if i could bring you back to me,

I'd be the perfect fool,

to tear the night sky from you.

if my hurt became craters,

i would revive them for you.

when my eyes become oceans,

sudden suspects of truth,

i would lay down my life,

just to pull them from you.

when you're done,

and each night carries through,

i would pull on the reins

bringing light back to you.

Tragedy isn't even very tragic anymore

My entire life,
I have been waiting.
For years,
Almost two decades now
I have been waiting.
Waiting,
For the better parts.
Waiting,
For the “soon”.
Waiting,
For my life to begin.
Because,
I don’t feel like I have lived.
In the nearly twenty years
I have been alive
And breathing
I do not feel
In any of those years
That I have been alive.
I don’t feel like a single breath
That I have taken
Has been real.
I feel as if
All these years
I’ve been stuck
Behind a window
Watching as my life unfolds
Before me.
I feel that
I have had
Zero control.
That I am in the backseat
Letting someone else drive.
That someone else,
Is writing on the pages
Of MY life.
But no more.
I will break that window,
I will take that wheel,
And I will write
My own pages.
My life has begun,
And now -
I’m in control.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

Crashing like an ocean marauder,
Dragging me into open waters.
Engulfing me in love so infinite –
Falling into depths,
So intimate –
As you drain my last breath
Yet denying me,
the horrors of death.

She was a thrifted sweater and denim and jersey knit sheets
Pizza breath and red wine and toothpaste
Alabaster skin and knotted hair and freckled shoulders
A tangible dream and my favorite good morning
She agreed to let me kiss her and I agreed to let her slip my shirt over my head before she became
Blood and tears
"I trusted you" and "I’m sorry"
Midnight poems and a drunk "I need you"
I’m afraid I loved you like the way I wrote

A misplaced angel dreams of lush facades,
Marinated in an amber-honey glaze that
pools into the streets, homes and
hearts of its radiant inhabitants

I wish to rip that page
from Dorothy Gale's book,
heel clicking until I am back
in that primal womb of sunshine

where I am able to soak in
the richness of natal nutrients
conceived for my angeleño heart