The streams of water
slowly slide down my forehead
and nose until they drop
onto your casket.

Why did you have to go so soon?

I didn't even get to say goodbye.

I shiver and sob
until the grief
has been dried,
then I wander home
dazed, numb and melancholic.

Splashing water on my bloodshot eyes,
I finally try to get some sleep.

What troubles you so?
I really should know.
Don't keep it in.
Give me a grin.
I'm here to hear.
There's nothing to fear.
All I want to do
is heal you.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I,
I took the one most travelled by
and that has made me regret my decision.

All I saw was
I like you and
Trust your own self.
I grinned.

I look down my depressing poem
in disgust
in abhorrence.

What was I thinking last night?
Of course I am loved.
Even if it's not in my daily life
at least it's on here.

Would you be the lotion
for my dry, cracked hands?

Under pressure,
I snap like twigs,
crack like thunder
and split trees like lightning,

*I cave in.

I shivered as I walk down the street
in my heaviest winter coat.
My teeth chattered noisily as I walked past
a young man in a wool coat.
Not thinking, I rushed past him,
but he took my hand.
Stopping dead in my tracks,
I gave him a dumbfounded look.
He asked, "May I escort you to your destination?"
Too awestruck by the man's question, I choked out a "sure."
I didn't even know this man, yet I realized something.
Chivalry is not dead and neither am I.

Check under the bed,
in the closet, on the floor,
in the garbage, through the window
and even out the door.

*I need to find myself.

Sister, do you know
that everyone says that behind my back?
That I am nothing, that I am bad at everything?

They ignore me. The friends that I thought I had were just shells and façades with a burning interior whose goal was to engulf me in their flames.
To extinguish my flame.

Everyday is a silent battle for me,
don't you know this already?!
Why do you think I eat so much?
Only food can attempt to fill in the gaping hole in my heart where good friends should be.

So when you say,
"Nobody loves you"
the hole is dug deeper and deeper.

You hold the shovel.
You can choose to dig it deeper
or perhaps fill it in.
Your choice.

Your sister,
Wistful Wanderer

I'm very sorry, Mr. Vampire.
Please don't kiss my neck.

Ever since your junior year,
I have never been the same.

We all spin around on the same track of life
like a record,
but if you were to venture off,
you might find that you could play your tune elsewhere.

I look across the table
at my beautiful husband,
his olive face gazing back at me
intently.

Suddenly,
his face starts dripping like wax and he screams
"¡Querida mía, ayúdame!"
I rushed over to his side of the table
and tried to stop the spillage with a napkin but he slipped away.
All I could hear now were his muffled attempts to call out for help.

I buried him that day over by the tree where we met.
I just wish that he didn't see the horror on my face as he melted away from me,
like a **candle.

My façade does not show
what nobody knows.

Let my lips kiss away the hate that once spewed from your mouth.
Let them restore the chewed and dried pieces of your lips to soft and pliable.
Let my lips celebrate the smiles and commiserate the frowns.
Let me learn about the stories you once told and the songs you once sung.

Never* quell the flames of my desires.
I am moral.
I am good.
My intention is never to harm, hurt, maim or ****.
I support the hero,
*the good guy.

***.
That's what we are taught to have.
That's what we are taught to believe.
Now,
we believe that we are nothing.
Photoshopped models in magazines mock us while we huddle in the corner of our bedrooms with tear-stained eyes because
we feel like the ground doesn't support us anymore.
We are nothing.
Because we don't have multiple bed-partners, we are nothing.
Because we don't dress like we are going to a nightclub, we are nothing.
Because we recognize that people aren't objects we can pick up at a grocery store,
we are nothing.
Well, society,
you got it all wrong.
We celebrate our modesty and morality.
We celebrate the treatment of people as who they are.
We celebrate our reliance on each other for more than just ****** favors.
In fact, we celebrate most
the people who go against the grain of the wood of society.
Ouch, is that a splinter?

I have concluded that
the only way to buy real food is
to flee the country.

People say,
"There are other fish in the sea."

I say,
"*******;
she was my sea."

The sheep's fleece was as white as snow
because he could never let her go.

My soul must be made of honey
because I can't help but grin
when I see a couple walking
hand-in-hand.

I must have a sweet, sensitive soul.

People are beautiful.