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Sep 16 · 13
topacio Sep 16
i hear myself talking to you
and i remembered why i hated
exposing myself to people,
it was nestled in between
hating hearing myself speak
and listening to my own *******.
Sep 14 · 32
a poet's etiquette.
topacio Sep 14
i can smell a poet a mile away
who only wishes
to read their poetry to you,

who prods and pulls
away at your brain for insight -
what about this word?
let me tell you of the girl
who broke my heart enough times
for me to procure this poem!

i smile and offer
the best of my critiques of course
empathy running too far into my core
and the naive understanding that all
poets hold the same truth.

and as i begin to take the baton
to set out on my journey of recitement,
i see my comrades eyes glaze over
to the toaster where her thoughts now linger
and remain.

and not as i had hoped on the syllables
and motifs i had painfully extracted
in the midnight hours of my
bedroom rumination.

and there your brain remains
as i run my last lap around the
sweet syllables of my favorite words.
Sep 14 · 182
topacio Sep 14
i want to make a toast
to the pause in between the wind.

a sweet dance
i partake in of
man and nature,
willingly i observe you
& then
silently retreat into myself.

i will always dance
this delicate waltz
which allows me to
examine the ways
in which i am the
same and different to you
Aug 22 · 248
my purse of comfort.
topacio Aug 22
sometimes ill carry your book in my purse,
not because i have any intention of reading your words,
but because i want to have a kindred soul
to my disposal when needed.
Aug 22 · 38
goodbye to do lists.
topacio Aug 22
and with your introduction
so begins my inability
to make to do lists
because all i want to do
my dear
is you.
topacio Aug 13
my poems are just
well written reminders
of all the things
you've thought of
but forgot to write down.
Aug 6 · 34
cellphone clause
topacio Aug 6
there is a little clause within
their contract,
a small fee
some people don't see.
and that is
with every minute spent
on this device
we will take five minutes
of your creativity,
of your ability to self love
of your ability to tap into nature
of your once keen sense of awareness to your surroundings
of your eyesight
please sign here.
Jul 21 · 39
to think twice.
topacio Jul 21
the body
of a woman
is that of the earth

she is both
giver and taker

when you pollute
you pollute
Jul 19 · 431
outside of the box.
topacio Jul 19
i have failed over
and over
and over
and over again
looking to others
to understand the
strength and power
of my critical thinking.
Jun 16 · 32
the game.
topacio Jun 16
they try
to **** you dry
every last drop
of hope and kindness
they want to see just how
dry they can squeeze you.

a little game you see,
one thats not to understand
the sweetness of the juice,
but one to watch you see
as they flex their
skill of the purposeful spill.
cold blooded the game
topacio May 26
your love was actually
just attention disguised.
& my reciprocation
was just the need
to feel admired.

your compassion
was just
little gifts of generosity
with an agenda,
and my acceptance
was just
a mere hope of
your possible change.
May 26 · 170
like the wolf
topacio May 26
who still needs to hunt
when injured,
so do you.
need to fix repair move
faster than ever
on your own
without your pack.

laser movement
in the dark
blind to whats ahead,
instincts guiding you
more than you know,
passed down
in your bones
from the
generations before.
May 26 · 80
the other girl.
topacio May 26
you chose a rookie
over an all star.
because in order to
be with an all star,
you have to level up,
and to be blunt sir
you couldn't measure up.

now i look to you rookie,
its your awakening
time to be an allstar.
May 26 · 89
faith in time.
topacio May 26
you cannot
write poetry
you cannot
be honest.

your words are
from the minds
of others.

i hope to one day
see you shine
the way i know you can.

i hope you wipe the smear
from the
mirror i know you
so desperately
seeks answers from.
May 26 · 145
star words
topacio May 26
the need
to create
& connect
is strong
this one.
May 26 · 132
everyday motions.
topacio May 26
every day you must add a drip
to the well of creativity
flowing within you.

a word here
a lyric there
a small drip
no need
for the flood
my dear
breathe into it

drop by drop
little by little
May 26 · 142
the outskirts.
topacio May 26
you threw me far flung
away from myself,
an act of hate and fear.

but it feels good
i have to say,
to look at myself
objectively from this point
so far from the beginning.

i am on the outskirts,
looking back at myself
with love,
and a dedication
to walk through
this new fire,
in an effort
to make myself even
bigger than before.
May 25 · 225
rearrange your pieces.
topacio May 25
no need to be scared little girl
no need to fear your change.
the woman who you
need to become
is already inside you.
this is not your
this is your
May 17 · 93
the medium
topacio May 17
i was distracted for a moment.

our love
was my
playing ground.

but there were things
that needed to be done.

a certain medium
ripped me away fervently,
plunging me back
into my symphonic isolation,
before love was my toy.

it whispered,
we need you here
we need your brain
working on this film
on this song
on your reel.

we need you to
take your pain
and turn it
into beauty,
we need you to
figure out the secrets
of the heal
to help those
get back
to the ways of
their own feel.
Apr 30 · 168
go in
topacio Apr 30
Going in
Can be hard
When you don’t know
If it’s
Or angels
That inhabit you
Apr 29 · 55
lean into it.
topacio Apr 29
lean into it, my dear.

lean into your future,
even though your past
calls you with a
romanticized nostalgia.

lean into your new lover,
even though the warmth of
an old flame burns bright.

lean into the freshness of tomorrow,
even though the
chapters of yesterday
remain unwritten
and beckon for your words and return.

because my darling there is nothing
bolder than turning away from
the putrid pages of yesteryear in
search for a new self.
Apr 21 · 1.6k
to keep your soft
topacio Apr 21
keeping your femininity
after you've
weathered unimaginable storms
is a high form
of rebellion.
Apr 21 · 35
topacio Apr 21
you were brilliant
but it came with a cost

for every 5
i was given
1 insult

you were really good
at the art of
two compliments
in between one insult,

you lathered the treatment
so earnestly
as you whimsically would touch my hair
and bow down to my
choice of shoes
only to, on the way up
snidely remark
about the one hair i had
forgotten to shave on my leg

it is a price you pay
he said as he looked into my eyes
i will give you the highs
but also carry to you the lows

for i am the rollercoaster
you have willingly paid admission for.
Apr 21 · 91
the exchange
topacio Apr 21
i once heard a comedian
bemoan his career
i need to get up and do the thing
i need to get onstage and make the folks laugh,

for i am the gatekeeper to another world,
and when i open the great gilded doors,
for you to walk through
you will have entered a place
of make believe
and candy
sugarcoated walls,
and flowing rivers of chocolate

your pain will have subsided
your worries
if i have done my job right
will have melted onto the floor

remember those bills?
i dont either!
they have vanished into
my topcoat
your woes are all with me now

and i am prepared
to carry your weight
when i arise  
in the morning

i know a heavy transaction
will occur
this exchange
a laugh for your burden.

i am not just a comedian
i am a burden collector.
Apr 7 · 29
come home
topacio Apr 7
i know there is a good poem in me
i can feel her
she's underneath a stack of  
recipes and US weekly articles
underneath the lined shelves of
unopened emails and spam,
buried deep deep
under the information
stored on my various tabs,
and daily stress and responsibility
she is there
dancing with the pelicans over a crystalline bay
singing the song of a siren
her hands gliding over the wind
i know she's there
that saucy minx
come out and play with me already.
Jan 6 · 52
if poems could speak
topacio Jan 6
i had a poem once tell me:
shut up and get to work.
take the string of electricity
just sent to you from the heavens
and weave me onto your paper
this line will only be available
for a short period of time
until we get annoyed with your
unwillingness to devote yourself,
and like the last girl who was also idly
staring into the blank abyss of her walls
we will reclaim our line and
shoot it on over to the grandmother next door
who sits ever so patiently with her tea
and a first edition copy of that new stephen king novel
she has been meaning to dive into.
her pen situated between her index and *******
and i reckon in that moment
i will finally be birthed
in the margins,
in between the paragraphs
speaking of white robes and blood.
Jan 5 · 42
topacio Jan 5
i looked in the mirror
and i saw a desert
there was a blank desolate
canvas of space
waiting to be filled
waiting to be acknowledged
or called out
i have no choice but to examine
every grain of sand
that makes me
who i am
Jan 5 · 124
topacio Jan 5
i wake up in the morning
and with the peaking
of the sun and her luminous rays,
a word trickles in through my window
something reminding me of
cat hair and trips to the beach
or maybe it was the dream i awoke from,
or the brusque feline making her way next to my pillow
and with that
the day begins
with a
of dreams and reality.
Jan 5 · 40
permanent exit
topacio Jan 5
i felt the arrows of feeling
pointed towards me
anger's blade was sharpened by the sun
as it soared over to greet my skin
and my state of contentment
had been washed over
with a dormant state of resentment
because attached to that arrow,
buried deep in the vein of its *****,
was a biting memory of your skin
moving against mine
and then the
bitter pang of its quick and permanent
exit from the chapters of my life.
Sep 2019 · 88
eye for an eye
topacio Sep 2019
i don't know
how many times
i need to reinvent myself
to eventually get to myself
with every milestone
that is a mountain
the hurdles i swerve over
taking a piece of me into it
at times a fair offer
a lesson for a limb
an eye for an eye
until it has swallowed me whole
and there is nothing left to learn
and nothing left of me
but the blank canvas to start anew
Oct 2018 · 204
bad poems
topacio Oct 2018
bad poems
never cease to
inspire me
more than the
greatest poems

and i don't know
if its because i feel like
i can do better
or if i relate more to
the state of ugliness
than i do of
Apr 2018 · 497
closeted artist
topacio Apr 2018
i haven't come out yet
and i don't know how else to say it
especially to
my mother, the nurse
my father, the electrician
my brother, the politician
my sister, the wise ***
i don't know how to say that
i have an affection for words
i have been hiding the paints under my bed
and staring at the guitars from
outside the window
unable to resist how hard
the urge is to touch

i am a closeted artist yet to come out
and admit that i've had an affair
with a few museums and paint brushes

that i have been memorizing poems
from before i could read
committing some verses to memory
as my mother recited them to me softly before bed

and as i stand here waiting in the closet
im sketching a small butterfly on the wall next to my coat
ill most likely wear to the off broadway show tonight.
Sep 2017 · 453
topacio Sep 2017
if i make a poem out of iphones,
people will actually start taking
a liking to the forgotten form.

i can make every phone sing
with a new hit song
at the perfect time
as your eyes glance over them
while they offer you a new promotion
to go with your completed poem line.

and as you are thinking about the confusing
symbolism between a flea and blood,
you can also get 50% off
your next purchase at Target.
Sep 2017 · 477
the subject says
topacio Sep 2017
write a poem.
its been two long years
and i fear I don't even know what a poem is.
i fear i've never even written one.
i look back at my fleet and
i see forced words
prematurely picked
from their fields.
****** into the arena as dogs
with their tails glued to their thighs.
i fear i have succeeded at preparing
a dish of underdeveloped corpses.
Apr 2016 · 826
tornado inspiration
topacio Apr 2016
Nothing scares me more than inspiration stampeding towards me
I can feel her coming on like lightning bolt
As I sit in the distance eyeing her songs and poems and sonnets and anecdotes
Spiraling with great effort towards me
She has given me a net and a silk floral dress
For she has grown weary in the heavens
Living as idea and essence
Preferring a life of the palpable
To walk amongst the lay of men
To sleep within the threads of a woman
And yet I can only feel the chaos of her wash upon me,
As I throw her net into the great gulp of her eye
And I capture nothing but the pure feeling of
Her wrath in between the seams of my silk dress.
Jan 2016 · 637
a tale of bad timing
topacio Jan 2016
i am growing more and more
into the person whom will be worthy of him,
and him of me
but i fear i will be marred with bitterness
wondering why he was never there to help.
Jan 2016 · 1.2k
the walk into my brain.
topacio Jan 2016
i have traversed many miles
walking with the night,
she with her satin leash
wrapped around my neck,
ushering me under
a divine compass of stars
who navigate me
into a
grey fog of fantasy;
tempting me
away from
another tired night  
of suggestion
and malcontent.

