Dreaming

You sat next to me.
threaded your fingrs through mine, dipped your head down, and said
chica, I can't look you in the eye apologize for all the things I've done

so you just held my hand instead.
you leaned your body weight against mine
and I pressed back.
My skin has missed yours more than I realized.

I woke up and it still felt like you were pressed into me
This was your final goodbye.

Either you were letting me go or I was letting you go
or we've finally drifted far enough apart that you're going to start haunting my dreams.

I don't miss you.
Not anymore.
But I hope that everything you desire comes your way.

Independent draft

I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T do you know what that means?
Actually, I don't.
Not anymore.
Not since I was told that the only thing missing in my life is a man-
but I don't see his face on the side of milk cartons
there's not police search team going through my personal life
and I sure as hell don't miss something I don't even know yet.

I can't help it though
my mom raised my sister and I to be independent
growing up I didn't understand what it meant
because when I fell down, I'd get back up; wouldn't wait for a hand to be extended past the life expectancy of a half hearted promise

but now? I get it. it means that
that the little things don't shake me
My self confidence is earthquake proof
and the epicenter of your insecurities isn't going to affect me
I'm not some delicate fragile china shop of a girl
so you can take your bull elsewhere if you're trying to break me

I have become strong, empowered, and confident.
and yet,
but I don't really understand exactly who i'm supposed to be
because
rappers tell me that i should l look like miss new booty but act like miss independent
supposed to show off my goods but keep it classy because if
I cross the line, have a run in with the wrong man, and end up being raped-
they'll say I was asking for it.

see, we're force feeding little girls images of women with waists smaller than their IQ
and we wonder who to point to when we see a 13 year old in a push up bra
she's just rying to lift herself up to the standards that have been so clearly set out for her

and i've been tempted to get a sex change just so i can cordially invite this world to suck my dick
but for now i'll settle for both middle fingers up
asking all the judgemental unaccepting minds to please fuck off
take their neatly organized boxes of men and women, blue and pink with thick lines between the two
but I was born with all the parts of my retina intact
so i see the world in more than black and white

I learned my alphabet properly so I know how to spell independent
and beautiful
and strong
and self assured
so ladies, if you know what i'm talking about
throw your V signs up
it's about time we started making peace with our bodies.

Ramblings/ stream of consciousness

Too much caffeine, I think too quickly
I need someone who talks faster
Because my mind is in five different places at once.
Where is it?
Listening to miRNA talks. How are they specific or do they have specific targets?
That asian guy over there looks familiar. I wonder why.
Also his shirt is very blue and it suits him well
I remember I used to be able to feel people’s hearts but only hwen I wasn’t in my normal frame of mind
Is my mind so constrictive that I can’t feel people’s hearts normally?

miRNAs: targets or non targets? Specific set of rules?
People love rules. Love to make things make sense
But a lot of times they don’t.
Like death. Or love.
They don’t make sense.
Or chance. Or the future.

I’m thinking about Emilio. Wondering if he’s done driving. If he can skype once he’s home.
Wondering where that’s going to go, knowing that I think he’s wonderful but honestly I’m just waiting for him to decide to leave
To get bored and walk out
That or waiting for myself to become flighty and have him not chase me
After all, that’s what happened in the past
That’s what’s always happened.
He says that this is so new and he misses me so mch and that he wants to know all my flaws
Thinks that his flaws are more scary
And that makes me wonder if I’m still censoring myself and trying to give him a sweetened down version of my mind

I wish I could talk like Zach does
Uninhibited.
I can do it for a little while but then I get self conscious and stop speaking my thoughts
Because I have so many thoughts
So many thoughts
Different thoughts that I’ve already had so they’re kind of like reruns
So many thoughts
Over and over

I miss my zach. I wonder how base camp is.
I wonder if he knows how often he crosses my mind
If he understands how much he means to me

I think so much and yet I don’t think enough
i’m totally focused and yet I want to unchain my mind
let it float free and stop trying to put it into a box
that momentary release
crash. bang. Boom.
Explosion
Supernova
Bubble being blown.
Bud opening
The first actual rays of a sunrise
Not the pink shaded clouds right before the sun actually comes up
But the first bright streaks that punch you in the eye if you look at them too long

I wonder if Emilio will hold me. Will want to hold me if he finds out I’m broken.
I wonder if you have to be broken to be a poet.
I first became a poet when I was broken by grief.
And the best poets I know embrace their broken parts even if the jagged edges cut their fingers

