day 161

2011 in a nutshell

   I am in love         with self worth

Finding my soul after
drowning
time and time again, I know how
to swim to safety now.

I just don't know if I will always
reach out to save myself.
                             Learning

    being lost is beautiful.
    I can't say I'm completely
    found
    I can't say that I will
    ever be.

I can say that I am beautiful.
   I am beautiful.       I am
    learning, blessed to
    attend life's workshops. Teaching
    me that beauty is
    attainable.


That I can spread growth, like
     cancer. Like the plague.

     That growth can be spread either which way.
Sweet like the fresh sap of honeybee love     or
dangerous like I want to drown sometimes.

     Who are you, today?
     Who will you be?



Proud.

day 160

Does gravity exist underwater?


      You love like a mermaid.
 Falling effortlessly. Sink into your
 lover's arm like
 gravity isn't heavy enough
 this time.

       desperation always makes a comeback.

 Mermaid lover,
 love me like
       I have lungs of steel. I can
 carry heavy jugs of water
 with the dead weight arms of a past lover's
 regret.

 How heavy is love? How hard are you

falling?

day 159

back to pen and paper vol 5:


I am seeking
answers that make sense and
   sense that is not
so common

I am finding      words
that pierce the fingertips of

creation. Thoughts sting
like I can't stay patient

around
nonsense
buzzing.    There is a home inside these lungs.

I will someday breathe growth
onto mossy caves. Stone me
like concave memories. We close our eyes and make

waterfalls.

They're fucking beautiful. We are lost.
Sometimes

We are finding things other than
ourselves.

I am here
  found
  in a language
  I haven't learned
  to love


yet.

day 158

back to pen and paper vol 4:


   They are building me a river path to you.
    Construct love out of broken
rafts. Someday, love,
we'll be floating on gently.

Along
together.

day 157

Read my body language

Run your fingers over these goosebumps
   confuse them for braille.
Love is blind       anyway.
Explore new languages with
   no translations. Get lost in me.
With me.
Without me, see me,
feel it. It feels warm. That is knowledge.
   She loves you, man.
   She loves you.      Man.

day 156

Jewels and gems
and ear rings, serpent slithering thin
through perfect ear lobes, Let
   me love you with my tongue.
   The strongest muscle of our
   bodies. Put together. Lay
with me

aimlessly.

Is this what love feels like




Is this how lust captures
   its prey

like a quiet serpent
slithering thin through perfect
gardens.

She is where the grass is greener.
   Grow a lover out of me, Let
    me love you with my hands.

day 155

Five hour nap

You call it sleeping

I am not dreaming

with eyes shut, blind. Playing

ignorance to blossoming

   dreams.

Goals.

Aspirations.

Where do you want to be in a day,

month,

five hours?

Sleeping.

Welcoming dreams into my soul's

    heart.

day 154

I won't be gone forever

forevermore,
I am smelling daisies in a freshly bought
home.

There is a garden.

And innocent garden snakes. They won't
bite, won't bother,
allow them to slither in between
crops and flowers. Green skin matching
green thumb,
You are creating something beautiful.

Creating airways for
oxygen
to creep through and blossom into
new born lungs. It's like
I love myself for the very first time.
Being born again. This light
is weightless.

day 153

Dream a little dream of me


Half past two
   these clouds are reserved
two seat booth
with the fancy table center.


Doilies under daisies


Delicate


That is how love is supposed to feel. Not
that rough shit. More of that
I want to imagine how soft your lips
can sing, murmur dreams on my
ear lobes. I am listening.
I am listening.

day 152

Growing up:

Money doesn't buy you happiness. You get
what you get. You love what you are
able to love.

Fast forward 18 years:

Money doesn't buy me happiness. Or gas
in my tank. I can't fill my car up with love. I
need to be where I need to be. I don't know
where
I want to be.

Fast forward 18 years and 1 day:

A $12,000 scholarship means that I did
something right.

I still don't know where I want to be.
But things are getting better.

Growing up:

Things are only uphill from here.

day 151

One minute to myself.
Peace

day 150

Tomorrow is my boyfriend's birthday.

Today is Wednesday.

Nothing is relevant to anything.

