Your memories stain my mind like your lipstick

On my mugs. The scent of you intertwined with coffee.

At this empty table I sit, my body a shell.

I remember you across from me, adding milk

Into my cup. I can still picture the past

Too well. I can’t say this isn’t fair.



From the moment you saw my eyes wander at the fair

I knew you no longer wore your lipstick

For me. What we had was now in the past.

We still kissed, but now we wouldn’t share our coffee;

No longer did we share the small things. Milk

No longer in my cup, bitter brew filling my shell.



I miss your presence, allowing me to shell

Out the love I held for you. Is it fair

To want you here? I want you to add milk

To my cup even though I hate it. Your lipstick

Stain, still on my mug, mixing your flavors with my coffee.

I still haven’t wiped it off to protect our past.



I wasn’t this addicted to you in the past

But I’ve begun to hate this empty shell.

I’ve never hated sharing love with you. Now coffee

With you no longer exists. Not after the fair.

You no longer stained mugs, you only placed somber lipstick

Upon my mouth. A mouth who can’t stand coffee and milk.



I don’t know how I took it for so long. Milk

Made me sick. What happened is in the past.

It matters not where you place your lipstick

Whether your stains are on my mug, or my shell-

There is no question that this is fair.

I didn’t appreciate your love in our coffee



Now I cannot tell you how much that coffee

Means to me. How much I miss it with milk.

I wish I could say what you did wasn’t fair.

I still cannot rid myself of our past.

I want to wipe you off my mugs, off my shell.

You’re gone, but I can still see your lipstick.



I sit alone, drinking coffee with our past.

No longer is milk filling my vacant shell.

Is it really fair to long for your lipstick?

I leave lipstick stains
to mark my territory:
not on any significant other,
not even on cups or water bottles,
but on the cheeks of my mom and dad and brother
if he'll let me.

I have a stick of dark purple,
and another of bright pink,
and when I say my "good bye" and "I love you,"
I leave a ruddy mark.

My dad brags about me,
he says, "My senior still talks to me,"
and when I hear this second-hand I preen
and call him and talk to him some more.

My mom is the one who tells me this,
and she laughs at my antics,
me swelling up in pride,
because she thinks I'm hilarious.


Later, I wave in at her
while she's in some important meeting,
and she smiles and waves back, along with
three other members of that committee.

a wisp of smoke curls up--heavenward
until it disintegrates into nothingness

a burnt tip-- alighted by an orange flame
that flickers quick from a cheap Bic lighter

the cigarette dangles tantalizingly
between *******-- index and middle

it's a balancing act--
to stay away from the ashes
and to not drop your sustenance

dark red lips slightly parted
nearly purple, but not quite
as if a speeding car halted at an invisible border
the arbitrary line between purple and red

she exhales

the smoke coming out in elongated ohs

once the smoke clears
she is gone

after all,
she was
a hazed out,
high-defying,
hallucinatory,
dream

'Put my ice cream in the oven.'
'Apply some lipstick.'
'Stop winning and criticising.'
'I understand everything just fine thank you.'
But she laughs at her own jokes, she misunderstands mostly, she is loved by me.

cherry stains knotted into cotton shirts,
the sunlight has baked your cologne into the threads and
a half-smile of lipstick on your left shoulder sleeve

Dear Amy

The sun is smiling at you
The beach calls you
Why are you hiding ?!
You're so beautiful, put on your bikini now and go show off your body.
Are not you shaved?
Your hair on the body is not sin, it was God who put it there.
Show the skin, show the veins show your face.

Dear Amy

Your face is so beautiful your skin and so lush, but remember what I told you?
You're more than that.
Your beauty will pass by one day your lush skin will have wrinkles.
But your mind and your brain will  have knowledge forever.

Dear Amy

I like your legs I like your body, I like to see you in every way.
You do not need them to find you ****.
Put that lingerie on you and show me those stretch marks.

Look in the mirror and say:

Damm! My stretch marks make me a mermaid.
My weight makes me happy and  I was not made to follow standards.

Beauty standards  weaken me
And I'm a woman
I'm not weak.

I was born strong and no one is going to take that away from me.

I was not born to please those who do not care about me.
I am confident and I make of my scars experiences.
You need to hear this truth.
You do not owe anyone your body.
You do not owe anyone your sanity.
And even if you change, you will never please everyone.
The only  person who has to be  pleased is me.
Today wash your face and leave the makeup, show the freckles, let the skin breathe.
But tomorrow if you want to put your lipstick red and slay.
Do not let them steal your freedom.
You are a butterfly.
 Free yourself
And fly.

Dear Amy

Stop selling your brain girl.
Stop selling your sanity.
They do not deserve the prominence you give them.
Remember that you have fire inside.

Seek  for yourself   in the midst of your imperfections, date with your insecurities.

You need them  to feel alive.
Do not give them the pleasure of controlling your brain.
You are selling your feelings to leeches.
Nobody is perfect.
Accept this .
They do not want to know what you feel.
They want to rob you of the right to speak.
Take the shine you have inside you
And let it flow.