I’m working on a new submission for an on-campus publication, but decided to look through some more old stuff first. I decided I’d post some more short little poems I have from high school. No titles, I suck at those.
you may laugh, you may flirt
you may spin in your skirt
but I’m smarter than you though I’m lazy
I have will, you have might
in an all out fight
I would crush you, are you crazy
are you crazy
I would crush you
if you make me
I feel like crying because you care
I feel like shouting because you stay
I feel like leaving because you won’t
Forgive me, for I have sinned
Learn to take me as I am
wait for me as I leave
Flowers, like the sunrise in the meadow.
Sun, quickly fading away.
Everyone, silently inhaling the atmosphere.
Trying to hold on.
“It’s all right” she said, she said
but he read her hesitance
still he plunged ahead, ahead, ahead
and she closed her eyes.
don’t say sorry now
when you didn’t mean it then
just stay, stick around
and be my perfect man,
my charming perfect man
there is nothing like a dream
unpolluted and still clean
free from the burden of reality
white and fulfilled
it holds everyone thrilled
as it shines through the darkest of ills
it is black waves
against tan sand
with the illusion of blue between
and the bright bright white
which makes everything complete
That last one is my favorite, for reasons too bizarre to explain.
Love Letter to the word Boi
Hello Boy, or should I say boi,
the i meaning you and representing you to me
because I’m in Pennsylvania and you’re in Belize
but we can communicate with ease
with the word
You speak the word with confidence
though it sounds strange to my unaccustomed ears
because that’s Kriol boi.
You know, Kriol,
Belizean Creole, English infused,
mixing with the Mestizo immigrant Spanish to make the sentence:
Tu sabes, boi, soy hardcore on the shores of Belize.
You own the word, you love the word,
and smile when I say it, like a Gringa.
No, not Boya,
Your lips curl up into a smile
as mine stretch out to make the sound,
practicing to say the word you own,
the word you love.
The word that loves you,
and hugs you,
and tells you that you are not a Hispanic,
you are not a seasonal immigrant,
you are not a 2nd generation anything.
You are not just those things, you are all those things,
because you are a Belizean.
In private, in my room that night
my lips curl around the word,
practicing, mimicking the way our fingers curl around each other’s
to prove to ourselves that the only thing we need
to keep connected
Dear Friend From Back Home,
it was nice talking to you again last night,
at three a.m. as we tend to do,
because that’s the only time
we have time
for our long discussions,
which always seem to circle back to one thing:
For three years now we’ve been discussing our faith,
explaining it to each other,
but in reality we’re only figuring it out as we speak.
It only makes sense when we share it,
share the feeling, share the faith.
We’ve transitioned together,
from devout, to questioning,
From indifferent, to questioning,
I won’t say which is which,
sometimes I think we don’t even know.
We get lost in the minute distinctions between body and soul,
We get lost in our spirits.
But that’s okay because our spirits get lost in us,
as we focus on the must-dos
and the bodily don’ts
mechanically performing and boring the body
and numbing the soul,
our spirits get lost in us.
But at three a.m.
we get lost in our spirits.
I don’t know, this one’s pretty old too, at least 2-3 years. I found it today, but I’m too tired to edit it. So here it is.
hopeless on an island
where you stranded me alone
surrounded by my sorrow
waiting for a change of tone
a sutble difference of no importance
but a comfort nonetheless
I beg for you to finish
when you stop to take a breath
your words are little daggers
you just teased me you just teased me
finely sharpen for my pleasure
please don’t leave me please don’t leave me
don’t accuse me of not trying
I wake in the night sweating
puddles on my pillow, I
think you’re easily forgetting
I am too frail and weak to compete
it’s not amusing to be confusing
when the audience is bored
words are becoming useless
and I’m not sure what this is
but I keep hearing the name metaphor
whispered through the wind
maybe that’s the reason
for your long dramatic speech
maybe there’s something romantic
about agony on a beach
but I’m growing tired
of the constant crashing pain
maybe I’d rather burn
than be surrounded by these waves
Me dan ganas de no existir, de no estar,
de nunca haber sido.
Me da gusto estar sola, sin pensar, solo haciendo lo que no importa
Me dan ganas de vivir,
sin presion, sin pena,
Y tengo miedo que sea muy tarde.
Me siento vieja,
pero eres joven,
pero me siento vieja.
Siento que ya deberia de ver sentido
y se que no es asi.
Me dan ganas de llorar,
todo lo que me ata a la soledad,
Me dan ganas de parar,
de dar por dado
y no intentar mas.
De conformar me con lo mio
y pensar que tengo mas que los demas,
y no merezco nada,
nada mas el lamentar.
