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topacio Sep 16
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost

And so i waded at the fork
in the woods and recalled
these oft-repeated words,

i aimed my shoes to the left
for this was the road
that was undoubtedly
less traveled

but i hesitated and my thoughts
turned to "conformity" -
the merry subject
at poem's hand.

for although the thick
brush was denser
on this part of land,
i could at least understand

conforming for uncomformities
sake was in itself ..
a conformism,
and the real
unconformity was uniforming
yourself to you.
topacio Sep 8
I wasn't crying for you,
regardless of what your eyes told you.
I was crying for me
on that mildew night
when you decreed
we could no longer be.
salty drops of relief,
instead of disbelief.
hands in head to honor
the future I can now possess
as you let go of me
and I can fall further
into the beauty that is myself,
& honor the rose which you never
knew how to stop and smell.
topacio Aug 12
the straightest path
to understanding if
its real love is to
offer up power

and while you
sit there
tiger in lambs clothing,

watch, watch, watch

for although you
can weather all storms
and battles, hunters
and terrain on your solo

your choice of comrade
is that of wisdom
not love, for quickly
can a beast change
its tune when
offered freedom with
your heart.
topacio Aug 5
i looked into the
depths of what i could
possibly learn,
hugging the night's silence
in replace of a crowd,
just to hear her secrets.

and she said

sometimes you
will leave the light at
the end of the tunnel
with a lesson
in replace
of your lover

sometimes you will feel
the agenda of a union
an intuition
a gathering of spirit
welling up in yourself
speaking of some dire truth

grab it

your time with such and such
is coming up, you can not take him
or her of them or you,
with you on your next chapter
leave the lover
leave your mother
father and your brother,
and take the lesson.
topacio Aug 3
how many of you
do I have to ****,
to gracefully unravel
a written rose from
the depths
of my soul?
topacio Aug 3
i travel into the past
and i pick apart the memories
unbuilt to last,
quicksand thoughts
turning
in on me,
laughter on the beach
belittling lover
intoxication stare
one by one collapsing onto me
enticing me to revisit,
as if asking to refill
when my night is all but empty,

I don't dare.
i will stay put in my moment
the present tense is nothing
but a gift from my past you see,
I will only glance in your direction,
sweet memory
I dare not linger
within the depth of
your engulfing nostalgia,
for if I do
i will surely
turn into
a tear.
topacio Aug 1
there are some things
that are just written in ink.
the books that line my shelf
the music I play with my fingers
the startling waves I attempt to hurdle
my surfboard over
the recipe my abuelita passed down to
me of her famous tamales
my subscription to Bon Appetit
these constants anchoring me
when characters sketched by
pencil become too faint to feel,
its these delicate yet sturdy constants
that yank me out of sadness
with a "remember me?!"
with a "remember your abilities, young lady!"
"remember your divine calling to perpetually grow!"
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