I wonder what it felt like to be in my own mind when I was a kid.
I felt like I was suppressing my old soul because my body was too young to handle it and it’s just been over taking me more and more as each day goes by
Adds another wrinkle to my face or another laugh line in my forehead
I wonder if I would get along with myself as a child

I haven’t interacted with a child in a while
I miss my innocence
I wonder what it would be like to spend a night next to Adam again
I don’t even know who he is any more
And we were best friends a year and a half ago

Life changes so quickly.
But I have sarah and meg and Ashley and Vanessa
And my sister and my mother
My strong women that never fail to support me and remind me that I’m a ray of sunshine
That I don’t have to be superwoman

But if I wear the cape
Sometimes it feels like I can fly
But other times I just jump off of balconies and crash land into bushes

Why am I a scientist?
Is it because of my parents?
Or because I feel like I’m a kindred spirit with the trees
I feel more comfortable holding leaves than holding hands
I’ve never had a problem with PDA when it comes to flowers
Something I can always love
Can always rely on to surprise me and amaze me
But I just love the color green
Love the way that it feels
So lush and full and vivacious

I miss speaking Spanish
Loved the way that all the r’s would roll off my tongue
How there was an el or a la in front of words so that if I blocked out the meaning and just listened
It sounded like singing
So rapid and fast and quick and happy
And happy.

And happy.
I don’t like that word.
Happy is too curt and cut off
Joy sounds much better
You can really draw out the vowel sounds

Ah fuck, I’m just rambling.
I want to experience a star imploding
Or exploding
Or the way the world looks when you’re immersed in total darkness

And if I write for long enough, my mind goes quiet
Just for a few moments
I can stare at the library shelves of my memories
But then the stacks are flooded with small shrieking schoolchildren
All demanding my attention
Grabbing for my hands and trying to lead me down different roads of thought
But I just laugh and tell them to take turns
Remember that I don’t remember what I’m supposed to remember
But memories are usually faulty and misleading
Which is why I love living in the moment
But that usually requires not thinking so goddamn much
But living in the moment also encompasses thriving in my own imagination

I am way too hard on myself sometimes

Everything is a cycle
Everything is a loop
Everything is a new beginning
A starting over
A blossom about to bloom

Everything will come and go and pass and start again
And stress will happen and then it will go away and then it will happen again
And I will have epihpanies and then I will forget them
And then I will have them again and it will feel just as fulfilling as it did the first time.

And I wish I could think of a nice way to wrap this up but my thoughts are always all over the place
Like a maze with multiple exits but only one entrance
I love wordplay
It’s like a constant Sudoku or crossword puzzle in my head
The poem is a blank set of squares and I get to choose the hints and fill it in myself
Like a giant version of scrabble
I have more fun when I stay true to who I am
And who I am is who I want to be
Which is who I decide I am by my actions

That are based on my thoughts
That will always crowd my mind
This has happened before
And this will happen again.

Like you'll never see me again

I don't remember what you feel like anymore.
My memories of you used to be so clear and exact
but now they look like a san francisco morning
looking out at the distance with blurry eyes
shifting outlines and foggy thoughts

I wondered if you would love me like you would never see me again
like you would remember kissing me in the front seat of my car to that song
remember drawing a line from the front of my chin to the back of my skull
you always had a solid grip on my mind from the beginning

but I don't remember what you feel like
I have vague spits of moments where I can feel your palms on mine
your strong grasp and the calluses on the bases of your fingers
the way that you opened your hands right before we said goodbye
how it felt to have your arms hold me
one broken person embracing another
the first time i'd felt completed in a long time

but I don't remember exactly how you felt on my skin
I've held a firefly for the first time
skimmed the salty surface of the atlantic ocean at sunset
and left my fingerprints on the buildings of times square.
but I can't recall the goosebumps that even your name alone could induce.

You were my first; you're still my last.
that moment only is fully enhanced when I can realize what it felt like to make something with another person
that night, we made poetry. we made friendship. we made love.

Honestly, I just want you to hold me.
take my face in your hands and kiss me like you'll never see me again
because you won't.
love me like this is the last time
because it is.
because it was.
because it will be.

Good morning

I fell asleep tracing your outline into my sheets
and woke up with your name traced onto my lips

Your words whispered me the kindest lullaby that was joined by the birds with enough audacity to start singing before the sun had kissed this side of my sanity Good Morning.

