“adjusting”

I tried my best to not break your

rules of solitude

Except nothing brought her closer to my

changing tides
She never had a problem until recent events

broke this trust

Going with her flow made me acknowledge

cold love
Suffocation through fear and self esteem issues

created a problem

But I’m not her whipping pole for

defiance sake
I didn’t really know what went on before

my galvanizing growth

Even my judicial mind read those

over thoughts

Posted in Poems | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

found a lover.

Beneath her thighs

you guard your lies

because attraction depends on the day.
Hollow rain

makes her hungry again

but she has exhausted the opportunity. 

Scibbled out lines 

make the roses unfold

and you might finally see through. 
Her sex is a success 

but does she acknowledge that? 

Her only opponent, herself.
The boys want more, 

men do, too. 

But she is not a chore.  

Posted in Poems | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

thoughts.

she had a dream that he was waiting:

as hemingway raps through his mind in a chattering pace like rays of sunshine, he’s okay with that because it shows him comfort in the power of vulnerability. and oh, how he always wanted to be in those songs of chaos and adventurous hip-hop grunge. there is ivory nudity that was sculpted in mourning across the teeming seas and yet there he sits in the evening waiting precariously because he’s not scared of his flights anymore.

Posted in Poems | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Yo Soy Parte

As good as Spanish wine, I’ve seen

the landscape’s eyes. It’s neither green by the sea

or dry by Madrid but it’s blocked and tiled like

castles. I cannot judge the square of Spaniards.

 

Ciego to culture are my foreign friends. Picturing

them now—

how stuck they are. In their head:

the idea of dejando is worse than yendo.

 

My city shines; but Barcelona is better. Spain—

my dream.

Errante heart;

poderoso experiences.

Yo soy parte de esta.

 

 

Posted in Poems | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

quiet blue atomosphere.

// at 11am

honourary

poetry comes to life

Mother brought out the slates to clean

and yes, a

Turtle shell hides in hell.

these thoughts become memories, I think.

 

A boy is friends with two best girls

But can’t seem to become

less lonely in the days to come

Because that boy is me

                                      I

                                      Who

                                      We

                                      They— trespassed my heart and burned my brain

 

Oh, this brain on portable trials

For solitude. numb is in pain

but pain goes away.

Feminist cycles. emo misguided

Rhymes are lame, anyway

anywhere

where—a sad ballad of pencils moves

towards a toe on the cliff. Slowly laying face down. So

confused even with the help.

                                     I am becoming

                                     someone

                                     at 11am. but who? //

Posted in Poems | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment