Death doesn't like his job,
anymore than some of us like ours,
and when he calls forth the gentle flowers,
to answer for their lives,
he hides his tears.
The QuietI'm not a loud person.
I laugh and cry and smile,
and I am happy and I am sad.
But I'm not loud.
I hold my emotions close and I deal them out like cards,
only when someone asks and never....
never when I think they aren't ready.
Though I'm a terrible judge.
I'm not loud, not really,
I curl up in a corner every afternoon to do my homework,
and it's loud sometimes,
and I can't stand it.
I love silence.
The stillness that isn't broken
by the roaring noises of sisters,
I've never been loud.
But I learned to be,
I used to be the quietest of my siblings,
so quiet and so observant,
I was so observant that I observed
that people didn't notice me.
They didn't see me or pay attention,
I was a wall flower and I didn't want to be.
I was sick of being pushed aside and
treated like I didn't exist so I became loud.
I learned to be loud.
I learned to be loud,
in life and in love and in saying,
I learned that people don't listen very well,
and they don't have good hearing,
Brace for ImpactIt is not the fall that hurts,
or the dive.
It is when you hit the bottom,
the bottom of the ocean or the dry
hard, brick of land.
Everyone knows this,
in their hearts and minds,
but who prepares us?
Who tells us?
Instead they say,
rather than telling us just...
how to put our bones back.
How to stitch our skin over
the holes that have been created from
splattering against a hard surface,
or how to empty our lungs of the water,
that has filled them this entire time.
There are two kinds of falling as well,
through water and through air,
one slow and sinking and you cannot escape,
no matter how hard you want to.
The other is quick, like a dive,
and at maximum velocity,
it all depends on how high up you were when you fell,
on how hard the landing hurts.
As the fall happens,
some don't realize it.
They only know not to fall and haven't been prepared,
to fall or to dive or to live with what has happened.
They weren't told how to brace for impact,
or how to think.
Things ChangeThings evolve,
they change and look different,
even though they are essentially the same,
and each time they look a little different,
fewer people notice.
It's like we're used to change,
the ever twisting fate that is our bodies,
and as time goes on we see only little things.
If you look ten or fifteen years,
down the road and past the time,
it turns out that you see all the differences.
Like the difference between your baby picture,
and the picture you take at the end of high-school,
when you're not quite an adult but you're not quite anything more...
and college rears its ugly head and things turn different than before.
It's weird looking back even just six months,
because six months is all it took,
to take away my happiness,
and now I'm just a gaunt version of myself,
fatter in some ways but dead in others.
Go MadWatch the clock tick,
and you'll go mad,
but what if you watch it tick,
and you don't go mad at all?
Perhaps you've always been mad,
and no one took the time to notice...
How Do I Learn to Cope?Learn to cope?
Learn to cope?!
I wasn't taught how to cope.
I had mathematics and English shoved down my throat,
and science pushed in my ears,
and history smeared across my eyes.
How the hell am I supposed to learn how to cope,
when I had politics bubbling into one ear,
and emotions bubbling out the other,
and I was told to have some 'self-control'
and to not express what I feel because this
"is a learning environment".
How am I supposed to understand,
how to deal with pain and loss,
when I'm told that I should always be happy,
and things like this should just be
gotten over as if they didn't happen.
As if they didn't matter.
I've been taught how to graph a parabola,
and how to sketch x to the third.
I've been taught that money matters,
and I'm getting no where unless I manage to get a job.
I've been taught that I had better be able to read
and to write or I'm not getting into college.
I've been taught that I better understand my country's history,
but that world history is a small se
Breathebriefly take a breath,
steady the rushing horror,
realize where you are,
see that you are alright now,
and please do not stop breathing
A Clockwork of ConsistencyA Clockwork of Consistency 9/23/14
He sat alone on a lonely bench.
Green paint faded and chipped-
weathered by the salty Gulf of Mexico.
It had been there - a silent
watcher of the sea for as long
as he could remember.
He had made a habit of going
here early to greet the sun
and start the day right -
with a small prayer and a coffee.
He had done this for three straight
years - a creature of routine.
It gave him comfort and peace.
A serenity he was never able to
duplicate anywhere else.
He felt less alone with this
bench and the rising sun as
his stable and reliable friends.