Me dan ganas de brincar,
me dan ganas de soñar,
para vivir la ilusion y no sentir jamas.
Me dan ganas de llorar. Mas que nada
me dan ganas de llorar.
Me dan ganas de viajar,
de explorar, de conversar,
de dejar atras lo demas que me ata a la soledad.
Me dan ganas de intentar,
de hablar y intentar la amistad
cuando me obligan a escuchar
su promesa de solidaridad.
Me dan ganas de creer
las acciones que dicen lo contrario,
Me dan ganas de cambiar,
de ser alguien mas,
Me dan ganas de cambiar lugar con alguien mas,
de tomar lo suyo,
te entregarme a a la envidia y a la maldad.
Me dan ganas de llorar porque lo escrito es verdad.
“I just want to be happy”
I say to anyone who’ll hear me
“And I’m afraid I’ll never be”
I cry to my roomie
my roomie who’s so sweet
she actually listens
so why again? Why am I composing fragmented sentences to explain something that I end up leaving to be guessed.
my problem, I think I know,
is I’ve been given too much-
so now I want more
when there is nothing left to give (only earned)
and I feel robbed of happiness because it’s the only thing that means anything to me anymore
And you could never give it me, no matter what you tried to trap it in,
in books and dolls and clothes
and VHS after VHS after VHS,
though you came very close
It’s not yours to give you know, it’s yours to take
Oh please take it take it
you deserve it more than me
- But I want it.
My problem is I forget what I have,
what I left aside
because I’m sneering at what others have been given
and forgetting I have more than you could ever ask for,
than I could ever have in the old land,
but I’m looking at this land,
their interesting stories because I have none
because my life is bands of boring
interspersed with the sad,
because I’ve made it sad.
I want more anecdotes to tell lightly
over dinner, over laughter
not half-whispered and insinuated on a park bench
regretting it the moment it hung in the air
and he stuttered over it
because I shouldn’t have let it go.
It’s personal dammit - and forget it.
Just forgive it.
I want to bury all envy and regret and shame and think of only blessings
even if I don’t believe in the blesser?
Oh - but I believe,
the faith stamped too deep in me to forget
the hymns too beautiful and hopeful to ignore
for who else can give me those moments of surcease,
when I feel accomplished and complete,
like I did you proud -
and who am I to deserve that anway?
I don’t deserve it anyway because I want it
when I know everything has been passed to me
wrapped for me, earned for me all my life.
I forget that my life is generations in the making,
lives lost for my life of luxury.
I want to be happy but I don’t know how
I don’t know how to be happy with what I have.
I want more please
I want it all
I have so much I don’t deserve
yet I’m starving for more
and seeing only towering plates of fulfillment
I want it all, please
please make me happy with what I have please
with what I am.
I don’t deserve to hold your hopes
your possible last desires (I don’t deserve to cry because they might be your last desires)
“All I want’s a house with a bigger kitchen”
and god you deserve it more than I deserve everything you’ve given me.
I’ve earned nothing - it’s all you.
My life rests on your strength and I don’t deserve to weight you down,
to age you.
I don’t deserve to make you cry.
I deserve this want, this want for more.
My gluttony, my greed, my envy,
my sloth compared to you.
To you with the open heart, too open, too open,
lesson learned but not when it comes to us, oh no, not us;
and loving arms
and fighting spirit
so easily broken
but seldom shown
I want it all and deserve none.
Oh please make me happy with what I have
with what I am
I want to be happy,
if only to prove you right,
to make you happy
Oh please make me as deserving of happiness as you.
Oh the beauty inside
that you hide
that I want
but can’t ask for just yet
oh the things that i’m doing, to try to forget you
end up being for you, about you,
and I’m asking myself if I’m worth it
and I’m asking myself if you’ll notice
in time for this sign
that I’m ryhming for you
to mean something
Continuing my effort at saving my old poems, I found a few short ones I’m okay with, plus one I wrote in middle school. I do believe it’s the oldest poem I wrote that I still have. It was a shocker, all right, and it’s the last one here. (By the way, none of these have titles. I’m very bad at titles.)
I run to you, I run from you, the limit does not exist,
as I’m approaching two different values,
and all I’m left with is a weird, misshapen ‘V’.
I swear I see your face against the blueish light
I wish I had realized
your words were nothing more
than a disguise
if I had just looked pass your looks
and into your eyes
I would have realized sooner
the whole world is suspended
and my thoughts are all demented
pain trickling down my cheek
a bright tattoo inked by me
If your sad, let it show
as the sadness slowly grows
a tear begins to form
As you remember all the times
that are etched into your mind
memories you have with people
you might never see again
my eyes fill with tears
at the thought of my fears
will they remember me?