Better natured today than yesterday,
smelling less like cigarettes and more
like laundry detergent, you sit across
from your therapist at the bar and
ask for one more boilermaker.
You say, How do you desire what you already possess?

And your therapist says, Don't go down that drunk.
That's a bad drunk.

You're in a floral print A-line dress, one
you bought from your sister-in-law.
She's doing one of those multilevel marketing things
and though her Facebook posts make you want
to suicide yourself, she's happy and independent
and at home with her kids. Despite these lukewarm
feelings, you harbor some resentment as you finger
and thumb a seam that's already coming undone.

Sloane. Your husband keeps mentioning a woman
at the office named Sloane. You're at the bar,
almost alone, and promised yourself
you wouldn't think about Sloane. But here you are.
Sloane in a pencil skirt and stockings. Sloane
with a fresh ****** energy, the kind you can't
seem to summon, and you wonder why ***
is such an important thing. It's so brief,
forgettable, full of abject compromise.

*** is an inherently violent act, don't you think?
You say to the therapist.  

If your therapist hears you, he doesn't respond.
You don't repeat the question.

You watch yourself broadcast on the TV above the bar.
They're commenting on your hair and your arms
and going on and on about your likability.

Your therapist changes the mood. It's 6:30.
He gives the place a nighttime feel.
He kills a row of lights and turns on the
colored bulbs, the blues and greens.
The TV is turned down. The music is turned up.

This is what you've been waiting for, the lights, the music.
There's an hour before anyone really shows up. You can
close your eyes and drift.

Two or three drinks pass. A couple walks in.
You have your therapist put in for an Uber.

Maybe I've been asking the question the wrong way, you say.

Oh yeah? the therapist says.

Yeah. Maybe the question should be reversed.
Maybe the question should be
how do you remain desirable to the objects you possess?

That seems like a lot of work. Seems like you'd have no
sense of self. You'd always be bending.

I've been a plus one for a long time.
You say bending. But I wouldn't be
doing anything new. I already do all these things.
But I see them as a compromise. I'm just trying
to reframe, you know?

Why? your therapist asks.

You open your mouth and find no words. You smile. You say you've had too much. You're rambling. You're sorry. You better go.

She held him like a dangling participle,
as mothers sometimes do.
Disconnected from her sentence,
he was held on but stiffly confused.
He possesses a birthright to her hard-wiring,
or is it mandatory?
Woman-datory?
Umbilical, precedence will or won't inherit addictive behaviours.
Likability of some traits but not others, wishing he wasn't.
More like her, realisations go awry.
Pattern of outstretched arms dangling that boy.
His diaper is off, and jettison's stream, so caution.
Hiking along the forgotten path, brambling overgrowth blocked his continuing.
He cuts a new path.
She cuts the umbilical.

Why am I running to him?
When he’s running from me

Its as if this determines my likability
Stay present
Focus on you
Rumination and worry
Will only lead to doubt.

Break free
Don't stress
If it's meant to be, it will be

If the glass is half full
You can’t fill it to the top.
It needs to be filled by two.
To create lasting harmony

Heart raw
And wanting more
There is a hand suspended
Hanging in the air

Love me or lose me

He has a con mans likability
A cunning sly agility
Disguised as civility
With an ego of nobility
He has a con mans likability
A shallow loud tranquility
Illusioned vulnerability
To hide his own futility

the lust is gone.
I know your mannerisms
and your cute face can no longer compensate
for your sad lack of likability
god would I love to love you
now that the lust has gone.

An interview
A splash of spicy coffee
Meetings to discuss how to piece
It all into one
Break up discussions
Leaning forward because it's innate
Disappointments
Fulfillment
Jumping in
Leaving out
Moving forward
Moving out.

Theres something about my life now
That has me returning to where I once was
Perhaps to remember and move through
And it's with no slight of hand
That I return with wise knowing eyes
And glow, glimmer
So sweetly remember
And with relief
Move past.

The sun is out
I wait for a new girlfriend to pick me up
Hugs exchanged
I look around knowing I'll be back
But the first time of seeing what once was
And what is to be now
A new man in her bed
He's ruddy and red
He seems sweeter than her immediate past
And for that I'm very glad
Don't climb anymore trees
Sweet fearful love
And you don't have to pretend
To always be glad
But you can let your inner light
Speak as you
Not for
As.

I've got roots in my hair
Lately it's been hard for me to feel
Confident in other people's gaze
But I left my old apartment just now
Tiptoed with ease
Into my old favorite coffee shop
Within
Not without.

I redefined the bad things that occurred
And jest with likability
That I was getting
(And I was)
So very good at standing on my own
But I look next to me now
And I think
You want me as my whole package
For perhaps, all that I am.

My eyes were filled with something else
This time last year
The whole half of the house
Became a touch stone for wreckage
And what betrayed me in the back
And I thought and mourned
Why can't honest love lift me up?
I'll never forget marking off the days
With blueberry ink
Seeing red wine disappear
Or how you would choose your phone over a book
Frivolous company over
A night of intelligent love making
And had me convinced
That I too
Must become a ninja turtle.

