"aldecoa" poems
Pink Hotel
and behind some bitter, white picket fence
she sat
actually, she stalled.
Tapped her feet on the pavement, cuddled the curb in her ripped dress.
She wore pink in her hair,
little slivers of an innocent, chapped lip.
a dying pink.
The fence creaked with the interrupting wind.
and she stood, danced across the street.
cracked hands gripping frigid door handles,
come on in.
Torn garments, wisps of pink flying from her head,
she felt pretty in pink,
third grade, mother-just-bought-a-new-bow pretty,
innocent, dad-bought-me-glittery-shoes pretty.
Painless pretty.
Sane pretty.
No more
he-just-wants-to-see-me-bare pretty,
he-gives-me-lots-of-drinks pretty,
Worthless pretty.
Lost pretty.
Pink matter that drips onto a glass floor,
everyone can see through it,
through her.
What is it, woman?
she gave her hand to a solo cup,
So alone.
Pink drink, it’s good for you,
good to me.
To the third floor,
and lay down.
do you like the pink?
He always said I looked good with pink.
-C.M Aldecoa
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
Religion had locked me up in a closet
shrined with Adam and Eve
Mary and Joseph.
Adam married Eve, my child,
Mary bewedded Joseph, my child.
Blessed be the day you crawl out of this closet
to be coveted by the golden halo God has waiting for you.
I have been clothed in God’s golden halo,
drapery of fine linens, for he loves me so,
and religion had locked me up.
I wish for Adam to marry Adam,
Eve to love Eve.
For a closed door shall never preserve,
progress has made its step forward,
and I choose to march with.
Religion had locked me up in a closet,
for if I had never opened the door,
misery would have reigned upon me.
And with this,
though I may be frowned upon in a chapel,
hostility will never hold my heart.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:38 PM UTC
I wear my hair curly,
tight spirals that lay on my neck.
I wear my makeup dark, intimidating,
keeps the mystery that I’m so terrifying with a sweet glaze,
like honey.
But I don’t dissolve well and I came from poison.
I like my drinks colds, tingly, intoxicating.
It was the way my father handled his problems.
The way I handled mine,
I like my death cold, perspirating with teases that the next shot can be my last if I let it. I never really let it, I just allowed it to crawl in bed with me and sing me to sleep.
I’m attempting to romanticize a habit that dragged me a couple miles away from sanity, left me to dry up in the arid desert, surrounded by merciless voices.
I want to pour glitter on an addiction that gave me paranoia that I would rot in my bed, tied down by the idea that I can only be loved if I am bare.
Open, hands sprawled and not folded in prayer, because when I confessed beneath the altar, I leaked toxins that I swam in.
Wet dreams became a phrase that shook my ribcage, the grim reaper was the boyfriend in my head that mentored the shadows with a sweet malibu fantasy.
Keep playing the same song, and I soon memorized each lyric.
I like my drinks on demand, I like them rolled in fury, drenched in sorrows, a control less kind of romance that undressed me every night, alone.
Control yourself, it whispered to me, you still need some for tomorrow.
I need to escape, covered in glitter and malibu kisses.
-C.M. Aldecoa
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
One day, you will feel me
in ways you have never felt me before
The way you once touched my skin, never again
to the way you called me yours
you will feel me in the pit of my soul
Some day, you will understand all of me
in a brand new way that you never knew before
those sweet nothings you whispered,
they will turn to rocks
that I will make you run on in the burning heat
once you finally understand what it means to raise hell
and I cannot wait until the hour
that I can glare at you, and you at me
with such frigidness in my eyes
That it will force you to question
why such a fiery wrath,
can burn in a heart so cold.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:46 PM UTC
I will hold every man after you with contempt.
He’ll want a first chance, but I will gaze down at him with second chance eyes.
he deserves a first impression, an at-a-glance judgement, but before he speaks I will already have decided why he won’t be wrapping himself around me.
and he will owe me an explanation for you, every man after you will answer for your misdeeds.
