somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

I stand in the middle of the room
My classmates are commanded to listen to me
I am the 14th person to present and so far, everyone has done a good job

I stand in the middle of the room
I begin to saw the name of my project
“My Poem”
I cannot remember what it was about
I do remember, what I felt

I stand in the room,
Hoping that everyone feels what I felt when I was writing it
I felt excited, my stomach had ‘butterflies’ I think
I felt the heat in my heart and the cold on my shoulders.
I felt the tingles all over my body, and the air escaping me

I stood in the middle of the room
I stand in the middle of the room
I was in the middle of the room and said
“My poem”
I heard a chuckle.

I ignored it because the ‘in love’ heart in my chest was more excited than It should have been
I continues and my voice began to play tricks on me
And the r’s rolled and the words were suddenly in another language
My mind still ignored it and continues
Because I felt I could write, and read this and everyone could love it

I stood in the middle of the room,
I waited for the, applause, the smiles, the congrats, or even a simple ‘good job’ like everyone else
Instead…
My teacher said, work on pronunciation. She said it again. Pro-noun-ci-a-tion
Ok. ‘Work on grammar.’ ‘Work on sentence structure’
“Work on being American” the chuckle said
Or the person who chuckled?

It didn’t mean much, you know
I loved writing so much that it did not matter
I would be a writer, I would continue to
STAND in the middle of the room and share my talent
And when I did, he chuckled
She chuckled, I was Mexican

Not a writer. Writers can’t be Mexican
Unless you write in Spanish and in Mexico
But I was too American for that at this point…

SO the next time I wrote I was ashamed,
Maybe if someone else wrote my writing?
But it didn’t matter,
When the teacher began reading,
The chuckle reminded the class it was the ‘Mexican’ who wrote it

“Mi nina” My mom would say
She reminded me that no only was I Mexican
I was a woman,
Only men thrive in this world
I believed it
And that is why my name is ‘The Voice’
Not my actually name,
Disclosure: I accept criticism on how to better my writing
NOT on what to write or on my background

So much love in you.

So much treasure locked away,
Unable to be shared.

Too much love in you.

Too many rivers to your spread delta,
Where you stand bravely to drown.

Immortal love in you.

The gift of a soul,
The truest something.

So much love that you'd give it to nothing.

it drains you of everything you have
when you lose someone you love
you forget how to function
and it takes ages to relearn how to live

you will spend so many nights
clutching your knees screaming into tear soaked pillows
racking your brain for some reason as to why
you just weren't good enough
that when you finally have a night
where you just lay down and sleep
you will wake up in confusion
feeling uncomfortable without streams of sorrow
but even then the nights are still restless
because they lace your dreams like drugs slipped into unwatched drinks
more than ever

you will spend so many days
walking to destinations with no purpose
following a meaningless schedule
but you won't remember a minute of it
because your brain is constantly hazy
like the loss of them is a thick fog settling on the world around you

you will fight so many times
not to breakdown when you hear their name
constantly taming tears biting at the back of your eyes
taking deep breaths to loosen your tightened throat
you will fall to your knees on the bathroom floor
staring into the porcelain bowl in front of you
as your vision swirls with the water
and you sit in a pain you could never have imagined

you will be heartbroken for too long
with a piece of you gone
knowing there is nothing you could do
to fix it

s.s

It's the way she holds her head when you talk
The way her eyes light up when she sees a dog
The way her hair frizzes around her head like a halo
The way her body will melt into you when you hold her
She's beautiful

It's the way she talks to the voices in her head
The way she walks
The way she talks
The way she takes care of you

It's the way she holds you when you've had a long day
Or how soothing her voice is when your demons come to play

She's beautiful
But you never told her.

Her life had acquired coffee flavour
and she didn't like to be that bitter
She wanted someone with sweetener    
To make her life taste better

Let's go on an adventure
Just you and I
Some place new
Where we've never been
Before
I wouldn't mind
Getting lost
With you

Take me to the stars with you,
I came to get lost here.

I can't spend this eternity,
trapped inside my mind.

Is this what running away feels like?
Or is this just my imagination taking over?

There has to be more than this,
More than my mouth can taste.