Love Letters

You used to write me love letters,
tuck them in places you knew I’d find
if I saw the edge peeking out at a particular time.
Each line carefully composed and exact,
reminders of how deep passion had grown, since the first day our eyes met, standing there
speechless. 
Because words failed what hearts knew to already be truth,
even if it felt like an eternity, to finally get me to you.
You used to write me love letters, for no reason other than to tell me you had been thinking of me, my smile
and remembering every thing I did to drive you wild 
when our lips met in the dark, 
my hands finding yours, my body keeping yours warm, 
holding you so close, as if I was afraid that someone might pluck you from my soul, if you didn’t feel my arms around you. 
You used to write me love letters, 
when the night before we shared heated words in moments of anger and went to bed in opposite rooms,
but sleep left us no choice except to remember why love brought us together,
and that this too would pass.
How I long for those days when you couldn’t live without my touch, my arms, my kiss…
The days before love letters became notes and frustrations took hold of explanations,
and excuses became the norm, reasoning away every layer of what I thought we had built.
You used to write me love letters, your words tucked in the corners of my heart where I swore I could never lose them,
or us
or you. 
But now you’re gone,
and I can’t seem to find a single crumpled paper to tell me why.

.desire.

close your eyes so I can feel your soul from the inside out
see me without looking at me
touch me without your skin against mine
I’m lost in the sound of your voice
and when I’m not near, I imagine your lips parting so that
my fingertips graze the softest parts moments before I kiss them
I crave each second, each minute, to watch the want in your body unravel
threads of your heart, pulled back together when we merge
so beautiful you are, that this ache is like a wretched thorn in my heart
but I’ll bleed it dry just to spend one more moment in your presence
passion breaks the silence between our paused speech and builds a bridge
where we meet again for the first time
I want your forever
because you are mine

Unavailable

Unavailable
It's like a flashing red neon sign the minute I think we're pushing up earth with new roots
I see the same weeds attacking everything we've built
Choking the life out of destiny
And drying up my garden of tears
You're but a cruel joke continuously played on my open heart
And I can't help but laugh
At my stupidity
I wait for you to become the love you promised you would be
But you sink and never rise to the occasion
You're nothing but a pipe dream buried deep within the darkness of my soul

After-taste

Another day spent lamenting the loss of love and the birth of loneliness
Sprung up like a weed of interruption amidst the flowers in my beaten soul
Beating but cold
I'm but a fragment of the
Sentence I used to be
Can't find the middle or the end because you
Walked away with the words that made sense
And I'm stuck here in the shadows muttering half eaten memories
And gathering crumbs of a love I used to taste, breathe in and know
Now I'm starving
& refraining from acknowledging the look in your eyes
Every time you said I love you, your most painful lie

"Different: The Dirty Word"

I hate feeling like I have to change who I am to be somebody to the rest of the world.

I love being me. Being quirky, different, passionate & able to do things that most don't think about.

Why is being yourself considered such a bad thing these days? If you're not a clone, you're a random lost face in the crowd.

I write. I'm a writer. The company of others can be a bonus (or nuisance) but isn't really necessary. Peace of mind is all I really desire.

Everything is electronic now: all forms of art. It's hard to be seen, be heard or appreciated when you're competing in a sea filled with constant overstimulation of senses. There's no room for people who are merely interested in simple pleasures like writing a letter, reading poetry from a book or sharing a few laughs face to face.

I was jokingly called "grandma" by someone a month ago because I said owned books and refused to read electronic books. I love the crispness of turning pages, the smell of the ink on the page, the feeling of the binding running against the palm of my hands. That's all the sensory experience I need curled up on my couch.

Perhaps I'm a dreamer because I can't go backwards, but what's in front of me isn't inviting or appealing. I'm starved for genuine human connection, affection and attention. Real life and not the kind in reality shows. I want to live a life of purpose. Is that too much to ask?

Life seems to have lost all meaning of originality and excitement. Everyone has access to everything and everyone all the time. There is no element of surprise. There is nothing to look forward to. It's like a world of living zombies. The damage is far worse than I ever imagined it could be.

I'm alone because I'm different. Different used to be a good thing. Now it's like a dirty word.

One day

One day I'm going to fall in love, foolishly but for all the right reasons and the person I love will love me -- selflessly, perfectly
The way you never would

She will look me in the eye and I will know that the sounds forming between her lips are merely the cherry atop the whipped cream of her actions
Those words will shape my heart, my life, my present and my future
Into the shape of happiness
You know, that round block you thought fit into the square peg

I'll know that every time our eyes meet she won't be searching mine to see if I recognize the person in front of me
We will be the reflection of honesty and devotion in one another

One day I'll hold hands, watch movies and laugh until my stomach hurts with someone who knows me as well as she knows herself because we live for today
And are grateful for tomorrow
Our dreams are whispers between cool sheets and rustles of morning blankets

Sweet kisses on foreheads and I want you's that linger in a quick glance
This is love? This is love.
Hands that search for the small in her back then gently glide and wrap around her waist
I adore her every inch, every atom of her being
She completes me

One day

Untitled

Stuck at the corner of “I’ll change” and “I didn’t mean to hurt you”

I’m running late for the best thing that ever happened to me

Getting over you

Another detour 

It’s as if I’m meant to be reminded 

That you’re not interested in loving me
Even though my heart is set on being the best part of you
I’ve crashed head first into denial

And the “I love you’s” sound brand new

Untitled

I love you
Fell like shards of glass onto linoleum
Cracked pieces scattered everywhere so the truth could not be recovered
Picking up my heart again with a dustpan and a broom
Stooped low towards the ground listening to the melody of heartache
Smash against reality
Sometimes it's not worth knowing the words to the same song
If you'll only burrow inside the sound to escape
Chastising myself and taking a vow of silence from the L word
The capacity to succumb reduced with my feet firmly planted on the ground
I'd rather stand alone than fall and break
There's only so much of me left

Give. Thanks.

Thanks?

Give back what weathered hands, twisted backs and songs of redemption lay as the foundation to your stolen empire

A country built with feet on the backs of earth toned skin, so many times

That history is like a record stuck on the same song

Even though everyone selectively forgets the words

And man made illness fittingly will suffice to kill the rest

Blood continues to spill and overflow as they pretend not to feel it splash upon their wrists

It’s not as if any cultural compassion has ever existed outside of the wonder bread variety

Bleached skin, synthetic hair, contacts, erase the identity psychologically so that each time those broken spirits see their skin they curse & blame

They curse & stain

While the oppressor lays in a box and cooks, as if in an oven,
Set to 350, bake for an hour and let cool

Instant results without the minority component, privilege still intact

You are the face you seek to erase, for a price

To look like those they persecute, because they envy

Envy the beauty of brownness, depth, full lips, rounded hips and souls that have carried the weight of hate like battle wounds for centuries

They’ll never be as strong as those they seek to destroy so teaching self-hate is the greatest weapon they have
It’s the most effective

And each day, a country that stands behind the power to eliminate at the expense of their Swiss cheese conscience,
Swiss bank account transactions pending, could care less

About the deeds and wealth accumulated by the destruction of native peoples

Is another day lost

Land taken, redistributed and designated as “their”promised land

Blood money no longer passes hands

But hits accounts on a given date

And in hushed tones others speak of the societal rape

This land was our land, this land was not made for you and me

Don’t suit the lyrics to your history book lies

In attempts to solidify the world’s greatest lies

Nothing was discovered and no one ever needed to be transported by boat, head to foot, foot to head

As body excrements fell at the same speed of tears

On other brown bodies in fear

No legal documents written by the hands of slave owners, clothes made from cotton picked with my ancestors' hands, food produced and consumed at the expense of their freedom

Will not ever reek of entitlement’s stench

It’s filthy and morally defunct

The rungs of hope are hot like coal and burn flesh to the touch
See these ancestors rise yet again to smell the burning of their ambition

.saturate.