Do you all act like this? Do you all do this to us? What’s the cure?
and I won’t mean to offend an entire gender, but after being a victim of one member, it’s hard not to **** the whole crowd.
a stereotypical concept, but it’s one that’s being fed.
but, every man after you will have to hold up to the way you kissed me before I left. With presence, passion, a lingering mystery.
and he will have to be up to par with your words and the gentle touch you gave while lying down.
every man after you will need to tame me after a long day, the way you did, subtle aggression, but it was kind, sweet.
he’ll pray that he can be the one, but every many after you will have to pay up for your sins and stand up to your level.
- so, it’s hard to know what will happen, when I push them for what you did, but love them for being better than you.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
Aquesta es la pipa de todo el maíz.
Aquesta es la pipa del loco Legris
archilunático.
Con ella dialoga cuando la saudade
de su montañoso terruño le invade...
Cuando está antipático...
Cuando ya no ríe... Cuando ya no teje
su canción extraña, su canción hereje,
libre, parabólica:
cuando está soñando con la Bien-querida,
la novia lejana, la suave elegida
dulce y melancólica!
Ella!... que le hurtara su ser arbitrario,
su manía absurda, su ultraplanetario
devenir errante;
Ella que le doma, le rinde y sujeta,
y que no le deja tirar la careta
y echar adelante!...
La dueña de todas sus cosas no malas!
La que en su joroba le pone dos alas
azules, azules!
...Aquesta es la pipa que le rememora
ya un instante alegre, ya una triste hora,
velados por tules,
por tules humosos, de acerada brurna!
Aquesta es la pipa en que fuma y fuma
cuando está soñando;
en que fuma y fuma cuando triste y solo
vaga y vaga y vaga de un Polo a otro Polo
sin cómo ni cuándo...
La paisana pipa tan original! 1
Pipa que es regalo del trascendental
señor Aldecoa...
Aquesta es la pipa de todo el maíz.
Aquesta es la pipa del loco Legris
quien así la loa!
611
What is my brain made of?
You.
It’s swollen pink with your handprints and eternal pleasures.
I’ve been quiet for a minute, closing my eyes in the dark room and feeling fingertips dance on my spine.
You could make my hoarse throat sing lyrics I had never heard before.
Pleasure.
Withdrawals.
A container for your memories now,
I hold every second of contact, every touch, every word in my head.
My brain is made of you.
You’re the greatest good that has killed me.
All I need, gone.
I would cut my head off if you weren’t still holding me together,
or, I could,
but something tells me you’d watch it roll down a hill.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
When you were cold, trapped in a dark place
pleading for my love and desires
I saw that you needed a light,
so I set myself on fire.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:33 PM UTC
Hive behind the fact that I shower you in petals,
remember who gave you wings.
I wrap every limb around those antennas, and I listen.
You relieve the fear of being stung by something so horrible,
I use to hide behind bushels of lies,
blanket myself in dead flowers.
Now, I hive within you, make my home in something that brings me sweets.
I hive in the taste of an unknown kiss,
I thrive in a kingdom of crystal wings and patterned glee,
honey sweet touches that bring life into me.
Allow me to be the field of flowers in the dead night of spring,
harvest what I have left, let the body sing.
Take me back to the warmth of the comforting honeycomb,
and I will follow you wherever you roam.
No distance is too long, no field big enough for me,
to always, and forever, be with my darling honey bee.
-honey comb tastes best when picked from your lips
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 7:56 PM UTC
I believed in you,
In us.
I vowed my undying love to you and, with hope,
Began to imagine a day where I wasn’t lying on the floor,
Alone.
We had the world in our palms and yet you managed to create blacks and blues on my flesh into galaxies that made no sense,
I was attracted to the unknown.
And I did not know you.
Dandelions grew over my blood that flooded a meadow,
Roses blossomed from weeds and out came my will to leave you.
Each petal fell with the grace of a dancer and I was uplifted into a world of light.
With a bottle of trouble in one hand, and you heart in the other.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC
I ought to know why you stare at me with intention,
but you treat me with hesitation.
Fear what you know for sure, and swim into unknown waters and learn to love an uncharted sea that knows no boundaries with a full heart.
There lies a shore with white sands and calming winds, the comfort of knowing.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
I apologized for correcting you.
when you told me I was wrong.
I apologized for not listening to you,
when you would ask me to be quiet.
I painted my skin red with anguish that I could stand up to par with what you required.
Drowned my lungs in cheap toxins that left me sick the next morning.
Facing you.
I apologized for running my mouth, for telling you I loved you.
when you got tired of hearing it everyday.
I lathered my skin purple with your aggression that I could ever learn to obey.
Sinking my stomach in doctored ways that left me unconscious for hours and dead the next morning.
Facing you. Dead.
I didn’t have to,
because you finally felt sorry for burying me, way after I already passed.
-C.M. Aldecoa
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 5:54 PM UTC
If you were stranded in the desert
getting slapped by the sun, dying from thirst
I would cry you a river to drink from
because that's the type of person I am
If your voice was lost in the sea of silence
swimming amongst hollers, not making a sound
I would lend you my shaken vocals
because that's the type of person I am
If you fell into unknown depths, lost and broken
incapable of walking, moving, I would cut off my shattered limbs
and give them to you
because that's the type of person I am
If you died today, heartless and incomplete
I would give you my heart, the one that you broke,
so that you would be living in pain,
but at least you'd be living
because that's the type of person I am
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 7:00 PM UTC
I can recall the first moment I knew I fell for you, that very moment where the war was over
and my mind died down, letting all common sense and instinct loose
When my heart stood atop a heap of a dead minded girl, who cared for nothing but the lips of a dead minded boy
I had to be cautious with how many times I told you I wanted you
I was careful with how many times I let you into my secrecy
For a while, I pondered on the infinite thought of us becoming so much more,
not just a star in the sky, but the whole galaxy
that I would no longer be just your flower, but the gates to your garden
and perhaps, you would not just be my drop of water, but my whole sea
in hopes that I would sail your waves that flow in and out of your intriguing soul
The way you spoke, those numbingly sweet words,
“I never want to lose you, and I never plan on losing you, ever.”
it wasn't until then, that I had realized, that you never lost me
I lost you, and quite frankly, I don't intend on finding you, ever
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
To a memory:
I recall, on a weekend evening,
My body tells me Saturday,
That we laid on the small grass patch that laid beneath a tall mesquite tree.
Our fingers interlocked and our bodies fused together, in an effort to truly become one.
Owls hooted in a nearby nest, the wind swept my hair,
I remember, faintly, the way you smelt.
Like guilt, deceit.
Our chests inflated and deflated in sync.
I could feel your pulse in your wrist,
You were so calm.
A distant cat meowed in sorrow,
You looked over at me, smiled, and got up.
Moonlight danced on your skin and with a swift pivot,
You walked away.
Forever, you whispered.
Meant nothing to you, I hollered.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC
It is unspeakable
Yet I find words in the darkest places of my memories
That leave my crevices torn.
The taste of deception in your breath is but a million concerns for me.
‘Could I ever?’ is but a question I incessantly pose myself with,
for the fear that one day I will never unearth an answer.
Why are you hiding?
This is not a test, and my lonesome ears are eavesdropping for a piece of your word.
These walls are thin but my heart is thickened flesh encompassed in veins that ship blood to the places that yearn to bleed at the thought of your voice.
I will not bleed.
I lay down face up and talk to Him. You, sinful warrior,
or worrier.
There’s a difference and you managed to scramble up these definitions into this conjured dictionary of menacing deeds and misconceptions.
You are fooling no one.
And I pray,
And I pray every evening until I can hear your words again
“I’m sorry,”
I wish I was.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
Where do I begin?
How can I say this in the softest, most harmless way possible?
This will be the hardest part, the honesty. No one likes the truth, but they demand that everyone be truthful for everything.
So, this is my disclaimer,
you may not like what I am about to say, but you should accept what is said,
because when you begged for the reality, I had no problem serving it to you on golden plates.
Just, please, if you’re going to throw up, do it where I cannot see you,
because, honestly, I do not care how this makes you feel.
You knew what could happen when you invited me to dinner.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:48 PM UTC
I use to fear you.
The way your hair reminded me of an oil spill, drowning me in poisons not fit for a queen.
Your eyes sat heavy and dark with despise.
What you were hating, I cannot say.
Maybe you could no longer stand yourself, you could no longer withstand.
I believed in the way you told me we’d survive.
That we would escape and run together.
Our lives with riches and sunlight.
I believed in all of you, all that you were.
