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.

Sir,
please tell me
why you've grown so bitter.
Is it something I've said?
Did you skip your morning bread?

Sir,
I implore you to tell me
why you've grown so sad
because, well...
you still are my favorite lad.

We love a good introspection.
A lot of thinking-outside-the-box
a dash of sponaneity with a pinch
of romance.
A lot of pondering, wandering
wondering and pandering.
We crave intimacy and to woo we say,

"Look at my poetry."

Our minds are wired differently.
We tend to see things not as they are
but what they can be.
We are silently affectionate but rarely
spout off our poems in public.
We love deeply, fall hard and
live out our lives according to our
composition books.

Our kingdom is gone.

Hello there, green tea!
Now tell me,
am I who I ought to be?

I am a woman.
I was born uniquely me.
Maybe I'm too short, too weird, too smart,
have too large of a hand, **** or heart
Maybe I'm inconsiderate, selfish, or blue,
have plenty of contradictions or I'm not always true
but everything that I am, everything that I do is me.
I am not a toy nor gadget.
My body's not a temple nor Play-Doh.
I am no Barbie. I am no Mrs. Potatohead.
I am me.
A person that loves and is loved back.
**Purely me.

Mi hija,
no te calles.
Tienes una voz.
Úsala.
Nunca te des por vencido
porque tienes una voz.
Úsala.
Hay muerto y violencia
en este mundo pero
nunca olvides que
tienes una voz.
Una voz que tiene el poder *inspirar.

I am a raging storm in a teacup.
Tip me over and pour me out,
but prepare to treat your burns.

I can't resist you.
You are the cookie
in the window of a sweet shop.
No matter how much money
you cost, I am buying
everything you offer.

No guy and girl would EVER
want to watch a movie that had
no soundtrack
or go to a concert just to see
the people play their instruments.
Yes, you may claim to have music
as your hobby but many others are
extremely passionate about it too.
Without music, what would have
happened to Bach, Beethoven, Haydn,
Scarlatti, Clementi, Vivaldi, and others?
Saying "it's just music" is like saying
"it's just life."
Life is beautiful, passionate, tragic, comedic, playful, intense and even stressful sometimes.
Think about it.
Life and music go hand in hand.
Instead of saying "it's just music"
I urge you to say
**"let there be music!"

Ring around the chamber,
who will go inside?
I'm starving and *****
so why would I hide?

I feel my ribs, but my stomach even more.
Many girls have been violated again and again like penny ******.
I don't know what to feel
because for the first time
I don't think God is real.

A shower will do me good, I say.
They wouldn't want us to stink, if we did stay.
I pull off my stripes.
The nakedness appalls me.
As far as I could see
I found human skeletons
staring back at me.

The door shut, but water there was none.
Every person bled into one
massive grave.
For every life, a soul gave.

Ring around the rosey
pocket full of posey
ashes,
ashes,
they all
            fall
                  **down.

I think we all are rivers.
We need a direction
in which we can flow freely.

Chorus
Just shout your name out loud;
I'll be right there
and if you don't know where I am
I'll run to you, I swear.
I need you more than a life-preserver
drowning in the Arctic Sea,
but one question more,
Would you run to me?

Verse
In the life that I lead
all I want is to succeed.
A's and B's
for my parents to be pleased
but no!
I know that you like me.
That we were always meant to be.
I open up my mind
hoping to somehow find
you in the crowd.

2nd Verse**
I know we have doubts
and mistakes, many more
but pause and think a bit
about what we're fighting for.
I'm sorry about what I said,
the big and the small,
and if you'd jump off a cliff
I would surely break your fall.

How can principals say,
"It's important that you are in school,"
when they give us numerous half-days and excuses to stay out of school?

Sometimes life hands you separate ingredients, but only you can take the cookies out of the oven.

Lay me on the pile of bodies
then incinerate me like the rest.

I am glad that such professions
I have made didn't touch your heart.
I also wouldn't blame you
if you didn't want to dive.
It's much too dangerous.

Although your explanation
is lengthy enough, I am puzzled.
What do you mean by heartstrings tangled?

Love hits people so differently
and mine is apparently leading me
to a dead end.

There's
           beauty
                      in
                           *silence.

I am not a phone.
Do not put me on silent.

Like a scientist in his lab
and an artist at his easel,
singing feels so natural to me.
Shaped phrases and the building crescendos
swirl into a cacophony of sound
that gives me euphoria.
The blending and bending of harmonious voices
call out to me saying,
"This is passion."
I will never stray from this passion of mine.
Never *ever.

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 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.

Smile.*

Not the stupid
plastic killer clown crap.
Smile like you've just married
the love of your life.

My body heaves and convulses
while tears stream down my face
blurring my vision
like a camera lens in fog.

My mind was sick.
I had just watched the movie
The Pianist about the Holocaust.
The Holocaust was sick.
A man in a wheelchair fell
from a tenth story window,
dumped out by the SS.
Sickness.

My body was sick.
I could not speak.
I could barely cry for that matter.
All I could do was sob.

My spirit was sick.
I hadn't prayed in a whole month
and God and I were floating
farther   and         farther            apart.

My soul was moved.
I heard the real star in The Pianist
Wladyslaw Szpilman play
Chopin's Nocturne in C# Minor.
(that is NOT a hashtag)

That was when I broke down.