hard to hear

Why subject yourself to this torture? This self-afflicted annihilation is below your heart and beyond comprehension. It’s as if you have opened a lover’s diary and found the expected dirty laundry. If you know the answer, why continue this test with your soul? She flails and begs for the shackles to be broken, if you continue this subjection it will surely be her final demise. The last nail in the coffin will be the rejection of your own spirit, give her the key or be responsible for her death. Imagine yourself in the face of Him; would you like him to give you the so called grace you have given yourself? Or will he turn you away and bequeath her to you as a simple memory, rather than the light of your flesh? Your soul is rotting inside your body and you sit silent, awaiting for someone else to save it.

solitude

I wish to let my phone die and cut off all contact with the outside world. Id become a hermit, yearning to grow old in my room and embrace the peace of solitude. To enjoy my own presence as the one who I will only ever see again. Passing myself in mirrors, reflecting on who I once was to those around me. Did I have any impact at all? What grace have I bestowed upon the world in my presence? Would i be missed in my seclusion, or would i just be a passing, flickering memory in the eyes of those I loved? I still envy the life of remoteness somewhere on the west coast in that sweet little isolated cabin, but I will always require a love that never leaves. Whether chosen out of independence or spite, I know though to keep my door open, oven heated and heart full. And maybe I won’t let my phone die and choose a life of complete solitude, for a lively city is sometimes worth all the noise of love.

swallow

I need more than a big glass of water to swallow this pill. This capsule that has led me to places my gut goes against. The feeling in my stomach as you wash over my insides is too much to digest. I fear it will all come back up and all i’ll be left with is the chunks. I can feel you on the inside, eating me whole as I try to keep you down. I cannot control what this substance does to me; all I know is that its sustenance is starting to make me sick, and I can’t swallow it any longer.

soft

I fear I may squash every soft thing in my life. Every gentle kiss, peppered brush, mild smile and faint memory. I fear my heavy hands will be too rough and destroy all that is precious to me. I fear the rejection of my own harsh body, that my soul is to rigid and heart impermeable. My strident temper, brute force and spiteful nature will ravage all that is good and pure about me.”I cannot control my own strength” I think, but is that true? Can one not be rough and ragged, while delicate and soft?

hail mary!

The light is always on, ever so present now. The looming threat of the light burning out and the sky taking its position in mushroom shaped glory. One drop of the pin is all it takes; those in power hold the weight of this bulb, yet they treat it as if its uncondemnable. Thoughts and prayers were never enough, the light’s gotta stay on as fate says so. Oh my Mother if this is what you meant to live and let die, then take me in your arms tonight, for I don’t want to die at the hands of a man’s ego. With full acceptance, your will sacrifice will have meant nothing if the light dies out. Until then, I will give you my last Hail Mary!

my land, your land

There is no denying it anymore, as you see it with your own eyes. The abhorrent sight of wounded children and broken mens, of mothers without babies and people without voices. Those talk of monsters in the closet and gremlins under the bed are true, except they ar enow in our own backyard. They are not fictional nor historical, they are present beasts denying sustenance and devils raping our people. And yet we are the animals? This “sacred land” of theirs has become a graveyard of our children. Victims have become monsters and the monsters have become victims. And yet you will ignore, because your land is fine while mine is poor.

modern consumption

I think i’ve been consuming too much and not creating enough. The need to blink away and mindlessly watch is ever so present. The want to ignore sticks to me like a wet blanket; so connected to everything except what’s actually in front of me. Controlling my emotions every 6 seconds and never giving it time to consider the damage. Like a toxic relationship, we are hot and cold. My attention has diminished as have my patience. I want to rid my entire being of you, but yet here I am sitting at the kitchen table, reaching out to you again in this modern consumption.

wants and needs and needs and needs

I want to touch your skin, to feel the weight of your body over mine would be bliss. I want you to look at me the way you did back then, with childlike love and admiration. To share your thoughts, interests and feelings; seeing pieces of you none others have seen before would “tickle me pink” like you’d always say. To feel the breath of your being coat my mortal heart, for your attention gives me hope. Hope that we could be young again, together. This is something I could never share, so i’ll take it to my grave. Just as you’ll only take my memory alone to yours.

knuckle velvet

It’s something I could never say, something I couldn’t show you or force you to understand. That somewhere in my chest is a burning sun; a fire that has risen and diminished over and over again. I’m scared that one look into my eyes and you’ll see it just as you did back then. That you’ll run away like before; what if you see my innards again and be disgusted by them? That intimate look you’ve given me has left me in high hopes though. My vision has always been blurry but sometimes I see a hint of clarity in those true blues of yours. A hope that we’ll crawl back in that hole and you’ll unlock the key to the cage of my heart. That you’d feel my warm, west, beating heart once more in those rough hands.

(left untitled)

I want to surrender to what I cannot control; allow my soul to submit to a higher power. Let the universe reign over my cold body and return my soul to all of its glory. Let it be known what an echo of what I couldn’t manage sounds like in the cosmos. Leave my worldly attachments behind and possessions dimmed in the grandness of it all. But I cannot let go of all that I love and feel, for my soul would survive buy my body wouldn’t bear it.

decentering

In a world where my car was not built for my body, where I must dress a certain way to avoid discernment, where weapons do not account for my life, and where insecure mens are the root of all evil, I chose to accept the loss of my femininity. Masculinity is praised while womanhood is punished when one comes from the womb and ends to hate their creator. I live in a world not meant for me, for my solidarity and for my girlishness.

the trees

In the winter, the branches of the oak tree resemble the roots of my own flesh. Spreading out ferociously, reaching every possible space in the given world. Stretching and growing to say: “I am here, make room for me.” In the summer though, those nerves are covered by something in the realm of aniconism. Something our mortal bodies will never be able to replicate, except that of a woman. True life comes from the trees of female anatomy.

reminders from your mother

Purge all that is aggressive from your bones. Rip out all nerves of anger and burn the sheets of impatience. Your body does not need it. If its meant to be it will be. Living a life of tight muscles and clenched jaws will only leave you brittle and tight.

lockjaw

My jaw hurts from clenching for so long, from holding onto things that no longer serve me. I just observed that tight grip that my teeth have on holding me together. I am sore from the taboo talks my mouth cannot seem to say. With every action, every speech, every breath my jaw becomes tighter and tighter; almost wiring shut with every second of my log. I want to break free and relax but nothing can soothe my locked jaw.

world news

I sit here and reflect on how much my heart can be extended and extracted. I think “all of this will be gone in my lifetime, so very soon.” Feelings of helplessness get stuck like a frog in the throat. These thoughts overcome my animalistic mind, so much that theres no fixing it. Everything has been done, you cannot reverse it. Very soon gravity will fall and everyone will cease to be. The world its turning against its rotation and here I am, sitting, watching and waiting. So stagnant, suffering through the lenses of a camera not of mine. How long until I start to fight, how long until truth and love win? But here I am, fawning in the face of adversity as I watch the world news.

steak knife fight

I feel like cutting myself up into piece for you. Keeping the flavorful parts and discarding the indigestible. Some sweet and soft, others bitter and textured. I wonder, how would my heart taste in your mouth? How would it feel in your stomach? Would you be left satisfied or nauseated? I’d grind myself into your preference, just so you wouldn’t choke.

SALT

I’ve got a medium build with some rotten teeth; part porcelain and drilled down to the bone. Even with my skin scarred and eyes dried, I still can’t forget your weight. My shoulders sag and ache from that cowardice while my heart heavies and teeth clench all over again. But here in my head I can remember what my body won’t. That you were once everything I adored, and that I got to see a side of you no one else could. I hoped that it’d never reach another, that’d it be all mine. Maybe I should have been a little bit more selfish back then, as now you smile your pearlies at somebody else while mine rot over this line of salt.

desperation

I am so desperate to be seen, heard and acknowledged that I try to shove it down your throat every chance i get. That I force feed you like a mother to her child, a food you find distasteful. Something over moderation that causes you to retch. “Too much” you say, “not enough” I reply. I can see you slipping out of my hands like silk. The desperation I feel for you to see me overrides my nature, as I want you to simply approve of my anatomy.

text me when you get home

My cat always paws at the closet door, yet he knows exactly whats behind it. He always wants the door to be open, just in case something else might lie behind it. “Maybe it’ll be different this time” he thinks, but it never is.

what once was

A part of me mourns what once was. The parts I miss so dearly; the ones I try to hold onto, digging my nails into it as it pulls away from me. Leaving scratches on everything time takes away. My grief has nowhere to go except inside a glass bottle, waiting for the right moment to be knocked off the shelf. I cannot fathom to comprehend what brings me to it, those intense feelings of reflection. Except that when I am fond of a memory, time grabs another bottle off the shelf.

run home to you

Like fine wine you keep aging so gracefully. With time you’ve grown wise and more handsome than back then. I envy the future woman who tugs on your heart strings like I once did. The one who gets all parts of you, even the ones I begged and pleaded for. How effortlessly you’d greet her. You’d ask about her day and look at her with the same love you did with me. Would you make meals for her? Would you brag about her to your friends? I pit myself for thinking about how we once were, envying the woman who will get to have you for life. Who will get to run home to you like i once dreamed of.

dead horse

A part of me often dwells on the past, always the uglier experiences I’d wish to escape from. Bringing up old people and patterns which no longer serve me. I have to remind myself that i’m the only one who still visits; everyone else have move don, so why keep visiting? Maybe it’s my own way of getting closure. But why beat a dead horse knowing it’ll never wake up?

vomit colored carpet (trigger warning: sa)

I remember the green staircase up to your room; the room you said would be so cool to check out, insisting on showing its grandness to me. All your little fratboy trinkets and toys; I locked my eyes on them as you forced your hands down my pants. When I said “no” but you must’ve heard “go”. You tightened your grip with each refusal, wanting more at every objection. You even convinced me of my intoxication, even when not a lick of liquor hit my lips that night. Only yours as you forced it down my throat. You would’ve touched me until I stopped fighting. You saw me as your conquest, your God-given right to lay; the prey to be pillaged. When I miraculously escaped your grasp I was met with gasps. Everyone below in my own personal Hell, looking down on me. Shameful watchers eyes one by one casting me down, until their commander called me a slut for not putting out.

one day

When the day comes where my life flashes before my eyes, I hope to imagine everything i’ve ever experiences, compressed into the 7 seconds it takes my brain to die. A lifetime of joy, pain, love, hate and all the above. For life without duality and experience is not a life worth living at all. I know i’ll have some regrets, as does everyone. But in the end I hope to know that I strived and tried till my last breath.

freeeeedom

Growing up I never knew the true bounds of freedom. To me it was a semi-permeable membrane, like the ones you learn in Biology class. Something everyone has but ignorantly accepts as they don’t realize its importance. Until i started to learn that there are those who cannot go outside, those whose cells cannot feel the warmth of the sun and coolness of the water. Those who cannot calm an untiring current. The buzzing of war, always in the back of their mind. Those children who will never feel the physicality of a loved one ever again, only found within their deepest slumbers. The ones whose voices have been croaked out by powers despicable. Those who protect what they can barely hold in the palm of their hands, still don’t have a roof over their heads or quell the cries of their little ones. The women who have been stripped of everything they know by beasts who never knew of their nature. Children who cannot feel the warmth of their own bodies in a cold state. Freedom isn’t a right in this world, it is a permeable membrane set by those who have never suffered its disruptions. Those who have never fawned or fought in the face of true danger. Who have never had an empty stomach fasten them to sleep, hoping to wake up again safely the next morning.Those who have uplifted perpetrators and shamed victims. They who have filled their hearts with violence and greed, the only language spoken being green. Accountability is an absent word in their Book, but their deadly sins are not. And if there is a God, Ganesha, Jupiter, Allah, or Olympian, I pray that they do more than what they have done to the ones they claim to love. That they may drag those foul perpetrators to the deepest parts of the universe where no screams can reach the ears of a young child.

bad religion

I so desperately wish there was a god for me, one to wholly believe in. To give her my heavy heart and get it back as weightless as a feather. I would kiss her battered feet with no remorse, as what is god but a woman worked? Never again would a man bring me to my knees; she would be the only one who could love my bruised joints. Tears down my cheek would be dried in her radiance and frogs in my throat would be croaked out. My head would never have to worry about drowning, for she would be my jacket of life. Prayer would be easier than that to a man. For a man has never given me peace, but a woman has always granted me repose.

tidal wave

I am hopelessly devoted to your waves; the push and pull of energy in which you exude onto me. The high highs and low lows of what could’ve been and what once was. Every time the shore calms you come back stronger than before. Like an unwavering tidal wave, you keep dragging me under again and again. Yet I remind myself of our flowing nature, the ocean is no place for a house on stilts. I cannot change your nature, only roll with your currents.

vicenza, italy

I hope that I get over that fence, that my mercy may prevail my wrath in the end of it all. That one day I will no longer house anger in this building, but that my heart will rest in its softness. That my body will no longer tense at your presence, even with the mind remembering. That one day I will forgive but not forget. Until then I hold a big funeral for the little girl that could’ve been, one without your aggression and militancy.

apex

I wish to be as gentle as a lamb but I can only seem to pass of the shears it views upon. I often feel I do not possess qualities of a kindred soul; that I am rough around the edges and nothing more. But when I open my heart to you, I feel seen in ways never thought possible. I don’t fear the rejection of my humanly condition, but I actually await its acceptance in your very hands. The hours of affection that reduce this affliction, oh how I wait for those days. The apex of my heart may be a reflection in your waters, I hope one day it may be shone back in another sway, unconditionally.

did you know?

Did you know I still think about the model of your car? That black venomous color you always loved. Did you know I still think about your attitude? If you still love others so harshly as back then, or if you bite into their flesh as you did mine. Do you muster the courage to be vulnerable like I had wished for? Or do you cruise on by filling it with sports bets and shitty company? Did you know I still think of you? The little life-sucker you probably still are.

round and round and round

I fear I am perverted in nature. I daydream of fantasies where you come to me on your hands and knees, crawling for miles. But how could I train you? Would your pride hold you back or would your body push you forward? Like a dog to its master you are relentlessly loyal; I can sense it in your eyes, how you yearn for it. Would you listen to every command or would you run off like a stray? So I sit at the kitchen counter, waiting and watching for your approval; the agreement to your position. Would you sign it for me?

no one mourns the wicked

I feel a boot stepping on my lungs and crushing my cage. A heart under pressure is a heart rendered helpless. This weight, full of perils of evil, is agonizing; how does one fight back when forced into a corner? When their enemy has fought dirty every step of the way? This feeling drowns out all hopes of prosperity; inadequacy is a frequent friend and self-loathing is a known associate. What can I do to facilitate a change larger than life when all I’ve known is actions done out of cowardice? Would I even be mourned in martyrdom? The boots weight is getting stronger day by day, yet here I am, a coward trembling in her own.

dollhouse of love

I know everyone at best has levels to them, like that little wooden dollhouse I had when I was younger. There are aspects of comfort and style in each rooms; some darker or brighter than the others. I think at times every room in my house is dark and ghastly, not even the bravest would choose to walk through. That they radiate coldness with as depth as one’s vanity. But I feel that cannot be true; for I know I am kind at heart. Sometimes the lights go out and a draft may be let in; but that even though the temperature goes down, the warmth will always prevail and light will shine through my windows again. It will be a dollhouse of love eventually.

mortality

The older I get, the more my mortality reveals itself to me. I find myself worrying about the death of all that I love. That one day there will be a time when all has passed, and I am the solo stander. I think: “What will become of me then? When all that is good and pure has been stripped from my sweaty palms?”. So when Death comes to pay his dues, he will take from me all the toys I have held dear.

vanilla extract

I feel like all those I love have been slipping from my grip. The sweetness of their existence is now expiring from my stomach. I believe i’ve always had a ripe tongue; but as time passes, it has turned rotten. There’s not enough room in my heart to let the old self go. Like a bakers apron that is clean will soon be stained. Their shift is coming to an end, and I can feel myself holding on to their punchcard with an iron grip. I don’t want them to leave this place, this room full of vanilla extract.

spaghetti fridays

I’d love to play house with you. I imagine us dressed up in proper adult clothes, coming home from work each day. I’d watch you play with the kids tenderly, you’d have such a gentle air about you. We’d not worry of finances anymore, for we are as happy as clams. The kids would come running to me, and i’d get a hello kiss from you with a look of love in your eyes. We’d make pretend plastic dinner for every hungry belly, making sure to add some extra care into their plates. And every Friday when you’d come home you’d always ask whats to eat. And I would respond with: “the usual, Spaghetti for Dinner”.

midnight meadow

I’m sorry I was too late, that I couldn’t hold you in my heart quick enough. I ache all over from the idleness I stood in, had I known of your existence maybe you would’ve survived another night. I think if I’d trusted my gut and been more attentive, you’d still be here with us. Maybe i’d get to see you pass by in this meadow and midnight. But now your body rests under that blue blanket, remembered by a stranger who never got to even meet you.

all roads lead to rome

I yearn for a flight back home. A home i’ve never lived in; where all maps are unfamiliar and the beds are meant for another. A necessary taste for something new but familiar. Where my mind is a tourist but my genomes feel at home. When the language is not mine but my tongue can taste its leftovers. While my bones decay and joint rot here, I believe there I will find relief in the tenderness. The breeze of the mountain, the drops of the fountain water and the smell of a citrus cola. My body knows this is home, but all roads seem to lead back to Rome.