Saturate my present with memories of your past and leave my future dry
I'm building a dam to keep what's behind us out
Current love pending with creation of a foundation that can
Withstand the red ink, yellow tape and glaringly obvious stench of moral decay
The most beautiful part of a damaged wing is that it's still struggling to fly
Save me as I save you

Counting Sheep

Breathing in rhythms of pain and loss,
Love lays over me like a tattered sheet on a brisk night
Everything exposed to the elements of harsh reality; you're never coming back
Legs tangle, arms fold & unfold
Eyelids flutter endlessly in an attempt to will the darkness to bring comfort
To bring some sort of solace to the groove where
My heart used to be
Sunken memories between sheets and pillows smell of yesterday's passion
I'm
Caught in sensory overload and standing on the edge of madness
I'm
Awake
Troubled by the empty thud banging against my ribs and drumming as if some ancient ritual of self infliction
Would bring you, my lover, back into my arms
Back into those cool summer nights, a mess of brown skin, arms that found their way in slumber
Around waists and traced designs on hips and curves that became a roadmap of love within each journey
Lips that warmed, slightly opened and the sound of air escaping between them reminds love that the distance is merely inches from your grasp
And eyes opened to stare, fingers ran blindly, yet so aware over those lips
And remember the first time they met,
The first time that something greater than sleep with the ability to render bliss
Became a way of life
I'm
Lost again in yesterday's want, mixed with the desire to learn you again, ceiling twisting and cracking as pieces fall onto my face
I've never been good at counting sheep

.Click.

Fake friends, fake lives, fake pictures, fake eyes. A generation of photoshopped, cut & pasted lies.

Would they know a laugh if they heard it or does “lol” just suffice?

Real fingers touch skin, lips kiss corners & crevices of bodies that
That keyboards can’t touch, no matter how many strokes
 And with a click you’re forgotten

Love becomes a quote, a phrase, lyrics in angst from misunderstood songs and displaced anger becomes lines of white haste swiftly relocating to nasal cavities, deteriorating from the inside out

Souls inside out

Ripped clean from the hinges of innocence 

Dangling arms and legs, strings that guide and overseeing hands tangled in their provocative ties

There’s no limit even after the edge of the cliff when nothing is beneath their feet but air, because society assures them that to pretend is to care

Fighting for nothing and dying for everything but the will to live, these young soldiers thrown into battle unprepared for the war on their minds as a means to their core

Swept under the rug of misfortune,

Misfits miss this and sequential hits to the possibilities of a socially conscious lift

They’re pinned down by their ears

And dumbed by the slicing of their tongues

Language is the barrier to knowing more


But the men on our currency fold and line pockets that disintegrate the keys to that door

Love's Labryinth

Talking until my lips turn blue
Cold air passing between them
Landing anywhere but near your ears
You don't hear me

It's as if the audio on your heart has turned down the logic in you mind and things are scrambled, jumbled and ready to topple over at a moments notice
You're unstable, like a house built without a foundation
You will never be home.

My thoughts fold like origami and try to make sense of the person before me
Layers of something with an end product of hidden chambers, interlocking bits & pieces
How did we get here? Love's labyrinth

I've lost you and myself in the process
Chasing your insecurities like thieves in the night
Wanting you whole was my only crime
Yet I've been sentenced to life without reciprocity

So my hearts stops banging inside my chest and splits into two,
every memory, moment and passion begins to spill out
And stain the walls of my body
I'm missing again

Party of One

You've thrown yourself a party again,
but the only one that RSVP'd is you

Balloons, streamers, party favors & hats. This time you were going big, you said. Party for one?
One.

The only number you can count to since no one else ever seems to exist.

Love is a one man show for you. You flirt, get your own number & forget to call.
You suck at even picking yourself up & following through on a date.

Those nights tossing in between sheets, welcoming your own demons and fighting angels that sought to heal your soul
Suffering is what you do best

So weeks turn to months, years & you wonder what became of that old love you buried on a cold New England day.