I want a tattoo of elephants
on the inside of my arm.
Three of them. A storm of elephants.
      (Irrelephance)

This isn't a funny poem.
This is a piece where I admit that
      I am actually lost.
 I don't know where I am
 or even where I want to be.
 What I want to do
 or how to start wanting to know.

Christmas is in a few days.
  Tomorrow is the first day of Winter,
supposedly.
I've always thought it was today.
The 21st. The 21st is always
the first of everything.

Tomorrow is the 22nd.
  It's always second best.

It will be in the 50 degree range
Tomorrow.

Winter.
It isn't as cold as it should be.
I'm not as warm as I should feel.

My boyfriend makes me exhausted.
Loving him is getting tiring. He loves me,
I know. But I can't seem to
believe him when he tells me that
he's in love with me.

And it's none of that stupid self-esteem shit.
I know that I am capable of being loved
and having someone fall in love with me.
But not him.
He's a character.

Holden Caulfield is still my dream guy.
   He's not even real.
   (Irrelevant)

I'm already dead. I already feel dead.
How much more dead can I
be alive to feel?

Today my brother told me that my mother
   doesn't mind if I go away for college.
   Part of the reason why I didn't apply for UW Madison is because

1) I fucked up in high school and my GPA clearly wouldn't be
    "good enough" to be accepted
2) I found home in my second home town
3) This house became warm to me

Nowadays I just feel lost in a city I know best.
I feel cold. Like -52 degree weather.
There is nothing that can keep me warm.
I don't mind freezing. Throw me a few
compliments to radiate my smile,
I'll be fine.

I don't know where I want to be anymore.
Who I want to be with, why I feel so lost.

I am no longer who I wanted to be.

I hardly have the energy to stay animated.
I miss myself.

I've been writing for 150 days straight.
That's a shitload of minutes,
hours, seconds I've been thinking.
The lightbulb is dim, love.
Princess.
The lightbulb is burning out.

Where is your passion?

    (Good question)
We all get lost.
I'm staying dizzy in this maze of emotions
until I amaze myself with discovery.

Soon, love, soon.
You can't allow someone to fall in love
with you,
if you can't fall in love with
yourself.
I am losing my beauty.

  (I now understand The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Two months after half-ass reading it.)

       (Irrelevant)

day 149

Because I want to undress your inner thoughts with
   just the touch of my eyes.
Let my lashes dance in the palm of your hands,
   palm tree sway in Southern weather.
I promise to be gentle,
chivalry  is best done by women.

Evening love,
you are candlelight cozy. Suede leather
sofa. Love seat caresses. I am
sitting on a cloud. I am loving you
like clouds. Light and passable,
   seeing shapes like sophomore
year geometry. Let us bend
tonight. Let us love.

day 148

open letter to the mail man


are you allowed to read open letters?
   do you deliver your own mail?
 how many times do dogs get the best of you?
do they howl?
do you howl?
what does your handwriting look like?
 is it always cursive,
always curvy
like a beautiful, healthy woman,
  apple pie baker,
  heart rich enough to buy a sailboat,
cursive like ocean curves?

do you get motion sickness?
  home sick?

day 147

For all I know

this could be the end of something beautiful

It gets hard loving someone

when you can't bring yourself

to believe that they

love you.

This is the worst part.

The part where you want to

believe,

but you can't.

The part when you realize

your brain and heart

are two useless figures.

Brain, playing nightmare

scenarios when you don't want to

see. Do you hear the

scratching of lonely tree branches

against your windowsill?

They are looking for a new lover.

I want to almost

scratch into you with

twig hands. Love your

blood, feel your heartbeat

through my skin.

I can taste a doubt

hidden behind

cloudy pulses.

It beats, yes.

Like

the military escort.

It's drumming

against ear drums

of lovers in

distant lands.

I am as distant as

distant is.

Sorry.

day 146

Bathing in my own sweat
  It is a swimming pool of nightmares
sometimes freezing when I'm awake

Can i just dream forever

day 145

back to pen and paper vol 3:


accomplishment


**
you accomplish as much as you
are meant to.
in one day,
one week,
one year.

***
i don't mean to enforce
predestination.
my land is settled in
broken acres.
seeding hope in
open spaces.

****
one day
everything
you do
in one week
will make sense.
one year,
you will look back
at your
accomplishments
and smile.
wonder,
how did i do that?
when did i do that?
I don't know, but
I'm glad it happened.

