our existence
is placed in such an awkward position.
you never look at yourself,
until other people truly see you.
your mothers gleaming eyes sink your heart,
as you stand with your head held to the kitchen counter.
you suddenly feel like a stranger, in your own home
in such an awkward position.
standing in front of bathroom doors that have lit bombs, wounded many.
you stand suddenly as a criminal
in the middle of an awkward position.
having to correct someone when they use the wrong pronouns and you're heart races and the only thing your existence feels
is awkward.
life in the middle of a political battlefield
is drafting dysphoria between sides of yourself.
but,
someday you will find yourself in the lines of someone else's hands.
beauty is reflected in her eyes when she looks at you.
as we lay curled together,
neck bent, and limbs unendingly tangled,
I have never been happier
in such
awkward positions.

I've become very analytical
I'm waking up every morning and then laying back down three times over
I go to turn on my light switch and miss and I miss and I miss again
I walk out my front door and pull the door slowly
God so slowly, as to not wake anyone

I walk down the street and I'm counting my steps
200, 201,202,203, keep going

I hold hands with my girlfriend and I won't stop holding her hand until she breaks away
I have this habit of picking at my cuticles
But I pick too far and then they bleed all over the carpet
They are constantly pink and puffy
Much like my broken down lips

I am so tired of hearing
"You're not ******* good enough"
As my father hits me again
I lay there counting the blows as my mouth is bleeding on the ground
I draw a smiley face in the puddles
That only ****** him off more
And he hits me harder
There is a smashed mirror sitting on the ground across from us
I catch a glimpse of myself smiling
What the **** is wrong with me

I wake myself up from nightmares
Every night at the same **** time, 4 am
I hear my mother talking in her sleep
We have a conversation that only I will remember
This is my nightly schedule and it will not change
I will not change

I paint my nails black to cover up the fact that they are purple and blue from pulling them from the skin one too many times
My eyes are dark as if I've been in a fight everyday for the past week
It's just my lack of sleep

People talk to me and I don't hear what they are saying
There mouths move and silence
My mind spins and spins
Like its part of a machine factory
I am hitting myself in the head
Trying to break the thread that tangles my thoughts so that I can finally form words
This is me
And I can't ever take any of that away from myself

Night time is the worst times to write

My dreams are blocked

Instead I lay, absorbing everything like a camera.

I hear the crickets chirp

Feel the cool trickle of the water pouring from the water spout

I have the inevitable passion to just get up and run

Run from all the past thoughts and memories

Run to a quiet place that is too loud to bear because some times silence has the highest decibel

I want to jump and be swallowed by a sea of fire

Anywhere is better than here

Anyone is better than you

And anytime before that night I was happy

Round and round on a mary go round
This is just simple child's play
There's only a slight chance that the grass is greener on the other side

When you come around
You are smiling so hard
And joy is manifesting the air around you

Growing up will never seem real
Just like when we were walking through the park the other day and you looked up at me
I saw you ten years ago on that swing set
I remember asking if you wanted to get ice cream with me because it was such a hot day
I was young and didn't know better

Our bills are late and we are scrounging
Living check to check was something you thought you would stop doing after moving out of your mother's house

I remember the first time I took you out to dinner
You refused to let me pay for you
and then when I went to hold your hand you flenched
because the last man that grabbed your hand was your stepfather
and he wasn't doing it to comfort you like I was

Days turned to nights and your tears never seemed to go away
I couldn't stop apologizing and telling you that it was all my fault

I am so sorry that I could not give you more

I remember seeing your face as it went through the window
My knees were stuck under the steering wheel and I couldn't move my neck, but I still saw that iconic glimmer in your eye
Tragedy is beautifully terrifying
Only good will come from this

We seemed to fight through it all, why give it all up now?
We were just starting to find our way out of the labyrinth, and I hadn't smoked one single cigarette in three months

Five months after that I see you and your new lover at the same park we used to take walks in
I am writing this in shambles at 3am in my apartment
I am on my fifth cigarette

We were like peas and carrots, but I was not sweet enough
I was always pushing for us
You never stopped giving up

There is beauty in pessimism just like there is beauty in the sun
The moon is as optimistic as the stars; maybe, just maybe we will see the sun rise

Two years now
Since I have walked the streets
Of the city of New York
I remember Central Park
Avenue of The Americas
A statue of a man
Like Sandburg's General
"Riding like hell on horseback"
The inscription reads as follows
"Apostle of Cuban Independence"
José Martí you truly were an honest man
Your words were the green of the spring leaves breaking free from the winter
Your words were red like the blood you shed
The revolution you died for
The revolution you were sent to a work camp for
The revolution you spent most of your life in exile for and lead you to write "Do not put me in the dark to die like a traitor"
"Leader of the Peoples of America"
José Martí how many New York souls walk by you without a second thought?
How many don't know your name?
They see a man on horseback
Do they see you as the poet you were?
Do they know you as one who loves and creates?
"Defender of Human Dignity"
José Martí what dignity have they left you?
The statue is the moment you were shot and killed on horseback
You were no general
You only wanted to see your country free
José Martí you deserve better than to be locked in eternal death
On a quiet April night I see you writing at a desk
Longing to return home
Longing to return to Cuba and never leave again
José Martí I think of you now
You are a good thing
And you died with your face to the sun
And I too will fill my face with sunlight
And remember your name

Embrace it,
This is one of our realest moments

Light that cigarette,
Pick up that pen,
Feel livid

You are a burning star in this universe and you deserve to make your presence known
You are dying, but this is such a comfortable way to die

Embrace it, throw your fists up, throw your punches
This is the epitome of the true American spirit,
This is the revolution of everything you have come to know and love,
You are burning down and you are ******* breathtaking

MAKE YOUR PRESENCE KNOWN

Make them laugh and cry and cheer and beg,
Make them understand what it's like to feel all of this

Imagine the first time there was dirt thrown on your family name,
Spark up and fight,
Make it known that your soul is burning and screaming

YOU ARE NOT WEAK
YOU WILL NOT PERISH

Walk through the fire and come out singed with anger and frustration,
At least you are alive

Reach out to those around you and breathe in a breath of fresh air,
Reach up and let the heavens resuscitate you,
and then walk through the fire once more

You are a burning star and the Earth deserves to feel your frustration

Beauty is subjective.
Art is at the pillar of human sanity.
If men were not able to find beauty in life,
Would we know the meaning of ugly? Or sin?
Beauty is breathing, constantly being undressed in the glow of a lovers light.
It hides but it is constantly visible.
We know the beauty of a flower but not the beauty of a soul?
We were built on the backbone
Of beauty.
We were built with the emotional ability to let our minds wander
In the nirvana that is what we perceive to be beautiful.
Is art not what we create, but what creates us?

time is choking me
I can feel it all around me and I want out
Time is just man made but time is a snake sent by God to wrap and squeeze out your life
No matter how much makeup you put on, the masks you wear, time is all around you
Why won't it let go
Sometimes it squeezes so hard you *****
And your hands are numb but feeling was never important
Because what is feeling to time
You wake up every night because you can't breath,
Time lays beside you, but it never sleeps
Time holds a screen in your face and calls it memory
It's really just a movie that you never really liked anyway
One with him touching you and you touching her, making sure time doesn't let you forget about him like you have
Nobody in this world ends a sentence for you unless you do it yourself so do it yourself
With the knife you hold, you could **** time
I feel so sick
Do doctors have medicines for time because I don't want too anymore, I can't want too, I can't, I don't, I won't
Eventually he's going to quiet my heart, and nobody will hear me