It's sprung forth from soil without water, little to no sunlight & an environment of solitude where barely anything can grow,
& became a blossoming tree, beside another tree
that grew from one of its seeds
you see
love has a way of breaking through the toughest misery

Still having parties with only one in attendance while
love blossoms outside your window
all you can do is stare, alone
& watch it become everything
you will never be

-untitled-

Falling out of love is like hearing drops of your soul hit the corners of a metal tin can, a quick splash here & there,
The echoes of loneliness like a hollow drum, beating a rhythm only tears can hear
The sound of pain, the way it reflects & slides down into every corner, every crevice & dries
It's as if it was never there
But the taste of salt still lies on fingertips,
That captured them from eyes, moist with regret
Love once was held there in stolen moments, nights of passion & kisses that lingered in hidden places
Bruises of love's faults left just beneath the surface
Of a heart that beats no more

.change.

You've counted me out,
counted me in,
pennied, nickeled & dimed me
I'm the only change you'll never spend
Smooth rounded corners of my existence hitting the fabric in your pockets
I'm forgotten & just cents
even if when we are alone you put me in your palm and it makes sense
I'm metal & you're flesh
I withstand extreme heat or cold without shelter & survive with little to nothing, but I'm strong
You are easily cut, bruised and scarred without repair...remnants of your history blemish the very hands you hold me in.
Let me go, let me know
The way it feels to be more than
an afterthought when the kinds that folds in artificial bliss
is a distant memory
& you realize you still have change
Left waiting but you'd rather stay the same
Being broke indefinitely

.expectations.

expectations
the root of all disappointments
and i've pulled you from the ground,
your leaves and stem
earthy and full of promise
the actual fruit of my labors
shriveled and sunken in
the palms of my calloused hands
betraying their age with lines of despair
the struggle
between love, life and
the belief in truth
when the sky is made of angry clouds
thunder like praise
and eyes are like mirrors so that all you see
is yourself
when you're being lied to
so you believe
in your truth
while chameleons color their hearts
with your strength
hide their weakness between shades of gray
it's raining again

.lost lovers.

Say you’re misunderstood but what’s confusing is that your words are like the hard coating on your actions
Unbreakable yet so hurtful
So you crave the closeness of two lovers lost at the end of each others’ sentences
But you’re more like the period at the end; content beads up like perspiration off the skin of your lies
Your eyes
Deep hollow and rounded at the tips
I swear they were made for destruction
Yet you claim you want peace rather than war even though your heart is covered in a bullet proof vest
I stopped looking for hints of me in your smile because, your reasons for happiness left right along with them
I listened as your footsteps grew further away with each sound, each beat of your heart like a low rumble of a drum
I’m no musician but it sounded like the death of passion on pavement

untitled

Broken steps, cracked by the pressure of dreams deferred
Tangled mess of red, white & blue
hung like a noose around the
necks of brown-skinned girls and boys
Brown will eventually turn blue, cold
& potential wasted will
cross the lips and hushed tongues
in the shadows where poverty’s bounced checks are written by the hour
on depleted funds in accounts with names unrecognizable, skin color undeniable
We were never meant to thrive
Institutional oppression, big words that carry the fate of the world on a silver platter, high in the clouds out of justice’s reach
because the notion of justice has been color tweaked
So the world within our minds & hearts becomes a battle zone fraught with fear and protective intentions,
distractions from accomplishments with survival as the means to an end
but it never ends
And faces begin to look real familiar behind glass walls, bars, at desks & on paperwork done with
ink of lost souls, each page more saturated than the next with
societal lies & hatred
We wrote the books on lives unlived with the pain of our silent scars
etched in backs, arms & legs
tortured for centuries by colorless beings who can’t see through our skin to reach our worth

.abbreviate.

i've learned to abbreviate
the way my heart feels each time you cut a piece off
and put it in your pocket, for safe keeping you say
but i never see it again
and the hole left bleeds until it dries
forms a scar
and then you return
for another peace of me
f.o. (fuck off)