The pen feels heavy in my hands
a boulder I struggle to lift
“Just 5 more questions” I say
As the clock glares at me
With its face of 1 am

It changes its expression
To 2 am
3 am
4 am
Until I finish and my bones are solid gold
that weight me down
Every fiber of my body screams in agony
“Help us please, why must you torture us so?!”

It’s the vicious cycle experienced every night
For as long as I can remember
Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
Well how about the procrastination
Or the lack of sleep?

I have stopped cutting my flesh open long ago
I have stopped putting sharp, merciless steel
To brown soft skin
I have stopped scratching at my arms
With the fury of Cerberus
Trying to drag me back
to that dark place I call
My own personal Hell

But I must enjoy the throbbing
of my bruised heart
Because I continue to self-harm myself

Only it doesn’t show itself by angry scars
At the wrists
It doesn’t show it’s ashamed face
Through large open wounds
That look like zombie bites
No, it manifests in a different way

It manifests through the dark ringlets under my eyes
And the numerous yawns that escape my mouth
I heard that a good night’s sleep
Makes everything better
So why  
Do I continue to ignore this
And break myself down into chunks of insomnia
With pages of quadratic formulas
And stoichiometry?

I told my mom
“I have trouble falling asleep
Even when the night is a quiet auditorium
And I’m a lone musician without an instrument
Inside of it.”
She told me
“So count sheep.”

But my mind can’t count sheep
It only counts reasons to stay awake
So I tip toe to the window
That leads to my roof
And look up at the scarce stars
That resemble the tears on my cheeks
I plead with them,
Begging them to use their starlight magic
To make this treacherous night end
But they only twinkle back
In a mocking tone

So as I sit writing this poem
In my mind I write another one
About a girl
Who isn’t a broken butterfly
With delicate wings ripped in half
But an eagle soaring through life with confidence
And a restful night

I think that girl is trying to tell me something vital
About how the stars took her in
And made her whole
But my eyelids are collapsing on themselves
As the world slowly drifts to black

I hope I get to hear what she says
In my dreams.

I’m from fields of green
Little buildings spaced apart
Only two grocery stores nearby
Whizzing past aisles of produce
With my cousins in the cart
Our own personal rocket

I’m from trips to Dallas on Saturdays
Running in the backyard, tag in the dark
Hiding up in an embrace of branches
Or in the corner that’s housing lots of shadows
Running like the wind, cousins chasing me
My turn now, let’s see who I’ll catch

I’m from a growing place
Hotels come out of nowhere
More buildings, more restaurants
Skyscrapers, not a lot but some
I heard there used to be cows roaming free
My city is changing, wonder what’ll happen next

I’m from hospital visits to my aunt
What happened to that dark gray hair of hers?
A grimace instead of a gentle smile on her lovely face
It’s ruining this wonderful Mona Lisa
Looks like I’ll be going to my first ever funeral soon
Don’t cry mom, isn’t heaven a good place?

I’m from whispers in my parent’s room
Picking up a call not meant for me
Saturday trips include a visit to Okmulgee now
Phone calls to lawyers and hope that the judge is lenient
No such luck, my uncle is going back to Mexico
He’s an American citizen at heart, but not on paper

I’m from tears being shed at night
A mom that needs a break
Losing an aunt and a brother takes its toll on her
Stress builds up within all of us
Dancing around my words, don’t wanna upset anyone
Goodnight mom and dad, try to get some rest

I’m from looking up at a blue sky with cotton candy clouds
A robin lands on a branch
Maybe I’ll ride my bike to that glistening lake
Or bring Beethoven to life on those black and white keys
A piano’s voice carries a symphony of colors
Enough to brighten up this day

Goodbye cruel world
You were never kind to me
I leave you with my soul
And this voice that rang out
Whispering you prayers from a dream

But where do we go when we die?
Where will I be?
In a nightmare or a dream?
Perhaps my soul will leave me
Once I hang upon that tree
And drift with the wind
And the birds and the clouds

Perhaps my soul will become the wind
That sails ships to new horizons
Perhaps it will blow a love letter
From a secret admirer
To the object of their desires

Or perhaps my soul
Will be the wind
That ruffles your hair
On a cold winter day
Or the wind that you feel
As you zip down a hill on a bike
Propelling you forward with the force of an army

Which is why you must not cry my dear
When I hang myself upon that tree
For I've been dead a long time
My body merely a vessel that I must leave
And my soul the passengers that go to new places
For death is not the end

It is only the beginning.

My anxiety and fear quelled
when you held my hand
How can something so simple
be so effective?

I looked down at our hands
tattooed together
Your thumb rubbed circles
across my own, slowly

Your tiny, soft fingers
readjusted our grip
as we stared out the window  
and saw the world pass by

Your hand was lighter
like the sand at a beach
And your skin free of scars
unlike my own

Our hands have lived
such different lives
But at that moment
They sat, entwined