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A LetterIt's crazy how much a letter can change your life.
When I was really young it was a way to stay in contact with my best friend. We would write colorful letters to each other about our lives and reminders of our friendship and love.
I miss those letters.
When I was a teenager letters were a way for me to forget. To write angry letters that would never be sent to my mom about her drinking, her attitude, and her absence.
There was one letter that was written in the form of a story...one which my dad found...and outed me to my family.
Now, I'm a little bit older, a tad bit wiser, and the letters keep coming.
Not that I write, but one's that are written between two people I care about very much who are at war, my mom and dad.
Today I found out about a letter.
One that my dad sent to my mom.
It didn't talk of love, or anguish, but rather an informative yet hanus message about one of their post-divorce agreements.
The worst part of the letter, is that the words that were written were not his,
InsomniaIts slowly killing me.
Never thought I would be an insomniac.
Shut up, Shut up.
Fuck, I'm talking to myself again.
Why can't you just shut up and go to sleep?
Think about something.
Black dress, White dress, beautiful and an hour has passed by.
Why the hell haven't I fallen asleep?
Okay, think of white. Only white.
And, all thoughts are gone.
Fuck, I'm still talking to myself.
Shut up, Shut up!
When did I get here, to this terrible place.
I never thought I'd be an insomniac.
WordsMy speech is one of my greatest victories,
And one of my greatest faults.
In a moment the wrong words may escape,
Turning your life upside down.
Once it is whispered into the world,
It is forever held in the arms of others.
In their power, to do with what they may.
The most dangerous and vital tool in the world is speech.
How does one live without knowing its power, its importance.
Anguish, Beauty, Life, all in symbols, meanings,
My speech is one of my greatest victories,
And one of my greatest faults.
The Ordinary LesbianSix years ago I began looking for information regarding my sexuality. I found books about love, struggles, and fame (namely, Ellen DeGeneres), but I was never able to find a how-to lesbian book for Dummies. The question continued to enter my mind, "What makes a good lesbian?" Six years later, I found the answer. There are several different parts that make-up the perfect lesbian; fashion, relationships, PDA, and pride. According to dictionary.com a lesbian is defined as, "of, pertaining to, or characteristic of female homosexuality." Although this is true, it doesn't contain the important pieces of the puzzle, those that make up a good lesbian.
One of the most important parts of being a lesbian is making sure that one blends in with the crowd. It is easy to spot a good lesbian, say, in a gay bar, but it is more difficult to spot a good lesbian in everyday life. For example, if one is riding on a bus and playing the ever popular "spot the gays" game, a bad lesbian would be eas
Drowning, Without my UmbrellaI lose my mom.
And then my dad.
My family falls apart.
My best friend, my love, is gone.
I'm drowning in a sea of rain
Driven to dangerous measures
I'm drowning and I cannot see
The road containing leisure.
No one's here to wipe my tears
Hold my hand and say
Laura, everything's alright
It's going to be okay.
I miss the times when mom was here
To teach me how to stand
I miss the times when dad was there
To make me strong and wise
I miss the ways she talked to me
And how she made me feel
I miss myself
I miss my life
I miss who I used to be
Because that person now is gone
They turned around and fled.
I cannot see her coming back, at least for a long time.
She left long ago, without a soul
Even without a mind.
My Heart on My SleeveYour beauty and strength resonates
I wear my heart on my sleeve
You seem impenetrable, constant.
I talk too much.
You keep secrets, unable to open up to me
I tell you every minor detail, want to share my life with you
You try so hard, yet fall below
I try so hard and fall down low
When will you look me in the eye and tell me everything?
When will I stop pouring my heart out to you.
Impossible, I cannot. You are my everything.
The most beautiful, amazing, smart, endearing, lovely love, my baby.
I just simply wish that you could find the strength to share with me.
Every thought, every moment, your soul, for me to see.
HeavyThe weight on my chest makes it harder to breathe
I feel like I'm swimming in a drowning sea
Crying becomes a continuous habit
From inside, beneath, endless amounts of tragic.
When one part gets better, another gets worse
It's as if god wants my life to go in reverse
I'm slipping; I'm falling, with nothing around
I wish I had someone to take on a pound.
Pulsing through my veins
Running down my arm
Pressure in my hand, numbness.
Heart beating quickly
Twenty minutes later the ritual resumes
And only to find my hand becoming tenser, number, harder.
I look around with nothing to be found
I sit alone in fear
Do I hear footsteps or the pipes in the distance?
I know not what to be afraid of
But I cannot hide the fear.
the truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
You Were Born Missing SomethingYour skin is glazed with crystals of frost
and your heart's valves are close to
freezing shut tight
from being devoid of something
Though I am torrents of hail, whirling storms,
warm tears streaking,and tornadoes of rage
that flow uncontrollably through my veins
and out of my mouth,
every breath near you is warm
because your words are so cold
I am a natural disaster at its finest
with bones twisted in painful angles
and a crooked spine
you were born spineless
The Isolation ChamberWithin the isolation chamber
Lonely is my fight
Dark and scared I sit beneath
The piercing, harsh bright light.
Without the truth I speak all lies
Within my truth I stay
Isolated, perpetrated, forced to obey.
Why not just take us all away
All the gays, all the strays
Everyone who lives their way.
Outside the isolation chamber
Sleeps the birds and bees
Willow trees and perfect tales
The normal, one's who please.
Anyone who can withstand
The straight and guided wind
Those who take the fears of life
And remove them from within.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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