i do well
stepping into my role
of daydreamer
in the night,
eyes glazing over,
body weaving
like some
mechanical soldier,
as I slowly sink
and further
into the rabbit hole
of my mind,

where i touch
the membrane,
the pulsing vein,
the sturdy skull
which cups
the hiding  
mass of brain,
and the tangled knot
of treasured ideas
and thought.

i enter casually
under the mark
of exit signs
searching aimlessly
for an idea,
stuck in a lightless cave
of a deeper depth,

the one born and lost
on the winding interstate,
without pen and paper
in hand to collaborate,
eighty miles an hour
of reckless power
births creation,
and speed
galvanize into

but this one escapes me.
it flickers out of sight
like the rest of them,

as i close into
where it hides,
like some feral animal
who knows
not of a friendly hand,
it scurries back
into it's lonesome wasteland.

but i remain
walking under the
invasive moonlight,
for I yearn to take my idea back home,
to wrestle it into submission,
sew it to hand and feet
and give it deserved recognition,
to dive my sharpened teeth into
the thick of it's juicy meaning
to bleed ink
onto paper,

for there is nothing
back in the stagnant terrain
of my body,
or here
lying on my desk
but the blank pages
of the greatest story
never written.
Jan 2016 · 1.6k
a life of math.
topacio Jan 2016
i met a young girl
the other day,
and she wanted to
know if i cared to
read her book.

i was delighted at her
especially from a girl
so young as herself,

i agreed to take
her novel, slipping
it into my sturdy hand
bending the whole page backwards,
allowing it
to kiss the cover,
holding it up to the sun as
if i were to recite it
to the curious sky.

the little girl
could do nothing,
but stare and
ask of me
that i not bend
the pages
of sylvia plath,

and i knew then
and there,
that she was doomed
to a life of math.
Jan 2016 · 595
i welcome you, silence.
topacio Jan 2016
for you are too encompassing to ignore,
too statuesque to mute with the strings of my guitar,
& so i find the only way to repel you,
is to write of you.
is to sit in the eye of your storm
and allow the thick blanket of your skin
to unfold into me,
as i attempt to describe this experience to a t,
so that your uninvited presence becomes familiar.

        --  treacherous muse --
can become
my ally,  

so that when you eventually roll around again,
which you normally tend to do at the
crisp start of a burgeoning evening,
i can welcome you
with my open arms
and an empty chair,
and we can
use our sharpened vocabulary
to battle
over the
of stillness.
Jan 2016 · 1.0k
the meeting.
topacio Jan 2016
i cant wait to meet
the future poems
i will write.
poetry poems meeting gathering write
Jan 2016 · 904
misanthropic poem
topacio Jan 2016
the great verses would prefer it if you didn't
attempt to commit their curves to memory,

they croak at the idea of becoming stuck
in the empty vessel that is your head,
only to wither away into a few words
short than what was originally said.

they would prefer it if your eyes
didn't insist on gazing over them,
as you untangle the knots of their secrets
like some drunken buffoon
who has
****** their fortune
at the nearby saloon,

you attempt
to unzip
their threads
into a plausible meaning.