I should have known,
To never believe in ghosts.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 7:54 PM UTC
If I learned to love with both eyes open
I would crawl into unknown alleys
with the expectation that it’s perfect for me.
and maybe that’s why I approach open hearts with sealed eyes,
so I can feel,
hear,
taste their imperfections,
knowing the heart for every chamber it contains
- sorrow came to me in the middle of the night and asked for a kiss, I showed it romance and eternal bliss
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 7:47 PM UTC
Pain and love are at one with the heart,
just as a poet and their words are one at spirit
Each, from a divorce of such bitter pastimes
to become one with one another, in mind and in soul
The heart craves love,
just as a poet craves a pencil and a paper,
at every moment of the day
To crave one another, is to build a kingdom
built on love and the powers of a dark past
To only be virtuous in the world,
to have the eyes yearn for the heart,
just as a poet looks in others for inspiration
For their eyes to meet words, just as the heart meets another
and often, to be rooted in each other, such a beautiful phrase
Pain and love are at one with the heart,
just as a poet and their words are one at spirit
Each from the darkest realms of life,
only to be joined to form a brighter road
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 7:03 PM UTC
My words,
can look like poetry,
and still taste
of poison.
Your eyes,
can shine like stars,
and still burn
like flames.
My hands,
can feel feather soft,
and still
carry a knife.
Your words,
can comfort like a hug
and still manage to steal
all my blood.
- we volley between our love and our desire to hate each other, but I could never pick one, you have damaged me to never love you, but been there enough so I can never hate you
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
six.
small fingers counted the days until I could perish with the wind.
become one with the stars.
mother wept into the arms of her reflection
what life had become, she could not say.
father drowned himself in toxins
what had become of him,
no one could say.
in his love
I found my limits.
in his temper
I found my strength.
and in his absence
I found my voice.
Listen.
-if I’m being honest, your inability to raise me was the best way to let me grow
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 7:37 PM UTC
Being reminded.
Two o’clock in the morning.
I am dreaming quietly, the blanket has yet to be ripped off of my skin,
unveiling my vulnerable flesh.
Two-thirty, and I am skinned of my dreams and told I am unable to find what I want.
You.
Could I be held again for one more second? May my hands hold yours in the dark of a room lit by your smile, am I allowed to know you again as only mine for another moment?
You are not mine anymore. The world had taken you back and I am reminded when I wake up to words of sending me off into the world without you.
Remind me, again, about how much you needed me. Lying in your lap and wishing for an eternity of finally knowing what it is like to feel alive.
Foolish, I know. To be reminded and expect miracles to unearth from the universes I have created where I can have what I need and what I want.
Impossibilities haunt me at night, reminding me of what I cannot have.
The spoiled little girl inside me throws tantrums unworthy of this world.
I have grown up, and I grew into you and to be ripped away is simply a knife to my chest, a heartbreak I have never known. I kiss the pieces goodnight, and shape them into your name.
and let the wind sweep them away, the same way I have to, but, at night, I am reminded of the last night I thought this would last.
and it is the only memory keeping me sane.
- to be more was a reality I knew, and is now a dream I hold onto
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
New, not better.
Giving, not more forgiving.
Loving, not lovelier.
Softer, not the softest.
Brave, not the bravest.
Kind, not kinder.
Neverending, not ephemeral,
because, I pray she can stay forever with someone as precious as you,
but, she’ll need to know who made you so precious in the first place,
and , please, give me some credit.
- it’s only fair, I always accredit you when I’m told I’m picky, because, someone had to be the first to be everything I did not need.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC
I am the good in every good-bye.
Hands held.
touched
felt
printed
Grabbed my heart and toggled it back into its hiding spot.
where it dribbled between the truth and heartache
it sits in a cave.
Etched with small moments and diamonds.
and when I try to dust off the ash,
to let the shimmer of the gem come through,
it reminds me of you.
But it is the greatest good you’ll ever know,
a diamond.
To wear it, hold it, feel it, stamp your lips into it.
It is dangerous.
To fall for a diamond too bright for you, but pure enough to let you look.
The greatest good in the hardest good-bye,
how does it feel to lose your riches, and dig in coal mines,
searching for the diamond you left at your doorstep.
-I will always be sorry for what could’ve been, but never sorry for what has happened
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC