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.

day 110

Last night I had a dream
  my teeth were falling out
   one by one
    no anesthesia
     nothing
      just gums
Last night I had a dream
 my soul jumped
  out of my body
   onto a plane
  and
    It jumped out of
     the plane
      held back by
       nothing
        just guts
Last night I had a dream
 my hair was at
  wits' end
   the quirkiness is dying
    surgically remove my
     blues
      no anesthesia
       nothing
        just gulfs and gullies
     I can swim
Last night I had a dream
 I was falling
  day by day
   slowly
    out of
  love.
     How.
This morning this
   dream
 was not a
   dream.
It was a blue
 thought.
  I don't have the
   time to
    fall for
     strings
 serenade me with
   cello voices
    horse haired bows
     Keep me in
      tune
       with you
This morning
 my dreams
  sang
   to songbirds
    they are
     dying
      so they
       fly South
  Exit through the back door
   with quiet horse-like footsteps
    hang your shoes above the frame
     A memory
 to remind me of my blues
   Good luck to your
     next love plot
      clot your gulf and gullies
       with the anesthesia I
         never had the
    guts
     to use. For I am
      numb.
       I've given you all I
        could. All the time in the
         universe.
          It could be two thirty
           I have no tooth sores
   but
 I am hurting
today.
   You've taken my soul.
    jumped on it horse
     back through the
      Exit. Head
       South in five miles.
        This is where you will find
 the songbirds.
  Their morning habits are
   dying. They live to
    be nocturnal now. The youth
     will chew for their loved ones
      I'm done chewing
       on stale gum.
        Tooth sores at two thirty leave
 me.
   Leave me with dirty habits.
    Exit through the back door.
     You will never reinvent my dreams
       Last night these
     dreams
       were dying morning habits.
  The songbirds lost their cello voices
   Say hello to your new love plot
    clot tooth sores with gulfs and gullies
     don't drool and drown yourself
      in dreams that don't exist.
       Exit South in five miles.

 Sing stale lyrics to dying songbirds.

day 109

Quetzalcoatl!

It's winter now!

You're still in Mexico

but it's frrrr

frrr

brrrrrrr frreezzing!

Carry me carriage style,

horse sleigh on all four paws.

You're an animal.

I'll give you

all the golden tinsel

I can find

they're hidden in Christmas

wrapped

boxes

in Christmas wrapped

attics.

Upstairs

is crazy. It's always

a party

for animals

like you

and

animal lovers

like me!

day 108

loving you is like

driving on the highway

108 miles per hour

with my eyes closed

in the darkest

night

I've ever

adventured.

while on fire

and switching lanes

without signaling

It's confusing. I

hate it.

I don't know why

I took this highway

tonight.

day 107

Open letter to the sweet students of Miss Stott

There will be days

when the words of strangers

will change your life. Live

with open eyes, 

someday,

some days will aspire you

more than others. This

is how you recognize

growth.

Youth is sprouting

through each vein of your

Fingertips.

You possess the change you

wish

to embark

on your

world.

day 106

I want my toes
to sink in this lava of emotions
It's getting warm, love
There is no escape. No
reason to leave.
Blankets crumple and crumble. My nose
crinkles with every kiss.
Melting.
We are melting
in this mixture of tones
Pitches
Throw me an action. I'll match it
with words. I will
finally sing to you with this
striking match effect
It will affect
you and keep you
warm,
love.
There is no reason to think. Here
you will lay with four seasons
Escape into Winter
temperatures. There is no reason
to escape this Summer wonderland
Spring into me
I am
Falling

day 105

the weight of

copper

no longer 

pulls me down.

I am married to

Brass.

Our hearts

are molded

from silver.

day 104

He's too comfortable
and here is a night where I'm too tired of it
I am fond of his being
it makes me overwhelmed
We are growing together
and growing apart
I am growing tired of being ovewhelmed

day 103

(There's so much to do

and so much to

forget.

Today my heart is

aching.

I am

one fourth away

from complete

heartbreak.)

The worst thing about

sadness

is not knowing the

source.

This,

however, is also

the most

beautiful.

day 102

HOLDING

HANDS

IN 

HISTORY

CLASS

I CAN'T LIE

TO YOU.

MY EYES STAY

FOCUSED

NO MORE

D A Y D R E A M S,

YOUR SPIRIT

MAKES ME

FLY.

THIS IS WHERE

I FALL ASLEEP

READING

TEXTBOOKS

IN HOPE 

THAT I WILL LEARN

SOMETHING.

WE WILL LEARN

TO NOT REPEAT HISTORY.

THIS LOVE

WILL CREATE

WITH FINGER TIPS 

OF FIVE SENSES

I FEEL YOUR

SOUL

RUNNING ALONG

MY THOUGHTS.

THESE SOLES WILL

BURN 

FOOTPRINTS

ONTO BOOK CASES.

IT WILL PLAY

SHELF TO HOMELESS

HEARTS.

MY HEART IS

MORE AT HOME.

day 101

There are more than 101 reasons to feel the way I feel today.

1.
I am still afraid of change.
Subtle differences
from red orange to teal blue,
the thought of inconsistency
never fails to make me tremble.
But change plays
jingle jangles
along treble clef dreams.
Do not be afraid to
look down steep cliffs,
hang around a little.

0.
The frost on my morning windshield
reminds me that the cold
will always linger.
Sunny snow days exist
even when thermometers
read below zero.
You can feel like a nobody,
think that your existence
reaches out to the thoughts
of zero souls,
but you are beautiful.
A heart warm enough
to pierce with eyes of hope.
This is why dreams exist.
For lost souls
that feel cold on the most
beautiful days.
It happens,
but your heart will guide you
to fireplaces without matches.
You possess all the warmth
you'll ever need.

1.
On days like this,
I allow myself to feel tired.
I am overwhelmed,
drowning in words I should
write down.
Ink takes awhile to settle,
but so does belief.
Finding your soul
lost
is the most beautiful
dream to dream.

day 100

Dear poetry:

Happy anniversary.
It is officially day 100
one hundred
1:00
a minute
sixty seconds
sixty secluded towns
we are surrounded by sixteen year old souls
I will love you in 100 years
love me with one hundred joules
one honey gem,
you are a jewel.
Love,
today you are the brightest
dark room.
tomorrow you will be the darkest
bright light
whichever
whatever
however I see you
my eyes will continue to adjust to your changes
one hundred cents and
one hundred senses
I feel magenta because of you
I see sweet hums
and I taste home.
You live in the houses of neighbors
one hundred meters away
These past hundred days meant love
in one hundred different ways
Swimming along waves,
I've drowned one hundred feet a minute
These feet belong to the soul of sixteen year old towns
We are secluded but surrounded by sixty ears
They pick up words one hundred meters a second
This is the second time our words are devoured by meat eaters
in the darkest of dark rooms
It is bright now, love,
I love you one hundred joules a blink
you are crystal clear to me
like one hundred sinking meteorites