But I never did
I chortled and held my shield high
After dying in the shower
You claimed me in
Love spoken too soon
And I don't think you are all evil
I hope we can nod and share a drink
But I always felt
That I had to be removed
In order to fly my own coop.

Yes, I live alone
I say with a dewy eyed glow

And I'm so very glad.

I don’t even recognize myself.
At some point I stepped into a fog and forgot who I was before,
while acquiring a new likability and endearment.
Time stops
I reflect on my former self and she is a million miles away.
Yesterday is a million miles away.
The sun is ninety-one million miles away.
I descended into the stars and landed ninety-one millions miles from earth,
to touch the fiery surface.

My skin melts from my bones into an olive puddle.
Gathering the molten remains into my pocket,
I am thrown into obsidian.
Tumbling and falling, gasping for air,
while remnants of my light trickles into the night sky.
Entering the Milky Way and crying for solace,
my ascension to earth comes to an end.
Landing so heavily,
as the weight of my sorrows burrows within,
I think back to the particles within my clothes.

Slowly and solemnly the remains are picked from my pocket.
Changed
and unrecognizable,
I stretch them over my charred bones, until finally,
I am masked from their eyes.
My eyes have darkened and my soul has weakened.
The weak and weary screams from my lungs
detonate the irrational beating of my heart.
The heart that once beat for life,
like a clock ticking towards excitement now ticks as a timer,
pending my inevitable end.

In the end,
Edward Bloom became what he always was,
and that was a very big fish.
Will I die with the fish?
Will my soul be trapped in this echo in time I’m forced to repeat every day,
where I’m drowning and drowning;
my lungs have tightened,
as exhaustion overwhelms me.
I’ve exhausted my options.
There is nothing left but the act of living.

My body has lived but my soul has died.
The goodbyes were said long ago.
Remembering what life was before I died is unimaginable.
Was there a life before this?
Were my eyes ever brighter to the average man?
Was the hole in my chest ever filled with content?
To speak of this would assure my final farewell.
The farewell of my body as well.
The memory of my existence as well.