*****
you will learn that everything has a purpose.
be the reason why the world
is wonderful.

day 144

why i feel how i feel:

A small child

is learning how to grow

skin onto bad memories.

Healing.

I pick off scabs

like I'm 11 again.

When I pretended that

ugly scars didn't mean a thing

but they meant

two. They meant to

curse my growth with

ugliness.

Like I will somehow

mature into a beautiful

selfless

                            woman. Someday

these scars will haunt me.

Tonight they do.

They shine brighter than

a blue moon. Rare.

There are teenagers swimming

in flooded craters. They insist

love is just that. Seeing

everything blind.

And they glow. They glisten

the way scabs break

and blood boils.

You hear that broken blood

bubbling?

Tonight we will

pop.

Save an expecting woman

from bringing a lost soul into this universe.

Have you ever realized how many

stars there are? And how many

moments you are 

accounted for?

Mid day you will realize

that you will live

one day less. Nightmare.
Pops.
This is a daydream you
wasted five seconds
listening to. Pop.

Where was my father

when I needed to learn

about hidden beauty.

The kind of beauty

that sinks knee deep.

Skinny dipping under

blue moons except this beauty

is more frequent like we

all generate a surplus of

red blood cells. I can't

wet the bed with my own

liberty in a city

that doesn't give a fuck. Send me another

mother fuck you.

we share these same

mother fucks. This is a sea

only meant for sailors. I am filled

with regrets of the man's ocean.
See. We are all blind
in sea men's regret.
Ghost waves and dead
sharks. They swim around me.
Surrounding me with hungry
dog eyes. I'm blue and I'm

drowning in it, like

I expected to play some underwater
honey trombone.

I will hold my breath with

dignity. I will watch my

blood boil in warm

hometown fountains

until my own

lungs

explode. Pop.

Bring me your knives,

your rockets, I am swallowing

oceans just to stab my guts

to find bravery.

TO ALL THE MOTHER FUCKERS

WHO WERE BORN

LOST.

This is my home.

See these scars?

These scales play piano---skin me

alive, I want a reason

to

pray. I want a reason

to sew rocket ships

onto my heart. I will explode

into ten million

stars and land on a raft.

it pretends that it doesn't care

about being ugly.

But it does..

It's ugly as fuck

and it knows it. Like somehow

it will grow into a beautiful

selfless

      woman. But it's only

made of wood.

And wood is flammable..

wood becomes swollen

like it expects only the worst.

Good luck comes

once every teenage skinny dip.

I am naked under these clothes

but can you handle the

naked truth?

Can you hold her,

with arms of clouds and hands warm

enough to call Church.

Kiss her belly button crevices.

Swim into her. You are only

wood. Flammable, yes. Burn

into her with fingertips of

fake passion. She feels your pulse

now.

She feels your pulse now.

That is how two becomes one

grabbing onto broken cliffs

like these shoulder blades

will sprout wings for you.

I WILL NOT FLY FOR YOU.

I refuse to become a

beautiful

selfless 

woman...

I am full of self

with dignity

and its swaying out of me

like incense sweating the fucking

prayers from my

skin.

Somehow

I will numb the taste buds of

wandering sailors.

Saving sea men from

picking scabs off their scales. They

swim towards boiling

blood like sharks.
And sharks are indecisive.
Take a bite out of me.
Let me bleed my rights.
Sink your teeth into my bones, they
are wooden. I wouldn't
let the taste appall you but I
promised to burn wondering
taste buds with
knee deep regret. Pop.
That's the sound of your legs
breaking. Too much running,
too much falling. Bruises
on sweet nectarine knee caps. You are
dislocated. A lost soul eaten
by ghost sharks in dead waves.