Sometimes a tear would form in his eye
when the beauty was too much.
On this particular morning he was so lost
in his thoughts and so entranced
by the vivid colors before him that
he barely registered her - sitting
on the bench beside him.
How long had she been there?
How long would she stay?
"Sunrises leave me in awe.
Do you not agree?" she
quietly asked as she turned to him.
He had no words to say so he
shooting nightmaresgatling claw grips pistol
handling trigger tremors
and night terrors
that blast cannons
into the dusk of obscurity
the moon curls into the cusp
of my lips as maria
drips from my tongue like saliva
and the stranglehold
of the night
leaves terrae spines
in my skin as torment
shoots itself into my veins
lost son, crumbling daughter (corinth) in a moment of hesitation
i see myself yesterday
quivering like windchimes
imagining your existence
like you were the lost son
of a corinthian
rich and decadent
was the order of days
laid in indulgence
in pseudo counter-culture
of love exemptions
as you stood over me
i quivered not like a leaf
for (the) fall was long
but like an avalanche
quick and unyielding
burying any semblance
of sanity under
a crumbled psyche
hush upstop telling the trees
that they don't know what it's like
to watch loved ones die.
who else knows better
than old branches and young leaves,
roots hugging bones
flowers kissing bees?
I am a LiarI am a Liar
Sometimes, she would tease me
Lean over and say
"When are you getting a boyfriend?"
I would dig fishhooks into my mouth
Give her my best lying smile
And say something to the effect of
When we would go out together
When she would eye the passing men
Lean over and say
"All the good men will be gone soon!"
But my eyes never left her
Never strayed from the curve of her shoulder
Never stopped thinking what we would be like
Never stopped seeing her
Sometimes after church, with the older ladies
We were urged to start looking
For a good, Christian, man
But I always had trouble
Looking away from her dress
When Valentine's Day came
I gave her rainbows, colored chocolate
She smiled, and gave me caramels
As we were friends and nothing more
She was kind when I met her
Soft, considerate, radiant in her comfort
She was beautiful and warm
Beautiful, but she would hate me
If I told her what waits in my heart
She would call me disgusting
She would run away
But after school th
diamonds on the rock, with a twisttoying with slinks
metal rings in my ears, ringringring
sounding like people calling for god
squeezingpUlSiNg my fingers
doused with scotch
as i drink it and twist myself
into a heap of contained pressure
and without abuse
there are no diamonds until the ice
and silver return
to where they once were but i drink
drinking holy water from
vase, i try to pull you
out of my head.
you dig your nails
into my skin, i swallow your scent and
ask you to
leave (i don't want you here
anymore), but you cry and
then i can't breathe.
the seasons change and i
stay the same
folly person that you made me
hate. i can't
press leaves between my
skin and bone, and
i realize that the snow will someday
melt, and we'd
leave slush trails against each others
bones with mist
collecting on your fingertips as you
try to wipe out all
the sad parts of me (why did you think
that you could change that
Sleep my Brother......
Sleep my Brother….
Sleep my dear brother
For I hold you in my embrace
I take you in my arms to give you…
I surround you with the love you need
I hold you close to me
For I will not let you go
I support you with my arms and hands
I cherish oh so deeply of our time as brothers
I Love you my brother……
Now sleep my brother.
rainbows dont exist in the real worldi. gringa
the color of my skin is like the color
of a Starbucks caramel frappuccino
and often times
i beg desperately
for someone to take a sip.
the look in someone's eyes
is my deathbed because
i am not something to gleam about.
i am not a special artifact
just because i can say
hola me llamo janet
no i'm not mexican
no i'm not cuban
no i'm not portugese
no i'm not from spain
no i don't want to hear
about your trip to puerto rico -
yes i am hispanic and i'd like you to go away,
ii. baby fat
my thighs are vessels
across the sea, they
float slowly in their saltbaths
and absorb all the calories
from the bowl of salad
i had for lunch.
you can see my ribs like staircases
fit your finger right between their spaces
feel their ridges and climb up the ladder
with your mouth -
you can see the rolls of fat like jelly rolls
falling from my stomach and arms
soft to touch and meaty to bite.
no i'm not hungry right now
no i'm not in the mood for dinner
no i'm not i