or even worse,
determine value
based on
the fluidity
of rhyming words
or the
vertical lines
which slice
their way
down the
blank white
of paper,
jagged mountains of
letters one must painstakingly traverse.

it goes without saying,  
they cringe at your touch
as you awkwardly
stumble your fingers down the
skin of their spine,
like some
graceless ******
who has mastered
the art of spilling
onto the unkept floor,

they prefer instead
the presence of a curious girl,
making her way
towards a window,
where she can
add meaning to thought.

or to remain
housed on the shelf
next to their
brothers and sisters,
to entice strangers
who don't
easily roll into
the company of
suppressed yawns,
to hear their stories.

for these words
cant pick their company
like you or me,
you have already begun
to make a mess
of this one
you see,
unless you are
of course
some curious girl
next to
a window.
Nov 2015 · 3.4k
topacio Nov 2015
she sat in the center of her home
becoming the heart of the halls
the blood drifting in and out of
the corridors,
the clot that stood still in the living room
unable to move to the next destination
stuck staring at the dusty painting
that haunted her tendency
to fix that which does not
need fixing,

humming the delicate tune
which ascended into the aorta
of her kitchen,
all the way
to the apex of her attic
and finally folding into itself
like the towels in her
chamber of cabinets,
before unraveling out
through the long vein
of her chimney,

the housewife who
makes a living
with sharpened bread knives
and turning scones into
christmas trees,
who croons ancient love songs
in her infinite spare time,

and i wonder as i
stare at her
from underneath my book
of russian poetry,
how she holds up
when the front door bursts opens
and nature sings
a solo to her heart.
topacio Nov 2015
you gave me a neglected book
and I mistook it for love.
i tried to find hidden meanings
lurking between the spaces.
i waited for it to pop out from the pages
to hit me in the head
with all it's
senseless rage,
attempting to
command me into belief
with the words you couldn't find on your own.

but alas,
the words never arose,

i massacred
i pillaged
i maimed
and threatened
your book from
front to back
i interrogated under the blinding light
in a cold room
without food or water
and it gave up its
muted fight.
and spoke of page 47
and the weightless paper cup
rode the back of
the western wind.
and I recounted my findings to you
and what had lurked on page 47,
but you had confessed to
have never read the book before.
Nov 2015 · 19.1k
topacio Nov 2015
my fingers have become bored with
the quicksand of routine
they prefer to dance erotically over my typewriter
frolicking like naked ballerinas
over an ancient stage
spilling their secret thoughts
onto blank page,
after their day job
threaded together
over my lap,
or bending over to
reveal the contents
of my burlap sack

they have taken instead
to jumping over cracks
in the nothing of night
stifling the sound of silence
with assortments of clicks and clacks
punching in the perfect pitch of keys
to leave Beethoven blind
from this symphony of notes combined

and just like that at last
they have unfolded some rhyme
unachievable with ink and pencil,
without the stencil of time
dictating to work inside the lines
Oct 2015 · 685
all six of you.
topacio Oct 2015
when i met you
i didn't know id be
meeting all six of you.
your personas
spilled from your pocket
like rapid fire kisses.
little by little
trickling out
with casual coolness.
like perfectly stacked dominoes
shot out into the open
by geronimo and his rifle.
and the only thing you expected
was to expect me to not inspect them.
to not hold them up to the light
and investigate the content.

anyway my hands were
too shaky  
and small
to carry them all.
anyway you smiled.
with the same
smile you forgot to
take off from work.

the angry
the riddle
the obstinate
the sweetheart
the confused
the drunk
the person you think you are
the person you are desperately trying to become.

for what its worth,
i hope to meet him
one day too.
Jun 2015 · 1.9k
the enemy
topacio Jun 2015
the hip children of the night
prey on logos and women,
they have created counterfeit cultures
made from images of yore
slipped their flesh under blankets
next to lovers or empty space
and declared war against
their own human race
chased down roads in eclectic threads
hollering into the wind with wild hair
that navigate over skin unaware of
history and tradition.

while the feral animals look on with
muted colors and salivate
with a thirst to apply
their instincts,
their tendencies
to seek out the enemy
instead of calmly waiting
for their alarming arrival.
topacio Apr 2015
what is this yearning?
to feel the constant twirl of our turning
to angle the head, resting chin to shoulder,
wedging itself into place like a candle to it's holder
motioning backwards, resisting all forward

where our form turns from flesh to steel
as we wrap our stories onto the rotating prayer wheel
mimicking VHS tapes
and twisting our frames to rewind the spell of time
to undo scripture laid in stone
becoming a one man
time machine freak show.
to dwell in the days of yore
and tell yourself …
"its all been done before"

where we become the whirling dervish
head angled aside like a curious sun dial clock
arms resting in the air on the great invisible rock
or maybe
holding afloat the force of the celestial spheres,
a battalion of Atlas' drenched in marbled white cloth
stirring in a *** of dance turned to trance
into some chaotic mystery broth.

where we become the lazy susan
who just found her running gear
wedged on the cluttered bookshelf
like added day to leap year.
and we wonder what we have become
what concoction have we drunk?
thats spun us dreideling from
under the rug of normalcy.

this potion of feet lifting and descending
-- a mad mans dance --
always going and never arriving
until we no longer know where "I" begins or ends
until time no longer knows which way to bend
and our feet become entangled below
in a rapid fire dance of devotion
between course ground and sweet motion
Mar 2015 · 2.7k
killed gnats
topacio Mar 2015
i killed a gnat on my shirt today
and now he sits there dead
next to a hole
which is starting to look
more and more
like his twin brother.
both black spots reminding me
of the ***** dishes and laundry
and the difference between dogs
in the city and country.
Mar 2015 · 3.3k
Emergence as Rebellion
topacio Mar 2015
emergence is an act of rebellion.
our eyelids peaking open like rusty curtains
as we steadily count backwards
5 … 4 … 3 …  2 … 1
climbing from our morning covers in one swift movement
like the bold musketeer ready to pierce his opponent.
allowing the cold to wash over our body
towards the to do lists and outdoor morning mist.
legs miraculously sprung to life from our dreams
seconds ago resting in a field of sunlit streams.
allowing forced smiles to emerge in the mirror
if the natural ones forgot to attend our morning ritual.  
those cowards.
allowing our own smiles to send butterflies down our spines
if our lovers forgot to play their part.
those *******.

our routines steadying us on the road
outside the house
into the yard
outside the fence
into the deli
out of your mind
into the grind
all forming like some rapid fire kiss of motion
where emerging and departing
become inseparable lovers.
and we cherish this sort of alchemy
where our paints emerge as paintings,
where our words turn into poems
that string along
into song

the pulsing of life echoes within
calmly waiting
to emerge
from the gilded cage
we are meant to burst open
Mar 2015 · 2.2k
SPF fuck you sun
topacio Mar 2015
is what i wear.
it is a loreal campaign offering the art of concealment
wrinkles are for unironed clothes and old folk homes
all creation and destruction spun from tomb
the glow emanating from a woman's womb

this spf
isn't always available for the wear
its not some cap we can slip on our hair
or the glasses we use to hide the despair
for our pimples have awoken from
their nightly slumber
allowing the light to
illuminate their number

best we take it all in
the midnight pukes
the morning glow
lets carry on with our dancing dynamo
all starry eyed and audacious
all messy and pugnacious
with our lips soaked in red
shouting words of poetic gibberish
to statuesque lovers
who spin in and out of the revolving door
as we sing our tune under helmets
under bleeding stars
and wind up with tattooed legs and arms

for there is a radiant rose in your brain
permanently blooming
against the ticking of time
as you stand in alliance
with lust and love alike
when they conveniently misplaced their pain
at the local bookstore
i can't imagine they'll go looking for it.
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