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topacio Sep 2020
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
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.
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.
topacio Sep 2020
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.
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.
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.
topacio Oct 2012
in that second i gave you something
a part of me
like a poet scribbling words
a musician strumming a chord
a piece of my disorganized puzzle
spewed out in a midnight conversation

                                     those things that make a part of you
     bit by bit
small and insignificant
without the aid of time
to stack them into

every thoughtful comment
a piece of truth
that rarely sees the light of day

its a very instantaneous exchange
it meant something
not alot
but it was a shrivel of life one's not used to giving
to just anyone

hope you felt it as much as i did
when you placed it up for bid
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
topacio Aug 2020
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.
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.
topacio Aug 3
how many of you
do I have to ****,
to gracefully unravel
a written rose from
the depths
of my soul?
topacio Apr 2020
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.
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
topacio May 2020
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
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
topacio May 2020
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.
topacio Apr 2020
Going in
Can be hard
When you don’t know
If it’s
Or angels
That inhabit you
topacio Aug 2020
and with your introduction
so begins my inability
to make to do lists
because all i want to do
my dear
is you.
topacio Sep 2012
he told me i was living in fear
and i thought i wasnt supposed to be here
a sign hangs above his living room couch
"the police ruin everything"
i want to disagree but i control my thoughts
i build a wall between them and my mouth
the same one he built
and her and them and we and us
i can tell by the furrowed brows and tell tall signs
by the words that come out only when we drink our nightly wine
i climb on top of him
in his room of american flags, broken records and leopard ware
faux patriotism and hipster runoff mixed with nonchalant dishevel
i kiss his sweaty neck  
my mind is always down south
even now
where my toes peep out of my socks
curious of the present moment and the theme of tomorrows thoughts
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 Jan 2020
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.
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 Sep 2012
it's the intuitive embrace
leaving no trace for the mind
to confirm its approval

its the embrace that happens to you
on a blinding tuesday when
questions don't abound

you do what feels natural
open arms and wide eyed
heart hanging off your sleeve

blood oozing through your veins
wounds open like a possibility
this embrace has kissability

this embrace can fix it all
you say
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.
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.
topacio Apr 2020
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.
topacio May 2020
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.
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.
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.
topacio Jan 2020
i wake up in the morning,
and with the peaking
of the sun and her luminous rays,
a word trickles in through my window
reminding me of
cat hair and soft trips to the beach
allowing some electricity
to enliven me up,
or maybe it was
brisque feline making her way next to my pillow
that awoke me,
and just so
the day begins
with a
of dreams and reality.
topacio Aug 2020
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.
topacio Aug 3
i travel into the past
and i pick apart the memories
unbuilt to last,
quicksand thoughts
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 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 Jul 2020
i have failed over
and over
and over
and over again
looking to others
to understand the
strength and power
of my critical thinking.
topacio Jan 2020
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.
topacio May 2020
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
topacio May 2020
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.
topacio Apr 2020
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.
topacio Jan 2020
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
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 Oct 2012
november you did me well
new love
or whatever people like to call it
new lust
spain or bust
i said
                                                                                                             i like to think that it wasn't just a fling
maybe it meant something
but just for that moment
i felt special
necessary for an existence
air to your lungs
tattoes on a ****
dog hair on a rug
but as your eyes glaze away
i know the end is near
i give you all i have
expecting the worst

another one lost
another one found

you're just a product of your environment
a feeble boy unsure of the publics reaction
provoking a girl to write a **** poem
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.
topacio May 2020
the need
to create
& connect
is strong
this one.
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!"
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 2020
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.
topacio Jun 2020
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 2020
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.
topacio Jan 2016
i cant wait to meet
the future poems
i will write.
poetry poems meeting gathering write
topacio May 2020
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.
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