I wish you didn't grow up feeling like you had to compromise yourself
Remember the first time you waxed your eyebrows?
Why was your immediate reaction to pick up a pair of tweezers and pluck all those thick hairs off your face?
Was it because the girls you went to school with had thin arcs above their eyes?
How could eyebrows make a person feel self-conscious?
I wish you didn't grow up feeling like you HAD to be like everyone else
The push-up bras from Victoria Secret your mother would never let you buy
The light wash Hollister jeans every middle schooler wore
The makeup from MAC featured on the faces of the popular girls in school
These were all things you grew up obsessing over
But instead, you settled for the bras from Target
25% off sale
The jeans from GAP and Old Navy
The makeup from Marshalls, your mom, bought for you
You looked at it with such disappointment
She couldn't understand why you needed all those things
When she asked if you liked what she bought for you  
You put on a half-assed smile and responded
"Si Mami, gracias."
…
She wouldn't understand
…
At the back of Ms. Pinero's math classroom
You sat alongside two boys
When they asked where you were from
You told them
"El Salvador"
There were no follow up questions
Just a couple of laughs and nudges between them
"Say something then."
You complied
Another round of jaw drops and claps
As if speaking in your native tongue deserved a standing ovation
"That is so ****."
Yes, a 14-year-old sexualized due to a couple of phrases spoken in a language foreign to the rest
As the bell rang, you walked out and right behind you could be heard the words:
"I should've known you were Latina."
You watched as their eyes undressed you, followed by the cue of stares from other classmates in the hall
But this is what you wanted, right?
Validation and acceptance?
Tell me then, why did their commentary unsettle you so much?
…
Mornings you walked into the school cafeteria with friends
The anxiety you felt pulsating through your body as you passed the assistant principal
His eyes had a tendency of wandering
But all was excused because he had a daughter and a wife
As if raising a child refrains one from being a machista
As if his presence in the lunchroom didn't suffocate and intimidate the rest of us
But we held our tongues
"It's not that big of a deal."
Girls learn to live their lives with the use of this phrase at their convenience
…
You lived your middle school years abiding by the "likability rule."
Convincing yourself if you remained
Gentle
Quiet
Selfless
Submissive and Obedient
You could escape the policing of your body and tongue
If you, a girl was deemed likable, you could avoid the pain others repeatedly succumbed to
Your high school years you burned those vices
And in turn, you became what society refers to as "the difficult girl."
Loud
Confrontational
Self-aware
Rebellious
Or in the term others would coin you as:
A *****
…
When your body began to mature
You weren't the only one to notice
You can recall the days you walked into school
Receiving looks of disapproval
And you watched
As other girls walked by, wearing something just like you  
How quickly those same eyes looked the other way
And it was then you learned that your voice wasn't the only disturbance for the public
So was the shape of your body
All the qualities your mother told you to embrace
You grew to hate
As if you had the decision to control the rate at which your body developed
…
The days you spent as the new kid
Living in the background noises of immigration control jokes
"Haha, you didn't get deported?"
No *******, I did not.  
You played it off like it didn't matter
But it did.
Deep down, you know it did.
No amount of comedic "genius" could drown out the ignorance of those boys
…
In the tenth grade
Rumors spread of someone's photoshop skills
Even as I write this to you, I can sense the discomfort in the room
Why didn't we fight harder for those girls?
Why did YOU hear about what happened and settle with the prevalent fact that "boys will be boys"?
Is that a justification for ****** behavior?
Why didn't we encourage them to be better?
You worried about those girls, and you wondered whether they told themselves the same thing you told yourself four years ago
"It's no big deal."
…
When the spotlight shone upon your friend
Humiliated by a rich narcissist
You stormed with remarkable fury to the counselor's office demanding justice
In the face of your triumph and efforts you were told
"Sweetie, there isn't much we can do."
But there was…
There was so much more that could've been done
The score settled 0-1
Down the hallway you remember your friend with the rusted orange curls
Cheeks and neck spotted red with rage after finding out the truth
You both saw the events unfolding
No punishment enforced
No threat ensued
Merely another instance of a boy's ****** behavior excused
…
Now,
Hearing your little sister tell you of the boys in her class who make fun of her
You do your best to ensure her it's no indication they like her
Because if they did, they would bestow respect upon her rather than insults
You spot those boys in the halls and you glare at them
Letting your presence be known
If things get worse, you'll be the one to handle them
…
Your mother's annual Thanksgiving party
And among the guests featured around your dinner table is the authentic macho
A true family man who adheres to respect, strength, and the protection of his family
When he asked you of your future plans
He displayed a face of amusement rather than one of seriousness
As if your capacity for success is determined by what lies in between your legs
When you stood your ground and fought for yourself
He put his hand out in a gesture to stop with the words
"Okay, okay, there's no need to be sensitive."
He turned to ask your mother with a degrading laugh
"Is she always like this?"
To which you responded, "Yes."
And his words fell short of sexist comebacks
You took a nice long look at his wife
Who did all she could to avoid eye-contact with you
…
You grow up being told to be proud,
But be so in a way that doesn't cast a spotlight on you
Be driven,
But not so much you intimidate the rest
Strive to be competitive,
But refrain from showing teeth, or you'll scare away the competition
Fight for your right,
But don't incriminate anyone else while doing so
Wear what you want,
But for the love of God please don’t wear that
Address your concerns,
But don’t be so emotional about it
…
You've lived your life with endless restraints on who you should and shouldn't be
I wish you had torn through those norms earlier
I wish you refused to settle for less all those years ago
Here you are
Reading this,
Let the world know it is not entitled to change you
Let the people know you are not limited to a figure of gratification that lives to please the rest
…
You were born to raise hell
Don't you ever be quiet about it
…
-c.alejandra

Don't let me be the kind of *******
Who hides behind the facade of fake morals
Blinded by the who's and what's of the society
To carefully navigate into the spectrum of likability
Murdering ideas
Shepherded by the popular beliefs that the self proclaimed "ubermensch" with values smaller than the faith of a mother consoling her dying child propagates
Don't let me be the kind of *******
Blindly seeing the disarray of colors and beliefs
Waving divisive flags of identity
While failing to identify the core of what makes us humans in the first place
Erasing the tiniest sketch of personality
To enjoy the recognition that comes with society's impeccably placed self serving values
Foolish enough to think that they're smarter than the rest
Smart enough to recognise the falacies that dont serve their interest
Don't let me be the kind of *******
Bayoneting the rights of others to exists
Carrying big guns
Compensating for the personality they lack
Their inability to break the circuit
Their brains programmed to applaud
The orange bleep on their screens that rule their lives
Their messiah
Don't let me be the kind of *******
Pretentiously answeing to a higher cause
While dismissing the cries that really need answering
Leading life one line at time
From a forged manuscript
Playing my part just right to be recognised at the pearly gates
While closing my doors to the here and now
To the damaged
To the rejects who dont see the white and gold
Or the the blue and black
But simply crave the warmth of the fabric
Of a touch, of a hug
Maybe a warm cup of humanity
Not the body or the blood of
A humanbeing just like the rest of us
We're all capable of miracles
Not a trick like walking on water
Bur changing the world one life at a time
Not as gods
But humans, in our truest forms
(Fort Worth, TX 12/02/2018)

It’s a mission
To show you who I am
***** it out here for you to see
Which has to mean everybody
I think I’ve got likability
But I just happen to like me
I don’t know what you see
Brash, brazen, unapologetic me
For who I be
And what I want
And what kind of beautiful picture I see
In a future of you and me
If we get friendly