Good Morning.
you're the first one that I thought of even when I can't fully think straight
when I'm in the limbo between dreaming and reality
where I can still pretend like I'm pulling you close to me
but it feels more real than it should.

Good Morning.
I spent my few hours of sleep wondering when I'd be able to wake up next to you
hoping my subconscious could weave the threads of our conversation into a tapestry that made sense
one that I could curl up with when I get cold in the middle of the night
but no such luck has graced me yet.

Good Morning.
It's the moment as the world around me is starting to take its first deep inhale upon regaining consciousness
that moment before all your regular thoughts come flushing back like high tide
when you are completely aware of everything and know how greatness feels
until you forget it a moment later
and return your mind to its normal way of thinking

Good morning.
tell me that I've only been dreaming for the last three hours and not the last eight
tell me that everything you said is true
tell me all the stories that I can see waiting for me behind your eyes
tell me the smallest details of things you see and notice; pictures you would take if only your camera could properly get the message across
tell me how it feels when I make you flush with joy, with apprehension, with anticipation, with desire
tell me I'm beautiful and I just might believe you
tell me if I've made a effective enough dream catcher for you
tell me if I've helped the nightmares stop gripping you with fingers of disbelief
or if i've made it easier to run back to the comfort of reality once your subconscious releases its grip
tell me all the secrets that you have and you have collected
tell me whispers of stories you don't want anyone else to hear
tell me that you know you're on my mind
first thing when I wake up

Good Morning.
this
this is a new day
full of more surprises than the last because this one
is seen through a different shaded stained glass
there are prisms everywhere I look, light being bent refracted reflected and changed
and my mind is running at full speed with no sign of stopping anytime soon
but the only thought that I have in this small moment
is how much I would love to be pressed next to your chest
skin pressed to skin
fingertips and heartbeats intwining
and hear you murmur softly into the soft heat of my neck
those two simple words

Good morning.

three thousand miles

I miss you.
god, i miss you.

it's this constant presence in my mind and pressure in my chest
and I don't want to miss you but i do and it keeps happening
my train of thought pulls into stations that i'd rather pass through
rather not remember how your fingertips felt when they were intwined with mine
how you got a sparkle in your eye every time you spit poetry
like some part of your heart was shining through

and you said your heart was gone, was broken, wasn't able to be given any more
so i said i wouldn't give you mine.
but here's the problem:
I don't want anyone else to have it.

don't want anyone else to know the secrets of my skin
don't want to show them all the scars written in invisible ink
I don't want to let anyone else in

because if I do
i'm afraid I'll forget how you felt.

but at the same time
i want to sleep next to a stranger to erase you from my hands memory
you're the last person that I kissed
and I don't know whether I want to embrace that fact or run the fuck away from it

I keep having bipolar arguments inside my own head
inside my own heart
that don't lead me anywhere
except to lead me to being distracted,
wishing that i could have you near me and yet finding acceptance that you're so far away

you are approximately three thousand miles away from me right now
but to be more exact, it's about 2,836 miles. I checked.
which is about 54 hours by car
or five and a half by plane
and none of this really means anything
because it's not like you'll hear it anyway
it's just a way for me to stop thinking about the fact
that I miss you.

Closing chapter

I made it through all the anger.
Through a five hour plane ride, two finals, and a lack of sleep.
I'm on the other side of the country from you- I even dipped my fingers in a different ocean in the hopes that it would wash away the memories written on the lines of my fingerprints

You told me that in my own way with my own voice, I saved your life.
you said to remember to take the lightbulbs with me under my fingertips because it would help knowing my hands know the way.
You reminded me not to forget to use my voice and asked me to save somebody for you out there.
you thanked me. for being born.

I deleted your text messages.
All of them.
I had them saved for the last seven days as a reminder of that late night call
when I told you everything that my hands were afraid to write
I said how much I wanted to see you again
but I knew it wouldn't happen.

I still miss you, I miss your touch, your laugh, your voice
the way that you would get really quiet and speak to me softly
kiss my wrists when I had my hands on your shoulders

You told me that you couldn't give me anything
so I didn't ask you to
but I gave you all that I could.
I wanted you to have anything that could help soothe the anger behind your eyes

So here's to the future
to not knowing when our paths will cross again
and I'm alright if they stay separated
because you're part of the story that I'm still writing.