fragile

breakable

     she left the shards
    on the floor

porcelain licking
the scarred
wood

she scratched her face
     and the paper tears
waved slowly

    with the wind

you do not understand

the degree of perfection i demand of myself

it scares you

i can see it

in the way you are angered

by my

m e t i c u l o u s

nature



do you think i like that i care this much?

but this is not the way to go about it
with snarky words
hidden behind hurt feelings

i am sorry that i cannot care as little as you do

no that sounds snarky
but i am

i wish i could prioritize like that
but i do not want to be peer pressured
out of my own pressure cooker
perfection plate i know that it is not
healthy but i do not need cut words
to know that i am only changing
because i am afraid of what you think
of me
that just makes me feel that i am
different that i am
wrong

i am hurt

i am not okay


why can you break me so easily

i do not like feeling like the things i do are wrong


just let me count my points
until they reach up to the ceiling
i am sorry but i need my own space
to do my work because
i cannot stand you looking over
my shoulder sneering

jokes are funny

i said to you
and left the door

this is more an angry rant
than a poem

but my jealousy cannot be denied

at least he was on my side
he asked me to talk to you

just

back off

okay

i can be mean

i don't want to be

just


leave

tears

i.

dripping slowly

       off the

  bridge

      

                                 of

                    my

                           nose

ii. uncontrollably

iii.

they start

       and      where     do    they                             end?

(so many oceans of tears

      for us to swim in

for us to feed to our young in careful

plastic bottles

                                        salty)

iv. 

they come in torrential downpours

(they come in scarce trickles)

v.

crying as if i have no control

         vi.

      vii. viii.

     ix.      x.

       xi. xii.

    xiii.

xiv.   xv.

xvi.  xvii.

  xviii.

           

                 xix.

              xx.  xxi.

             xxii.  xxiii.

                 xxiv.

xxv.

i can 

taste 

your 

tears

   

today was a day i could see into my mind
on this day

three years

how far we've come

how far we have to go

what kind of trust is this?
that wraps my voice up in paper packages
and sends it across invisible lines
in our air

that gives you this power
i have not given away before

the power to listen
as you choose

the power to hear my words
as you like

when i work up the courage to play you my song about ellie

minutes later

you had tears in your eyes

i could barely breathe

lapse

wasting away slowly
by your side

in the middle of the darkness
i think i have lost you for a moment

i cannot breathe without my arm on your skin

jolting
i fall in this one-sided bareness
suddenly spinning
darkness wraps me closer
i envision emptiness
reality so quickly becomes questioned
and i feel panic
real and fast and waking me from my slumber
i am sucking in breath hard and fast
into my lungs until--

i am

caught softly
by my finger brushing your arm

solidity returns

i still exist in my own space





















do i?

not everything is fun and games
maybe games yes
we still play games with each other

or is it just that i play games with you

i don't know

and i cannot whisper
quieter than this

can you hear my voice?

dancing across the oceans
tasting the salt swept waves

and here i am

it's been a year

since you sat in that 

chair in the nurse's office

and dreamt of me

while I sat in sixth period

math and wished you

were by my side

(and here i am)

(leaving bruises on your neck

holding you up as you stumble down the street

kissing your face

telling you every thing

trusting you)

(and here you are)

(looking at me with your head cocked

pouring water into my ear

talking

pulling me into the stairwell

tracing my spine slowly)

it’s been a year

(and here we are)

   Sometimes it flows out like
water and I have to hurry because
I do not want this sudden
moment of inspiration, these
words to be lost.
  Walking up the stairs slowly
I realize how much my skirt
is a wave. I feel so quiet.
   I feel so full.
   I feel so slow.
   Measuring my steps. Watching
the wind at the window.
   You can be a better person
than you believe is what I
wrote on the whiteboard and I
wonder and I know I am talking
to myself.
   A transcendental moment in
third period. The sudden longing
to do nothing. A feeling of escape and
silence.
   As if I could lie on the grass
and hold my breath for years.

messy

when i tell you its okay
is that a lie?

it feels like one
when i drape it carefully
across the black silence

i think i make it more of one
with my hesitation

i believe it

i believe it will all be okay

but who am i to dictate the future?
and who am i to tell you your fate?

stargirl

i think she is my hero

with her ukulele

slung across her back

and her pioneer skirts that reach down

to the ground

i aspire to have that stardust in me

there is something so alluring

to being unbelievably different

something so alluring

to walking alone

selfish

i like to keep you to myself
is that so wrong?

i cannot bear the idea of sharing you

i want to bring you closer

in the hallways
i am privy to your facade
i know the things you say
are not the things you mean

i am close enough for that

(i cannot wait until we have our summer days
i never work that well in groups

in one-on-one is where my forte lays)

i do not like to share you
is that so wrong?

island girl

her hair is made
          of palm fronds

(touch me she whispers
                                  gently
        to
         the
       wind
                 )

                    can you not see her on the shore?

she is
     waiting
    wavering
 in   her   own  spac
                                   e


her toes are seashells
her limbs slip into the waves
s   a     l      s    l
 e     m    e    s    y



                          she awaits

                      no one

                          silent
                         solid
                     alone
                         on the
                           
                                     s  a  n  d

sundays in the spring

sitting softly
in the palm of your hand

can you carry me with you
wherever you go?

my back fits your fingers
i've practiced
i promise

lightly you'll lift me up
and we can see the sights
together
me
from my perch on your knuckles
you
from your broad brow

you'll raise up your arm
outstretched
point with your other hand to the bridge
detail the strong metal in whispering words that my small ears
will be able to handle
to shape into form

i'll stretch out my toes
kick softly and gently
make your face turn to laughter
make you threaten with feather words
to send me flying

(smiling)
i'll say i wouldn't mind

to soar like a kite

alone on the breeze

soledad
solitude

it is written in my nature

solitude
soledad

it is hidden in my name

muse(ings)

all i write about is you

(you sitting beside me in your matching sweatsuit
on the sweltering M train, seeing the darkness in my eyes)
(you lying beside me the shadow of the tree beside us
reaching out to grasp your face gently)
(you walking behind me panting, two steps behind,
unable to catch up)
(you standing at my side door at 10pm your face bright
red
with the cold, your ears safe in headphone earmuffs)
(you watching me carefully measuring each of my
facial expressions minutely
talking to me without words)
(you cracking my knuckles slowly
as i wince)
(you reaching over and penciling a small heart in my
notebook)
(you when i ask how you are and you say i don't know and
we both know that you lie)
(you next to me (we almost never sit across from each other
if we can avoid it) holding your menu and considering)
(you reading me poetry
the words lavish on your lips)
(you in my mind when i close my eyes
and you're sprinkled in my dreams
as if it is impossible to extract you
from me now)

your face when you whisper me words
and we both realize that in this moment
they have slipped out of us eagerly
that our emotions have broken the sea-clear surface
and refuse to be ignored