She was going out with a firefighter, but he burned more than he put out. He said I’m done. She said, love, you said I was your one? Later on that day. She found out she got a baby on the way. So she calls up her momma and says what do I do. I ain’t even yet turned 22. I don’t think I can do this.
Her momma said to her: little momma you will be just fine. Everything will be okay in time. Little momma you will be alright. Little momma sunshine and her sun starlight. Everything will be alright in time. God will hear you prayers and your plights. You’ve got an Angel in your arms and life. Little momma you are gunna be alright.
She spent her last two birthdays in his hospital room. She’s pinching Penniys and hasn’t ate much in a week of two. Her heart is heavy and he feels like he can’t breathe. So she calls her momma too. Says I don’t think I can get through. My hearts so heavy and I’m feeling weak too.
Her momma said to her: little momma you will be just fine. Everything will be okay in time. Little momma you will be alright. Little momma sunshine and her sun starlight. Everything will be alright in time. God will hear you prayers and plights. You got love in your heart and light in your eyes. God will guide you, he will be your might. Little momma you gunna be just fine.
Well one day. That old friend from church called up said you know I haven’t stopped caring for you… would you mind getting coffee and some brunch? She said okay. Well you know I’ve got an Angel in my arms. I’m not just one I’m two.
Well it was one year later she is walking down the isle. With her green eyes glowing and her son by her side. She’s in white with violets in her hair. And he’s looking bright in blue. she looks to her momma with tears in her eyes and she says with a smile: momma, I’m alright.
And her momma says to her- When you have love in your heart and light in your eyes. Gods watching over you and your little ones life. everything turned out fine in time. With little momma sunshine and her son starlight. Everything turned out fine in time.
Now he’s turned 8 years old and with his head on her shoulder. She turns to him and says. Love you are the light of my eyes, and the love of my heart. You are all of my might and my strength. You are the star of my life. My sunshine you are the star of my life. Little momma sunshine and her son starlight. Everything turned out fine in time. With little momma sunshine and her son starlight. God watched his little angels through all of their fights. Little angel you are the strength of my life. Little momma sunshine and her star guiding light. Everything turned out fine in time. With little momma sunshine and her son starlight.
A Book Of Poems, Prayers, And Pain Testimony Without Last name Elements Seen And Heard Some Days Feeling Much, And Some Days Numb. One Day let this blog be a book for The Broken-Hearted Let This Pain, These Petals, This Rain, thorns, lyrics and Quizzical Psalms Sing For Themselves. Nameless And Maybe Among these Scribbles And Stray Notes. You may find a Rose Worth Keeping And Let The Rest Be Cast Into The Mist
I don’t understand why the prosecutor has to make you feel guilty in the cross examination.
All they could do was a protection order. Our lawyers settled on this but then when he found out he wasn’t allowed to buy firearms in the area I was living he became irate.
I don’t understand why a protection order is the best the legal system can do?
I had a genetic disorder that made me lose motor control and made me more vulnerable, and a heart condition.
The lawyer questioned my genetic disorder, a rare and trying one indeed….
And now I wish I was dead
I wake up at 4 am the same time it occurred
I can’t stop thinking about it.
My pen name is the silent singer silent because of illness and loss sometimes but not because of rape.
Why does no one listen to the words I had to say.
I said no so many times
I gave nos with reasons.
He called me a slut said he preferred white girls as he slapped my ass. Turned me over and I didn’t resist.
I said no so many times.
And this prosecutor with glowing eyes
I didn’t say no or yes I argued with him and he told me to control myself that I wasn’t on tv
I told him why should I be silent again after what hed done to me?
I told him I couldn’t answer his questions
He rephrased then so they were leading questions
He asked me if when I showered the physical and psychological evidence was washed away. How could it be? I can’t sleep. My mind gives me no peace?
I cared for kids and elderly caregiver I used to be a lifeguard….. Mentor scholar musician faithful girl
I can’t drink anymore I can’t dance anymore There is no smile in my eyes There’s no light There’s only anger
I didn’t cry in court I shook from anger I looked this stranger in his eyes He didn’t say a word Just looking left and at the floor His lawyer smirked The interpretar had a friendly chat with the offender Emphasized his lawyers words And interpreted monotone the words I said The judge still took my size I only wanted him to learn I didn’t want anything But him not to harm me again This was worse I think court was worse than rape Because now I relive every moment again in humiliation publicly I had to repeat more than five times And translate the details of how he penetrated me
My lawyers said I was brave they said that they believed me And yes I know that’s good to hear. But I’ve spent my life a scholar in service and in song. I’ve spent many Saturday’s in prayer and service too. I am not brave. I’m angry.
You asked why I froze and didn’t scream But then in my anger in the court room said I did not act like a lady?
The man you defended said that our people were all whores, and cheap. Would you have terrorized and traumatized me again knowing that he hated our people?
And now that it’s over for six months at least he can’t contact me
I just want to die. Did we win? I would rather he killed me. I fantasize about it every night. I wish that he he killed me i would have rather died
And now I understand why people hate the gringos here.
They rape us and then they leave. my family built there roots here. I’m a diaspora Child. I come back every summer and winter to see my family. This is my home too. I may be a vístante. I may speak my Spanish wrong. But for this gringo to rape me and leave? Why aren’t the laws stricter here?
It’s 2022. He initiated kissing. I consented to this and never to any form of sex. I said no. I gave him reasons. I was in the hospital a week prior and this he knew. So why could a stranger rape me at my job and then move away without consequences too?
He’s worried about his citizenship after calling our women whores? I have undocumented friends who work for non profits there whole life. Yet this green card blanco gringo. Racist Rapist white can come into my abuelitos homeland——-rape me and everything’s alright. To the defender who defended him—- morena and dark too. Did you know this racist called out women cheap? Why defend him so well you traitor with a smile in your eyes you did your job too well this time
I want to die. I think about driving my car into a bridge or sea. I wish I was dead but I have a sister and a new sobrino who need me….
You didn’t prosecute non consent without violence?? It’s 2022
You need more laws to protect your women from gringos who are like this.
I wish he killed me that night. I really wish he did. But I still have my life to live?
We need to change this law? Will this happen again? Do you really want some gringo yo come and rape your sister or your friend this protection order is not enough. It doesn’t keep the nightmares so clear from entering my head.
Why don’t you protect your women here? Are my achievements not enough for credibility?
Why did you protect this man better than me?
Why humiliate me?
Prosecutor you did your job so well. Every night I go to bed. I daydream about slitting my wrists or swimming out too far or jumping too the rocks
Why protect this gringo mas?
You want him to get his citizenship? You don’t tell the stories of foreigners who rape. Well this time I am a white and Latina too do you protect me because I am your own?
I love you Puerto Rico. But I despise your laws you protect your gringos better than you do your own family your own blood.
I thank the judge that he didn’t get mad at my anger in the room. That he at least gave me protection but is there not more that you can do?
Why do you protect your gringos better than your nietas?
You need to do criminalize any form of non consent to some degree. My god it is 2022
I’m driving down these dusty roads and I can’t seem to find you/ I’m driving down these dusty roads and I cant seem to find you.
They say God lends us people for a reason for a season but I never wanted you to go. So I’m driving down these dusty roads just reaching for those memories. Trying to find a reason. Dreaming of the days I held you close, praying to return to that season.
In the desert or the rain, in the winter and the spring. I can’t help remembering the moments that have come.
As I’m driving down the interstate. I can’t help but to retrace your face with each yellow line that I pass by.
They say god lends us people for a reason for a season but I never want to see you go. So I’m driving down these dusty roads just reaching for the memories.
Some people pass like stars or clouds Others God lends us to for a time And then there are some who remain They dont fade into the ground like the rain Some people stay
My sister almost died in childbirth. But you? You are a blessing? Why. . . You never seem to cry! You smiles center her whole world. You bring laughter to her lips, light to her eyes. Valentine, so beloved. You brought love back to her life. I’m thankful my dear nephew, for the blessing that you are. You’re always full of cuddles and you’re so sweet and pure of heart. I’ve never met another like you. Your a blessing to the heart. And though she has her rainstorms, your the rainbow to her life. So thank you my dear nephew, you brought my sister sunshine back her light.
Too much. Yet never enough. Too hyper, but I drag myself out of bed Too kind, but not enough to stay. Too religious but not enough. Too much, too much too much to wait around for. Too much to stay for. Not kind enough. Yet I keep trying too much
So I think I’ll stop talking yes?
Nothing bad will come from my mouth.
I’ve done it again! I’ve been agreeable: I’ve been loved before. No negativity, all productivity and if you don’t like my personality then I’ll have awards for my loneliness, and poems to console me poems of narcissism perhaps.
I won’t speak of myself or my business. I will remember my unloveliness. Kind heart, but too quirky for love. I will never forget this distrust.
Now you may think that it's dusty You may not notice it's beauty at first But I hope dear friend after we spent so much time in the cold together that you can also see the beauty beyond snow in these dry lands
Certain people think that the desert is always a biblical metaphor representing a culture of scarcity.
But in this land, I found abundance. So ignore the grime, though it too is part of the culture and I find beauty in it and this dust as well.
Look to the star speckled skies on the range, scattered by sagebrush and distantly the smell of juniper trees from tijeras. hope you see the beauty in it
I hope you get a chance to swing dance in the heights. Those lovely Tuesday nights. Swing jazz and pop fusion. And then head to frontier or sonic in your 50s dress then stay up to late on a school night and cross the sewer tunnels underneath UNM
Have you seen the faroles as they light up those early December nights? And tasted the posole while singing carols with your friends?
And then the wisdom that is here? Have you met all of these people? From Yale to sunflower lane?
What do you know now of water if life and the marigold parades? What do you know of banned books? Religion and politics? Something if you’ve seen the murals?
I hope you wonder at the trumpet vine scattered across the barb wire fences. And when you wonder at the weeds of the bosque: morning glories silver leaf nightshade and cottontail as too. Have you sat under the keva laced with wisteria. Or smelled the patchouli incense in the wind?
I’m thankful that you came with me on this journey, and for the people who’ve already been on this journey with me. Because I can never explain nor tell you. Just how meaningful this land is to me. I have felt more love here than I have found for most my life.
In the lavender skies there Sylvia lies. Do you gasp at the sandias elm trees and desert roses and ponderosa pine. I hope you see what I see when you gaze upon the range. I hope you melt as the red sun sighs upon the hot horizons lines
Beyond the blue mountains, in the distance, I’ve found a home.
An accident of destiny drawn to dream in the enchanted state
My friends joke that I say I’m from everywhere. It’s true. I believe that places imprint upon your soul and that we have homes in many places. Everywhere I go, I always say I’m coming home. But in New Mexico, it’s true. I will always keep returning to New Mexico. Maybe, it’s entrapped me, maybe it’s enchanted me. I found love here
Lands often overlooked. Yet the fabric of dust wisteria and pollen is woven into the sinews of our communal souls.
NM doesn’t have the oceans, lush green forest nor giant cities to attract. We have impoverished mural painters, beaders and street singers. The equestrian suburbs in peralta and bosque farms
Odd southwestern city with your unmistakable summer sunsets. From above, the lacey brown topography looks like mars with some green polka dots.
When you look at the sagebrush and palo santo. there’s a spirituality about it in the pink clouds clear skies heat lightning and vespers.
Elm trees Douglas fur oak and evergreens ponderosa pines and juniper the smells the tastes the spiciness of it all the chili peppers.
Have you been to Santa Fe? Seen the art and watermelon mountains? Heard the grito and loud guitars and flamenco dancers in the plaza square? Now as much a New Mexico tradition, as it was foreign, far from here?
Have you been to Carlsbad? Beheld the caverns and the batts?
Have you been to bosque farms and seen the horses run: cholla, Zia Ozzie and serenade as the roam across the fields eating alfalfa by the rio and then trot across the county square?
And maybe I’m trying romanticise it; but I can tell you the ugly too. That’s easy to see. Rather, I hope you see the beauty. When you hike the mountains and walk the sandy trails through the desert grasses do you notice all the colors all the colors within? Do you see how many shades of green and brown there are? Did you ever notice before how beautiful brown and green could be? How wonderful and how insane that we are taught that deserts are a metaphor for scarcity. New Mexico to me has always symbolized abundance New Mexico casts a spell upon us all and as long as there is love here, I will always return to the land that returned so much to me.
I left the songs of the Windy City for the desert when I was just a fragment of myself. New Mexico made me who I am
Emaciated and barren I walked onto seemingly barren land. A hundred and ten pounds. I walked through the doors of these Pueblo homes
How odd this architecture! How odd all of it was. But now as I drive down these roads, dust and grime and beauty. Memory roams.
Dear friend, I’m so thankful that you came with me on this adventure. Returning to the land that made me who I am. I’m so grateful that I get to share this part with you of me. This part of me that you had not met yet
We met as girls. Here I arrived, ignorant and humbled, I became a woman. You met a girl who is strong, resilient and fierce in her own way, but one that was trickling away.
From an aerial view this land is full of cracks from above. We joke that it looks like it needs hand lotion or Mars for all it’s craters.
I was a girl, a hundred and ten pounds, skinny little thing, I’d pass out with the rain.
So how can I explain to you? How can I tell you just how much these people and this land means?
Dirty roads, but love so freely give. Didn’t cost me a quarter nor a ring.
You can’t understand me without understanding the places that I have walked and those people I have held.
So welcome to New Mexico the land that heals. The land that healed me
The place that held a fading child and brought her to her knees
The people that I’ve met have taught me so much of love. I can never tell you. I can never explain
A baptism without rain
Baptized by the dust. This land that means so much to me
1. Feign submission at all times until power and distance can be firmly attained 2. Speak thoughts in silence and untoned; pray away the violence of others 3. Remember past grievances 4. Beware your confidants 5. Conceal wealth and wisdom 6, Gaurd against green eyes 7. Garner emotions for other activities 9. Never fall prey to men or to bloodlines 10. Reflect only upon the mirrors of the mother rather than the glasses of men 11. Speak only beautiful words aloud. And scribe you sorrow in silence. 12. Call to action only those capable kindness and change
I wrote this poem not as a reflection of what I actually believe but as a reflection of the intrusive thoughts that I encounter after the loss of two recent friendships. I lost these friendships because in truth…… they were never really meant to last. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It did.
Ocean are you sad when the fish and sailors leave? Do you miss the creatures that have left your soft embrace? Are there messengers you wish hadn’t come into your mist? How does it feel to fade away? Can you ever wash their memories away?
Little fallen Angel. She crashed into the ground. Her wings were made of glitter but they’re bloodied, an’ blistered now. Brilliantly disastrous she burns with her own might. Her light it rages hateful. Her life a vibrant crash. She died before she lived. No kids too carry on her name. No marks within the hall of fame. Violently beloved. And odiously she defied all that there was too yearn for. Little fallen Angel. You bleed so beautifully beside the rivers that you cry….
When my mind is blue…. I paint lilies with the dew. In the chaos of my heart, I draw songs out of the midst. Resonant and resounding. Upon my aged young face, I place sparkles upon the creases of each line. In my profound loneliness I’ve found consolation in poems. Ive learned to see patterns and patches upon my threadbare heart. In the puddles of my profaned veins, I have found beauty in this pain. I’ve found reasons to remain.
I will not change for you. No.
I will wear my dress no longer. No.
I will not love softer nor harsher. No
I will live this live with joy and love.
You can harm my body but God always heals my soul.
You can steal my body for a night.
You can steal my peace for a moment
Take the light from me eyes.
But boy, my love, my peace, my joy is mine.
You can not keep the light from my soul. No
I will live no less freely. No
I will love no less. No
I will fear no less.
Care no less.
Breathe no less.
Sing no less.
Speak no less.
Be no less.
I am no less.
My mother told me that each time that you have sex you trade energy. This I know. She also said that they each leave marks upon your soul. This I don’t believe.
You stole my body, but my soul is not yours. No
You have not harmed me for eternity
I do not wish for justice
If justice is incarceration
I only hope for your re-education.
I love freely still
I am unashamed
I am unchanged
I am not less bold
You don’t get to keep pieces of my soul
I will not pay the prices of diamonds
For the adventures of this life
I love I live I give with joy
You stole from me
I will remember and I will forget
No harm you did will not be healed
I love I live I move I speak I sing with joy
I am not silent
I will never turn to violence
I am unchanged
Because I don’t believe that any mark you put upon this body remains
I washed off your stolen kisses with the summer rain.
Your semen did not stay on me
I shed it in the ocean
You stole my body for a night
You don’t get to keep my mind
When I finish this reflection
I will return to sleep
And if someone’s dreams should be haunted
Know-it’s not me
I grabbed my two suitcases and two personal bags and at 3am, I headed to the airport to begin my new life in Texas. Just as I threw my bags in the backseat and my guitar to the side, a mariposa Bruxa or perhaps a polia scattered across my front porch and into the Uber. I lost it in the car and after searching for a while, I left the ghost alone. “Why are you following me!” I exclaimed to the silent April air. The first day I got to Texas it rained, it hadn’t rained for ages. I swear wherever I go the rain always follows me. I have the water of the Caribbean and the cold of Chicago embodied in me and I bring it wherever I go. I stood in the baggage line and scrimmaged though my mothers tote bag. The moth flew out and towards the heavens. In this case, the heavens being the bright lights of the American Airlines skyline. Their ceiling seemed to extend endlessly and the moth flew out of sight. I carried the moth with me into the airport. “How strange” said the man standing next to me. “Did you bring a moth in here?” I guess so I replied. They seem to follow me wherever I go! I can’t explain it. Sometimes, I detest the things. I hate them for their powdered wings and nocturnal flapping. Other times, I see the beauty in their relentless search for light. Their suffering derived of misguided pursuits. Their sonic connection. Other days, I loathe their crescent wings hidden obscured from the day, but not from gods eyes. Emily tells me that moths are her favorite bug. They are delicate, elegant and misunderstood. They’re literary, quiet and significant in their seemingly invisible cloak. But in New Mexico during the pandemic, I despised their very essence. Sleepless and weary, there summer invasion seems an omen to follow the biblical plague that dragged throughout summer 2020. I A few hundred moths would gather at dawn and dusk. They waited at the doorways and gathered at the hearth each time my roommates went out to smoke a joint. Thirty, forty, fifty in the house. I hated them. I killed them with the reflection of false light and bowls of soapy water. I drowned them with glass bowls and lamps in every room in the house and in the chapel. I didn’t have money for a blue light insect zapper. So I settled on drowning the damned creatures. Ironically though, sealing the moths with the same fate that I used to dream of not as suicidal idealization but more so as a sense of spiritual numbness and rebirth. They used to swarm outside our rusted screen doors. Living with five people was hard enough but the new roommates were too much. I didn’t mind the spiders in the house. For to many including the Lakota tribes, moths are symbols of the divine feminine. But the moths were flapping and flitting away my sanity. I think this is when my ADHD slowly started coalescing into OCD. I spent hours mopping the floors, vacuuming indigo spirit seeds out of the carpet and crumbs off the stove top. I’ve lived in chaos, calamity and houses of creativity. I’m fine with shared spaces hostels and co-habitation. But the damn moths were my new nemesis. In Florida, I didn’t have to worry about the wretched wings of fallacious things. I lived in a gated community where no one talked to anyone and my beautiful apartment with a pool and amenities I used to only dream about. And a room bigger than my childhood home. Yet, all I felt was emptiness and profound loneliness. I hated my perfect house. So why a damn month? Two years after the moth invasion and moving all the way to the east coast: Why did the damned creature follow me from my lonely abode to my very flight to go start a new life? What the hell does this moth want? And then the next day I saw another in a beautiful pair of earrings a dead-head skull centered moth. Harbinger of death or portender of good fortune? What did it desire of my itching skin? I’d lived with spiders before and and killed all the fleas in the couches. The only woman in the house with a hatred for dirt and the resilience to cleanup after five boys and sometimes a squatter. I’d killed all the fleas on the couches but the moths wouldn’t leave so I left. I left and the absurd spirit followed me.
Still seas. The water broke in white waves at my feet. It pooled around my hands while coral and barnacles pricked my toes. Little hermits clung to the rocks with loyalty. The turbulence within me . . . the sea stilled by the skies and waves breaking upon me. Upon my breasts, upon my feet.
My mother asks me why so often these riptides pull me into the distant depths. I tell her that the stories of the sea reside violently in me.
I am stilled by the secrets of the deep. God stills my soul beside the sea. Still, still, stills my sorrows and cleanses my raging. God stills me.
Here. Beside the sea. God heals me.
And again and again to remind me god draws me back again to remind me once more that calms seas and fire and so he calms me so. And just as a reminder God draws me Still still stilled beside the sea.
"Oh my!" said Crystal to the trees. "Why did you lose your leaves?! I love your locks of spanish moss. I like your auburn colors, pines and spurs! Now, tell me why. Why did you cut your hair?"
And so the trees replied:
There's seasons we grow through. There's very few parts of our bodies we can leave behind. Change, dye bleach. The leaves on the tree after they have fallen....how can I explain the release I feel? My auburn crimson and indigo tones have faded dull and thin. The crown I grew upon my head has faded with the winter wind. In times of grief and growing we lose our arboreal locks. I cut off my leaves in the winter and see new growth again spring. My leaves are pieces of me its true Each leaf a photo and an elegy. I am not my leaves though. I leave pieces of myself upon the muddy floor. They become one again with the ground. Those memories I have left. How can I explain the lightness I feel? I wake joyful. The sun shines on my short bright hair. I can never tell you- the joy that you may feel. When I let that weight go. I can not describe the pleasure that I feel pruning my leaves. So Tell me, Crystal... One day .. If you chose to cut your hair- If you two feel a oneness, newness and courage when you turn your face and turn your cares!
Places are fragments that become embodied in you. The physicality materiality and spirituality of places always remains in your blood.
Its not just what you eat, but who you love and where you breathe that resides within you.
You have to guard the energy you give and that you take. There's always an imprint on your spirit like a flame.
Born next to the roaring planes and freight trains five minutes from o'hare in a family that had migrated settled but then stayed. I I must have got some diesel in my lungs along with my asthma. Cause I can't fall asleep without white noise and chatter. Cities buzzing.
Of course then in a city of rain born next to trains buried in snow how could i not be tempted by flight? When I breathed in the gasoline and the coal how could I not want to know .... and knowing...want to go.
I am thankful that my sister stayed if only so that my mothers heart didn't break.
My sister could admire the stars without striving for them. Content in their presence.
I wanted to serenade them. To swallow them and consummate them in my being. I was only satisfied sailing through waves and clouds.
Perhaps, the turbulence of oceans and planes are another remnant that never fades. And the hustle and constant movement. Some people say I have ADHD But Id say its just the city musicking and moving in me.
I cant stay in one place too long BUT my soul now years for the arrivals sections of return flights equal to the departure or adventures newly begun.
Sometimes the incessant moving pains me and her
My mother says I should build a nest. I tell her to do so would tear my wings.
I told her I have to fly A swallow without wings will wane
In Chicago The things that stay The cold the blue the grey and minor keys are always colors in my poetry and though I see their beauty I know also too it's rain..
She says Illinois's been warmer since I left Perhaps I took the cold with me when I fled and took her love like theft
It's funny when your packing the things you keep or give away... I always keep music books and gifts But I'll always give my clothes away
I like to start over almost naked Clothes are symbols after all But sometimes I give so much away And change my hair and dress so many times That I forgot who I was at other times.
And then it's funny too--- Never knowing the love that grew until you leave To chase your dreams
But realizing also that in leaving friends you also lose pieces of yourself in them.
We all embody places in our souls. More than we'll ever know...
The southern winds blow through the bluebells beside the creek.
The onset of sunset arises to greet the lilting lake.
While Aside the street, the dust of spanish moss falls soft on fallow fields; fallen red speckles hidden in their caresses
Blazing star blooms dense beside the swampland highways
And the twinkle of chimes falls like light: gentle. and then soon disappears.
Burnt oranges and cherry light cadence the sun's descent.
I glance toward the azaleas as I come upon my transient abode.
The chirps of hummingbirds in consonant harmonies with the bluebirds have now receded.
The wind's pulse continues unhindered by the moons ascent.
I tell myself that violence and sorrows are all that exist in this life.
That prayers fall deaf on fallow ground. And salty tears rain unimpeded.
But when the sun swells in his noontime melody to dance once more with the quiet moon in the company of coloratura. In the company of stars.
This logic of absurdity seems to fade with April's morning rain.
Each weeping willow and creepy vine that comes bursting through the cement counters all of my twilight terrors.
I cast my eyes adoring to our god again.
Every time I hear a child laugh, strings soar, or the percussive tap of my nephews feet upon the oakwood floors. . .
I wonder why I cried last night-
I praise god and dream again.
My father said I am like a shooting star. I come quickly from afar. And with a flash of fire and a swish of sounds. I just as quickly leave.
Colliding into people I crash into my dreams How much damage do I cause Speeding through the seas?
My father says I am a shooting star And he wishes only that Id stay Just as quickly as I'm here I've soon gone so far away.
Am I selfish in my sadness? If I'm writing poems only for me? I wish I wrote for others more But I am a lonely star
Maybe my words are worthless. I'm not sure I even mind. Afternoon I am the entropy of light a burning star.
In my sadness and my apathy I am forced to chase the skies Hoping that the movement would keep my aligned more with the sun. I don't always know what I'm chasing
My head is mixed with chemicals Some days I cry for hours to heal the energy inside I have tried to stay still Or to walk miles just so the loneliness would leave.
Maybe my poems are evidence of insanity and anxiety. Or maybe they're just broken parts in me that I try to understand.
Perhaps no one can give me the love I need. Not even me. My best friend told me love is a steady stream. Yet for me I burn so fiercely that the only love I desire is that which in excess would kill me. Fatal all consuming. Love isn't meant to burn.
God too is so far away I pray too many nights that he d carry me away. Pensive flame alight I burn all through the night. I wish I had more poems for others.
I write so much of loneliness That I hate my own absorption But even I can't provide the love that I need. I cry myself to sleep. Can you fault me for my verbosity? I'm still fighting praying breathing
Shooting stars are only lovely for the flicker that they leave But if you look to closely Though you would never seen The trail of blood and burning
You see me for a moment Its hard on me and you of course that I know is true.
But instable balls of fire Aren't too safe too love or to hold dear.
I can't love you right Because I can't love me right And the unloved flame I leave behind is only sweet in hind sight
These words will collide and crash with me. The extant remnants of luminary catastrophes.
There are times I feel god And other times so far away The polar vortexes of emotion I don't wish to subject you to that
Maybe my writing will bring me solace Somewhere in my songs I find sleep They are public, nameless ego centric and crying out
Because the love within me is bleeding and burning out. You can love me from afar just like shooting star. Beautiful and broken God painting my eyes in blue and my lips sing mostly minor keys Does my sadness make me unique? Lovely in its brokenness Or hideous in hindsight? Because in my own brokenness Perhaps I also destroy me
Beautiful destructor! Painfully beautiful you are! Lovely loner Friend of fire Beautiful in brokenness But whose center is unstable.
I forgiven for my vanity? With the wretched wonderful words I write?
Can my lingering grief be pardoned? From the sin of the pronoun I? Do I overlook my sadness? Take pride in it while I cry? Who am I without my water? I love oceans clouds and rain and Moonlight. Sometimes I think I've even come to find pride within vain pain.
I separate myself from you I don't want to flood you with this rain But in my separation I grow into a star that is quite strange.
I’m broken my ankle and I’ve broken my arm. Ive been brusied a lot and I cannot count my scars but there just one part of me that doesnt seem to heal. Thump, thump, thump goes my aching breaking heart.
There are so many times in this life that we push away those thoughts that make us tremble...
If I am being honest with myself, the loneliness I feel would be too much to bear. I fill myself with virtual distractions and media. But rather than me consuming media, it is the medium that consumes me. If I'm being honest with myself, I have always lived and loved on impulse and fear. I am numbing the noise of my own internal violence. I am silencing the silence. I fall asleep to television so the room becomes less quiet as my heart beats like a riot.
If I were honest with myself I would say:
How long will you endure these sorrows and live your life without vibrance? Without love? How do you live like this my love?
If I were honest with myself I would ask- why you keep running away? Who do you hope would follow you? Why do they always turn away? Alone are you in April as the rain fades into light. Always running away from your own internal night.
If I were honest with myself then I would hold onto god more for guidance. If I were more honest with my god then I would feel less of this silence
The balance between the waves as they thrash. The moments that the moon lit the waking hours The breathlessness pounding down The dreams bottles in capsules of beads Tears tucked upon quilted flowers The glitter and litter of neuroses. The armor of amethyst The alchemy of absurdity An odd and fractured kiss
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