I had a dream the other night.
I could lie and say it was about you.
But I was more entranced by the light.

The heat suffocated thick as smoke,
like a stove left on too long.
I choked beside you, gasping there,

The stone’s sharp edge pressed into me,
and your eyes—
slid soft, yet cut like knives.

"I like heat waves, sweat on my brow."
What a liar, I smiled. Summer dries you out.
You conjure storms in these times.

Yes, the weather choked me.
But do not mistake this for cruelty.
I would not use honesty to hurt.

I know dreams are like candies—
tempting, dangling in front of me,
summers I can never see.

I outgrew the sweater my grandmother gave me-
I would not let myself be rocked like a baby
in a dreamscape I can never call mine.

So I will think of sunshine,
how it burned my skin
more than you stained mine.

I can have more summers.
if I am lucky, even ninety-nine—
but not another you in my life.

For I had a dream the other night,
and I lied when I said it was not about you—
it was about the weather, burning bright
'

They're more than they seem
They hold the key to my heart
They know how I feel
They know what I want
They know what I'm thinking
I love them with all my heart
They're mine
Im their's
If they left i wouldn't know what to do
I love them more than anything
I love you so so much my love

I gave you my time, my thoughts, my care,
But you left me hanging, like I wasn’t there.
I tried to be patient, waited for you to see,
But I was always left with silence in between.

I reached out, I asked, I did my part,
But you never replied, and it broke my heart.
You were glued to your phone, always online,
Yet I was the one left waiting, every time.

Maybe you don’t see, maybe you don’t know,
The hurt in my chest every time you let go.
I’m tired of the games, tired of the lies,
Tired of waiting for something that never tries.

So now, I’ll step back, no more chasing you,
If you miss me, you’ll know what you put me through.
I won’t explain, I won’t make you see,
Because you should have known what you meant to me.

and if one day
you decide to stop calling
i’ll still be leaving my phone
with the sound on
for the night

No matter where I turn, you pull me in
A black hole wrapped in flawless skin.
Your face, a scripture I must recite,
Carved in the dark of my sleepless nights.

My heart is a beast with claws of need,
Thrashing, ravenous, starved for your lead.
When you're near, I cease to be,
A breath held tight, a wound set free.

When you are gone, you are never gone.
You stain the air, you stretch the dawn.
I see you lurking in glass and steam,
Flickering, shifting, slipping between.

I know your steps, your fleeting trace,
The ghosts you leave in empty space.
You do not see me, but I see you,
Devotion stitched in every view.

Call it hunger, call it fate,
A madness I do not wish to escape.
You are the altar, the prayer, the key
And I am the shadow that will not leave.

I think about how my body makes it impossible for me to love.
The truth is, I am shapeless—like a dropped clay ***,
shattered,
with pieces lodged inside my bones.
He called me a liar, but here I am,
telling another truth:
You cannot plant flowers in something that cannot hold.
I convinced my mind, with all its force,
that the Lord took apart your bones
and sculpted something flawless,
more beautiful than angels,
brighter than the morning sun.
And you are too high.
too pure,
to shine on something so lowly.
The truth is, darling,
You made me feel unworthy.
But I am sure she is a vase full of flowers—
worth more than sunshine that fades in two hours.
And I will crawl back into my dark cave,
convincing myself that light is something I no longer crave.

His hands seemed almost bizarre on the fork.
How can something so large handle something so small?
Did my mother's hand fit into his at all?
I wondered as he chewed up the dead pork.

"It does not taste right." He says as he takes another bite.
The blood is foaming from his open mouth.
"It is half-cooked and still fresh; the animal still tries.
to outrun his flesh. It is hard to bite and dry."

He tries to say as he swallows, even as it rots
He keeps just eating more. Then he slams the fork.
chants curses that would put a priest inside the morgue
I listen to him call God as I ponder about loving

In the black and white pictures, it existed.
where my mother's eyes still smiled
where her movements were not rehearsed
where she didn't have to keep the glass half full so it wouldn't burst

I see her in my reflection: a sad-eyed girl.
with a table filled with savory and sweet
But Mother, do we share this quiet rage when we eat?
You wish you could replace his head on the plate?

Mother, are you a good actress?
Do you keep knives under your dress?
Does your mind create images?
Where you pay off all the witnesses.

"Will you ever feed me something other than your tears?"
He shouts as he slams his fists.
and his hands make sounds
as loud as war bombs

We learned when to be quiet.
when to soak up all the silence
But, Mother, in your mind, is he still the head of the table?
Or just a head on the plate?

I never understood my mother.
She used to rest with a book in her hands.
She read novels about tragedies and stolen lands.
Skin-to-skin with my father

Why does she read books about fights and wars?
At her feet lived a real-life Hoplite man.
Already thinking about his phalanx plan.
How to conquer or claim forbidden lands

He never understood my mother.
Why bother with peaceful streams?
When in battle, steel swords gleam.
Crimson blood and gunshot dreams

Me on my couch with my Greek tragedies
At my heels rests my warrior, Achilles.
In his mind, he builds monasteries.
While I read about the conquered seas

I feel like my mother understood the thunder.
Whenever he had a moment with my father,
Maybe he had a glimpse of peace.
While he looked up at my mother's face