you can call them my veins
well, I consider them vines
when you look for what grows it is you that you'll find
my blood vessels are ships, and they sail the blood sea
carrying cargo called 'words' from your mouth to me
and my bones are the homes of each memory
they ache when you leave
but they are calm when you breathe
my skin is the sky
scars being stars
I've created this world, dear
but it's not mine
it's ours

I see you

in the stillness of the snow
that blankets the meadow

in the kisses of couples
long spent together

in the rays of the sun
that slowly rises

in the rising of the choral piece
that praises your essence

in the hollow of my heart
steadfast in beating

I see you

you never see a ghost
except inside your fear
what you see at most
is an apparition unclear.

flickering lantern lights
casting shadows on the wall
were your childhood frights
in the half lit nightly lull.

you couldn't tell them lies
tales that grandma spun
glowworms were ghosts' eyes
that closed with morning sun.

they made a place in your head
broke all your resolves weak
eerie patterns moonlight made
wind's howls in bamboo's creak.

when the nights came
clock ticks gave a scare
you had to believe in them
you knew they were there.

are they now all dead
fantasy of child's mind
monsters below bed
footsteps heard behind?

some fears you still own
strangely hold them firm
and when you are alone
seek grandma's safety arm!

I should've known you were a bad idea when I asked you what you wanted to be when you grow up and you replied with "surgeon." You failed to inform me that
your interest was in cardiology. You said that you'd like to travel someday. Though your idea of exploration wasn't a foreign continent but a trip through my four chambers. And when you hit the edge of my pulmonary canyons, you wouldn't spare me the anesthetics. I asked you what your favorite color was and you told me it was red. Little did I know, thats because it reminds you of open chests. I should've known you were a bad idea when you took me on a date and only kissed my neck. Said you liked to feel my pulse on your lips. Said it made you feel alive, knowing I'm not dead. I thought that your obsession over my veins was cute. I never thought that your tracing and analysis of my wrist was in any way abnormal. Or that when you squeezed them too tight, it wasn't just cause you like the color purple. I don't really remember our second date, maybe because I was high off of your intoxicating breath. But I do recall your finger tips dancing across my sternum. They must've missed a step because It didn't feel too graceful. Your nails acted as scalpels, each misplacing a rib like an unsolved jigsaw puzzle. tearing apart every piece of certainty, you've always liked surprises. Thats something we have in common. But when you began splitting each artery from the center of my beating image, I couldn't help the shock. The art sketched into my cardiac muscle didn't appeal to you. A corner was missing and the edges were faded and you weren't interested in piecing me together. I think you were hoping for a better picture.

Growing up, I always knew something was off. We didnt pray or have "family home evenings" and we certainly weren't included in block parties. Our family was different, sure. I was scolded by neighbors for displaying my shoulders and was constantly interrogated about my bruises. Excuse me if I resemble a peach. Despite the crude remarks and concerning looks, I never considered myself to be anything other than normal. Kids would ask me why my family is an assortment of colors. Similar to a fruit basket. Yes, my sister is blonde and yes she has blue eyes. No, neither of my parents do. My brother is not Hispanic, and no, neither am I. Not that its any of your business. They call it a broken home but it never seemed broken. My brothers got two Christmases and my sister got yearly vacations so how do you call that damaged? It wasn't until later that I learned where that phrase came from. My brothers dad was always a kind man and he was nice enough to teach me the effects drugs have on a marriage. And he showed me that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. My sister, on the other hand never knew her father and her mother was just a story. Though all her life, she saw the man that provided her shelter as the man that provided her life but that was false interpretation. Her fair skin wasnt a recessive gene. The figure I call dad turned out to be great with fiction and I wish he still was. Because the girl that shared the same room as me doesnt share the same blood and you didn't care enough to share that with us. I still love her, of course. I'm just saying, it would've been nice to know. I may not know her last name but it seems to me, the only stranger is you. It wasn't right of your wife to take a bite off the forbidden fruit but don't you know that lying is sinning too? Who are you to tell me how to live righteously when my entire life wasn't right? You always told me to see you as I see god but I never told you that I don't like religion. I'm not too bad with fiction either. I guess I got that from you.

I wasn't even a day old when I was first injected. Into my arm spilled the life I was bound to have. My mother watched my eyes fill with hope as my body filled with youth through this tube I grew to know all too well. I had come to love the sting through my veins and the taste of not tasting. The punctures in my skin felt like a fleece blanket but no one second guessed why they didn't scab over when it was no longer raining. And no one thought twice about the times I stomped on pins and needles hoping to feel the comfort of that old fleece blanket. All those fake coughs and stomach aches just to be wrapped up in something softer than tums and motrin. Do you know how it feels to be cold in the middle of June? To walk around with thick fabric draped over your shoulders like an invisible cloak, nobody saw the bruises. Well sometimes I get warm and I toss it off like I invented the throw blanket. But as soon as I reveal my purple skin, the surface begins to boil and I can feel myself evaporate. I can feel the division of my cells as each particle tries to escape. Piece by piece, my body is trying to break away, I need to get away. But my only safe haven is stuck in the syringe thats triggered my decay. Nirvana bullets shot through my veins and as I melted into a blank state, it told me I'd be okay. When I began to shake, it told me I'd be okay. When my body ached, it told me I'd be okay. When my skin started to wash away, it told me I would be okay.