempo no es nada
el aquí, y no el ahora.

Sabe a café
amargo regalo
de tiempos extraños
se bebe como el vino
o se fuma como el habano.
bre marie rose Nov 2018
What do I call myself?
If the world sees me differently
then I see myself?
If I’m a blancita?
Blancita, a white girl.
Am I just a white girl?
Does the Spanish that escapes my mouth
tell you I’m a white girl?
Even when that language was forced onto my tongue.
Does the brown in my eyes resemble my mother’s skin?
If she’s a morena?
Morena, a brown girl.
But do you know the stories my body tell?
Does the curve of my nose, the crease of my eye,
or the curl of my hair tell you I’m a white girl?
Can you tell the kid that called me a **** at school
that I’m a white girl?
Or the girl who told me my people were toxic
that I’m a white girl?
Can I even call this brown girl blues?
Since my native blood isn't reflected in
my skins hue?
Why don’t you tell me?
Because if I’m just a white girl,
then what freedom do my people seek.
Wayne Wysocki Oct 2018
Mexican moon be bright,
Fill all the stars with light,
Shine down on my señorita;

Mexican mountains high,
Holding the velvet sky,
Sparkle for my señorita;

Mexican hearts be gay,
Bring your guitars and play
Music for my señorita;

Mexican melody,
Say that I'll always be
In love with my señorita.
Copyright © 2018 Wayne Wysocki
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