This is five seconds wasted
on one day less lived.
But you will pretend that
you don't care about the scars.
About the ugly.

day 143

Swollen lips part II
   I will listen to you like I understand
the liar's language. But in reality:
There are too many dialects I
will never learn.
   The liars twist eye contact with
   lie detecting heart beats. This is what
   they do. They fool you.
Kiss you with swollen lips.
  Lips swelled with excitement,
this is the first time he's kissed the girl of his
dreams. Like he was finally the hero
of some sick twisted love story.
   I will listen to him like I understand
the liar's language. But I don't.
   It sounds similar to
                    love. Sounding
way too familiar. I've heard the same
   tone on Route 3. Like sirens.
Ambulances, fire trucks, the police
doesn't care about stolen hearts anymore.
  Those robberies occur too often. It's
too familiar to them. Like sirens.
   Beautiful women I will never understand.
   She sings to me with lips of
swelled up secrets.
   This pitch is from past lover #45.
She is used to the truck stops on
Route 3 from
 soul searching on highway interstates.
For an answer.
   Like she sings for a purpose. This is the song cry
she shows off. Sounding almost..
                    ghostly. Sounding
way too familiar. Like the thunderstorm sirens
on a rainy 4th of July. Firework heartbreaks, dear.
FIREWORK HEARTBREAKS.
   THIS IS HOW A HEART BREAK FEELS, DEAR.
    WE WILL WORK FIRE INTO OUR SOULS.
                     FIRE. It feels almost
                     ghostly. Almost feeling like
                     love.


but it's not love.
I will never understand my lover's language. It sounds
too much like the liar's.

day 142

Swollen lips
  We speak to liars like it's a new language
  I understand all the words.
  It's easy for something to swell up
You can only go up from here.

day 141

There is an unsettling darkness in this home. It plays housewife to the frightened souls. Like some sort of reminder that things will eventually be warm. This darkness will seep through door cracks the way stove tops keep stomachs from aching. This is how we keep our dreams from straying: Hands free of recipe books. Add one-fourth fear and three-fourths determination into this mixing bowl you call a mind. Stir gently with good intentions. The darkness shakes between the breaths you take. It dances. Do you feel it? Do you sense the tension it leaves behind after stomaching your emptiness? No. This is why your dreams will remain one-fourth ahead. This is why you will remain three-fourths behind. This darkness is a brokenhearted woman in a river of soulful cries. She cannot swim to save you. She cannot even help herself. She is too busy playing waterfall to concave memoirs.
     What is a dream if you leave a dream untouched? It is nothing but a mere cloud. A memory left unnamed. How many dreams have you abandoned? Enough.
     The only way to defeat this poltergeist in your heavy heart is to chase it. Chase it until you get a grasp on its living soul. Eventually, the darkness dies out and you are left with warmth. This is how you become friends with courage. There is no recipe book required. Courage will shape companion in any way you desire. The only ingredient recommended is self-worth.
            You are worth all the dreams your eyes can draw within your cave-shaped eyelids. There is no limit to how many dreams you can create. Just remember that the darkness is constantly hungry. It is starving from stomaching your empty ambitions.

day 140

Growth

yearning to dig deeper than
  hearts have gone.
I want to be sewn together again.

day 139

Feeling apathetic.


What happens when the fountain of your motivation
dries out.
Tires out.
No wheels on these thoughts. They are going
    Nowhere
important.
What am I doing with my life.

day 138

back to pen and paper vol 2:


AND IT STRIKES HER
knife, knight in shining armor like tonight is the
night
where stabbing will break open
spines
to
produce more
time. More
power. More
discovery.
What are you made up of besides
bones.

   Midnight.

Strikingly beautiful, darlin, you are
strikingly
beautiful. Tonight you are
draped under the arm of a fine
gentleman. He practices
chivalry like he gets paid for it...

   Strikers go on strike tonight.
Midnight. More
gore. More
secrets
discovered.
There is a role of playing gentleman,
a role of being gentle, a role
of striking out.
Don't be afraid to
  return to bed.

day 137

KENTUCKY


she will become home to new lovers and familiar presences. this is where she will lay, with opportunity. it feels like immigration. deportation. the train deports in eight months. save one for a healthy child. with presents. you are a gift, love. topped off with pretty skin and a hearty smile. til we say goodbye. this is only a hello.

day 136

Working til death of exhaustion
  living til I work my bones to the ground
  dying til I feel alive again.


but I do.

day 135

5 minutes


four minutes to spare
We are here
     bearing
 these troubles.
Night tremors.
Trembling.
Treble clef,
   trembling, hanging
over a troubled cliff. Bears
and coyotes,
Tree house play homes for
sleepy owls. Ironic.
It is midnight.
    2 minutes.
A pair of seconds
   Help yourself with seconds.

You can't buy time,
      love.

Time together is
          priceless. One minute
   to spare.

day 134

Hhhhh ah.


Silently. Your eyelashes
cry out to me. Say,
  come dance. He's gentle. Without
thinking, this is me wrapping your soul in arms made of clouds
  Shhhhhh.
  It is cold to the touch.   Why?
Because I love you
with a blank canvas neck. I say.
Paint your passion
       on me. Today,
I am the creases on soaking wet
hands.
Hold me.
 Absorb this warmth. So
delicate. Like
I will become a sharp
shoulder blade
  the minute you turn your back on me.
But rest easy
knowing
that I want you as innocently
as I can.     You are blind
  in this darkness. Use
your hands
freely.
Your fingertips are fresh
paint brushes. Finger paint
emotions,
let them run all over the
mountains
of my body.
  Over hidden canyons
in glow in the dark
mattresses. Lay
here. This is where I lay.
Here.
With five senses
filled with wonder. I wonder how
   loving you barely feels.
   Feeling....
bare. I lay here
bare.
There is nothing building on me.
  I've built butterfly homes
between each bare
limb.
Feeling
flimsy
like black and white films, what is
   red here, is blue, is
you.
You are so
         gentle. Delicate.
We are not just meat with
skin and bones.
   We are tangled lovers.
Tangled between passion. We are
  softly entangled.

day 133

Relying on the
  internet to bring you words
seems awfully lame. 


And it is.


I have dreams of
  publishing
 of handing out my words
  with cups of
confetti
 on the streets of small bustling
    cities. They'll
have walls filled with
laughing
people. The kind of
humans
who
   know how to live. This
   is where I see myself in
a fast forwarded time span.


When paper becomes
  precious.


Just you wait.

day 132

It is still Autumn, love
  but Autumn is slowly dying.
   there is a cancer we've been
    exposed to,
it is taking over the homes
  in my veins.
Clogging the pathways to my
  heart.
Without this flow,
we have nothing.
We will all have nothing
  in the end.

Prepare to say goodbye to
  Autumn. She is
slowly sleeping. Preparing
herself for the beauty
  she's been giving out
mindlessly.

Have you ever thanked her?
No, I haven't.

day 131

Mood: hopeful

It's never really over.

Things are

just

beginning.

I am begging

you to

hold on,

I am here

when you've lost

all

faith.

day 130

Open letter to my mentor:

If one day

you should forget

who you are

and what you stand for,

remember,

that YOU

ARE

ANTHONY FEBO.

A for the amazing

lessons you drop in

clueless mail boxes.

You are

inspiration.

N for the never-ending

face aches

you bring to everyone.

The sound of your

laughter brings

joy to the muscles

in my cheekbones.

Forever

making me

love life.

T for times

you will

change the world.

H for heart.

Fickle, yes,

but warm and welcoming

also.

O for OH SHIT.

And that doesn't need an

explanation.

N for needle points

in hay stacks. They are

rare, hard to find. You

encounter them with pain.

This is what life brings you:

surprises.

Obstacles that

(Y for) You will overcome.

I love you.

day 129

Crying in your car on the side of the road: Part 1

The image I've set for myself

  has tainted my freedom.

Where are my wings when I need them

  When did I burn them

     Who did I lend them to

Why

  How

can someone affect my world so much

Why did I even allow this

**

Thank you

I can't bring myself

to speak what I want to speak.

To express how blue

this blue feels.

Like some fucked up gray ocean,

Pacific, Atlantic, Gulf of Mexico

You might as well let go

  Rose.

  You're going to let go sooner

or fucking later.

**

Fucking later.

Bitch.

**

Why did I even allow this

I built up walls

Built up walls

  Dig underneath and swim

There is a moat

A fucking moat.

Sometimes I am too stupid.

There always has to be some

stupid fucking kind of

escape.

Lesson learned.

**

Don't be afraid to be trapped.

You are stronger than you think

  Jack.

Sid

Nancy

  Unconventional confrontational

couples.

Love can be roasted in

  a conventional oven.

It's convenient.

 Quick and easy.

Like a famous Hollywood homicide.

 Heart,

I am pretty sure you are a

 two time failing suicide victim.

 You can't die.

 You pump your own blood supply.

Just you.

**

Me.

Just me.

On the side of the road.

 Let

 go

    Rose.

day 128

18

Sister,

you harbor my

happiness

in the spaces

between

us. Some days

I won't be there,

eighteen feet away,

but I will always

be

here.

For you.

With the spaces

between us

filled of sweet

shoe boxed

memories.

This is for

our

womanhood.

I love you, Sara.

day 127

Things I find beautiful
(1) Her soul. Darlin is
strong enough to shake
rhythms out of fear.
She will teach you what it is to love.
  Lightning bolt grasp,
she is Zeus admirable.
  Her lessons.
Her lessons are learned
as quick as she leaves. Today,
  I play waterfall to concave
memoirs. It is still Autumn,
love. Stay lost in her
wanderlust, with me.
Wake up in a bat cave home. These
bat shit feelings make you
feel at home. Let your voice
slither through these halls.
Roar,
   with such an intensity
you create cracks in sidewalks. You.
You are earthquake lovely.

***
(2) Cracks in sidewalks. Our child
will skip over all of them. Oblivious
to all the beauty space plays home to.
Like, black holes are bigger than this
universe. Blind. Today,
we are just star matter. Atoms, and
blood. (3) Quivering lips.
She has been walking through broken
down bat caves. There, someone
has found home in her.
Has played waterfall rhythms, roaring.
She is praying for a messenger.
Here,
a friend proves Medusa's legend.
Words hard enough to shatter
coral reef homes. This is how
she becomes earthquake lovely.
(4) From the ground up. We are
bones and lost dreams.
Hidden passion and homicidal
intentions. (5) Bulletproof heartbeats.
Sssssssssss. Sketchy silence that
slithers through lonely crevices.
Cracks in abandoned boulevard
boardwalks. Monsters hiding
in bat caves. (6) Monsters.

***
(7) Today, I am a pieced
together monster. Yesterday
was years ago. I will
forget about this tomorrow.
(8) Sorrow. The monsters
drink tears from waterfall
canyons. They sip the
purity out of happy coral
homes. This is how I'll
become earthquake
lovely.

**
(9) They tell me: When
you drown, your lungs burn.
Your insides burn. This
is what star matter feels like.
Like, inside out atoms.
Boiling blood. This is
how you forget yourself.
Tonight, under the sea of five
light year gallons,
this is where your
ambitions
will
sleep. Sink or
(10) Swim.
There's a limit to how
far you can fall. Today,
fall upside down.
Become more than just
star dust.

day 126

confession #582

90% of my favorite people

are

dead.

The 10% that still

somehow 

managed

to survive

are only my

favorites

because

they figured it

out.

100% of

the people

I admire

are

human.

We are

not

immortal.

Someday

our flesh

will turn

into

worm's meat,

our bones

into

homes

for creepy

crawlers.

Our knee caps,

the very first

canvas

for

vulnerability,

will no longer

be ours.

Someday

we

won't be

around to be

admired.

How can I change the world if I'm dead

day 125

TONIGHT

I am

writing to

delete

writer's block.

Here

I will

demolish

every

wall in my

way.

Paving the

path

to build

sky scrapers.

This is how

words form monuments.

Every phrase

will be

re

arranged

slightly,

tailored 

just a bit.

Remastered

and mastered

until it is

nowhere

near

perfection.

All the words.

All these words.

Gifts.

They are gifts.

The ability to arrange

rearrange

and array them together

in such a pattern

Tailored

Gift.

I sew together

brick hard

obstacles,

I throw them

down dirty

sewer drains.

Sometimes

even the

dirtiest homes

deserve

inspiration.

Someday

the underdogs

will build

skyscrapers.

You will

build

skyscrapers.

Sculpt 

Mona Lisa

monuments

with your words.

Think of

your

gift.

Stretch it.

Extend

it. Demolish

all concrete

feelings. Create

concrete

feelings.

Feel your art.

Love your

art.

Create a

skyscraper

home 

out of syllables.

This is

where

you will keep

your gift.

Keep her

safe.

Love her. She

will help you

build

skyscrapers.

day 124

1.

Our bodies fit without directions

Left hands are right

this is how we collide into each other

2.

Giraffe necks

Mistake me for something beautiful.

We will get tangled in the length of how much I

long for you

3. Somehow I will manage to show you the beauty of a mess

4.

If Cupid really exists,

where do you think he hides his extra arrows?

I have mistaken love for feeding time at the zoo.

Giraffe necks grow like the nose of

Pinocchio.

They are unfaithful lovers.

5. The duration of this lust is growing as long as

Giraffe necks. I find myself

wanting to collide

more often. Let me

get tangled into you.

We will kiss necks like unfaithful

animals. I will not be the first to be

left.

day 123

Yo

Feliz navidad

Hola! Coma estas!

Como te llamas tu llamas

No

Me gusta mucho futbol

Y

Soy de Lowell

Dos gatos

Balianos

Yo tengo

Dieciocho

Anos

Cinco

Poqueno pollo

Juego

Baloncesto

El swago

Buenos noches

Swag.

8)

day 122

i sleep on broken in cushions
  branded leather
it keeps you warm
 like fourth of july kisses
   like fireworks
    it keeps you warm
masterpiece
to have sewn this together
someday
  your hands will grow as big as picasso's
 with more imagination and talent
you will brand warmth onto leather hearts
 with just the flinch of an elbow
   kissing girls with macaroni wounds
this is her heart
 this is how you'll mend it
  piece it together with a master key,
a master's needle
it is noble
and she will sleep on broken in cushions
  formerly broken in by past lovers


   have you ever wondered what she thinks of your past


no. 
  yes. of course i have.


i sleep on set in wrinkles
on these brand new
  comforters. i hope for comfort
someday
  these wrinkles won't feel so set in
we will be
set in stone,
anchoring me to the bottom of your heart's chains
  she is still tied to you
puppeteers play tag in New York city
parks.
I park my car to listen
  she still speaks your name
    with googly melodies.
she will piece together the dialect of Mr. right now
  with the same rhythm to your heart's song.
  this is where funny bone bruises
  turn deadly. It is not
fun to watch a sprouting love
die.
overdose of numbers up to
1
2
  3 million sheep.
They sheepishly grin tonight.
  choke on  your Zs
y
 X.
   play example of bad past and reoccurring nightmares
 she holds me like sleep paralysis
  she is the demon behind my happiness
everything is wrong right now
 it scares me


have you ever wondered what demons are holding her back?


no.
i haven't.

day 121

(wireless internet,

you make my life

miserable, on days

I need you

most.

You are never where

I am, never where

I wish for you to be.

There is a whole sea

of networks working

on crab ships, nets

full of productivity.

For today, I will

stick with old

pencil and paper: a

True love.

Old reliable.

You can always run

back to the truest

soul mates)

day 120

Things I find beautiful

the peace I

bottle myself with

day 119

A big thank you note:


Thank you for
giving me all I didn't
ask for. Please
don't take that as a
compliment, for
we don't
complement
each other in any
way.
So
as a conclusion to
this potentially long
note, I will say
that the way
out
is inching closer.
And you are
close
to her,
inches away
from speaking her
name. Sounds like
Beauty, it sounds
familiar, and so
does fuck you.

day 118

button nose

You are my Valentine

Love me threadless but

with strings

attached.

I am your

rag doll tonight.

Love me

gently

but with passion.

There is a good 

soul 

in these old

clothes.

day 117

excuse me. Tonight

I am

finding peace in myself

one piece at a time

break me open. Like

pomegranate seeds,

I am tough.

rough housing

with blankets whose

silhouettes bundle

unfamiliar to

my mattress. There

are matches,

lighting up this mind. I

am a spark away from

speaking genius. It's

genuine- this 

thought. This

exhaustion.

day 116

Remind me to love it here.
This is where
I lay awake
listening for soft snores.
Mama's sleeping now, while my
feet are here rustling
in the Autumn night. I
leave a home
for a house. I let a home
turn into a house.
The mice
will take over my place,
replacing me. They
need homes in these
Autumn nights.
I only feel reds
now.
Sorry Mama.
Remind me to love it here.
This is where
I lay awake
listening for soft snores.
You're sleeping now, while my
fingers are here
rustling
across a notebook's
keys.
I leave a home for this
house, you hear
my keys
jangling.
Collect change I need to
do.
Remind me to love it here.
This is where
I lay awake
listening for you
to speak home
to me.

day 115

Hydrangea-

love me with enough passion

to turn bloated deserts

into swelling seas.

At times my

heart grows thirsty,

it shrinks

with each beat. At times

these beats lack

a bass. A

basic oasis,

save me.

With arms tender enough

to hydrate the living

soul out of me.

Love me with

a passion, overwhelming.

Drown me.

Only if you're

gentle.

Tonight is for me,

falling in love

with

you.

day 114

A question for Mr. Salvador:


How far did you let her run?

I do not see her footprints

on the broken sand

where you left her.

The honeymoon beach wedding

has faded away with

the waves.

You must have

waved

goodbye to her

far too many times.

She is now basking away in 

the sunlight you couldn't have

ever imagined

giving her.

She is past cliffs

and over shores.

I am sure she is somewhere

happy.

Turning a heartbreak into a home,

this is what

you

gave to her.

A canvas

smudged of colors.

You can't paint 

love.

You can't stop time

with portraits.

You can't bring hearts back to life

by melting clocks.

So Mr. Salvador,

  Try to teach me

how to love.

You must have watched her

run,

turning

meters into

miles.

Miles turn into oceans,

you must have drowned her with lost time.

day 113

Mood: guarded

A sorry in advance
  For I forget as much as I
should remember
I leave memories on pawn shop counters
They don't give receipts there
  Only cursive letters on yellow paper
Transcripts that tell me
  how much I do adore
You. Stealing blankets from
warm bodies
is something I'll grow
accustomed to.
Like loving you is becoming a tradition.
A month from now
I will love you with arms stuck in
new old clothing.
Patch your worn out soul with
numb nose kisses.
You won't feel a thing, love,
but when you do,
it'll burn.

It'll burn like freshly brewed passion.
I keep your sharp notes
in a drawer. They play music
like hand-me-down jewelry boxes.
Something
about this tradition,
of celebrating everything
in this air. It's thick tonight.
Thick enough to kill a man,
like smog on a busy evening.
Falling in love with you
feels like running marathons through
wintertime rush hour.
Of course,
  these burning tires will leave
a strong imprint on this road.
A reminder
with cursive letters on yellow paper,
it will burn
miniature mountains on the
paved path we made for us two.
In two months,
  I will remember to pawn forgetfulness
like it's the only tradition I've
grown accustomed to.

This sharp note will grow flat
by the time someone new reaches
this jewelry box. Someday,
I could become home to
anyone but
You.
Trace the cursive road.
It is filled with kisses and
a fresh touch.
I want to love you
enclosed between golden lockets
  Thrift stored on Sunday afternoons
during cold rain
I keep a blanket in the back seat
of my car
to make a secondhand home
out of blizzards.

  You'll get used to this cold,
one day, You said,
I will keep you warm with nothing
but this soul.
    Morning frost is a reminder
of free expression. Draw on me,
said,
 with tiny burning fingertips, trace
miniature mountains in nude
ink, said,
mold identity out of me.

day 112

How to feel found while being lost

*

Think about doing

everything

you want to do.

Think of how to 

make mere ideas

exist.

**

Catch wishes

with gold sifters.

Sort out

stinging salt

from riverbeds.

Sometimes

we dream on crummy

mattresses.

Your bed sheets are

filled with crumbs

from eating away your

nightmares.

***

Don't drive on an

empty tank of gas.

There are too many

reminders of

how whole you

wish

to be.

Stop in an unknown

town. Realize:

There are other

lost souls,

too.

****

Accept the fact

that you are indeed lovable

We all speak words

we wish we

framed with gold.

Catch bad omens

with a flick of a tongue.

Sometimes

what you want to say

isn't what you need.

Swallow syllables

that get caught in your

gut.

Have the courage

to speak with a

lost translator.

*****

You don't always

need to explain

yourself.

day 111

ELEPHANTS AREN'T

GREAT SWIMMERS

Mother carried me on

her back. She's already

tall, she doesn't have to 

swim. Those sick gators

wanted to make a fool's

meat out of me. Mother

tells me I am made of

ivory and tough skin. This

is what beauty is and this

is why gators shouldn't

be trusted. They have

tough skin, too, and only

ivory teeth. Mother tells

me to ignore them. They

are not one of us. One

day, she says, when you

grow tall and wise, you

will realize that your soul

is much more bigger than

theirs.