That awkward moment when someone who dropped off the face of the earth after you admitted having feelings for them and proceeded to reject you, decides to pop back up again and stir up the feelings again.
If you love me like water, then I hate you like the sun
ugh sigh. audible sigh. audibly cries.
my grades are sad. i’m broke as a joke. i want to get high and eat cheetos until i slip into
a coma , a comfortable sofa
or a bed where someone somewhere cares about all the things i’ve said instead of just staring at me in silence like i’m
the only goddamn one with an anxiety order, the only goddamn one who’s falling apart
in a city with no sidewalks where the fuck
am i supposed to go? am i supposed to be?
I don’t know how often I think of all the cute things we would do as a couple, or how our astrological signs seem to align so perfectly. I don’t know why the world works the way it does or why you always seem so geographically distanced from me. I can’t begin to explain how many times I visualize your smile or your laugh or the way your mouth moves when you say anything at all.
But I do know that your last name sounds better than mine, and sometimes you feel close even though you’re far, and that I picture a future with you more often than I picture the present by myself. I do know that you are the only person that I have ever considered to be better than myself, and that somehow you manage to make everything I hate more tolerable.
I love your caterpillar eyebrows and your acne and your indecisive mind, your bad handwriting and bad timing along with the fact that you hate all of my sports teams. You could tell me to jump and I’d do it, without even stopping to ask how high.
I love you from your head to your toes, and that’s saying something.
It is becoming bearable. I think I’ve finally fallen into the right crowd. I just got back from being home for a week and that was a push in the right direction. It was a necessary break and I was so happy to have seen my family. I’ve decided I’m gonna stick it out here. A good education is worth more than a good location, and money plays a large role too. A few more months, and it’ll be summer and I’m sure I’ll be back to complaining about the goddamn heat. People told me they would miss me if I left, I didn’t think they would but it was still nice to hear.
Somebody told me that they needed me which has never happened, and it’s weird having to worry about somebody else again. I haven’t had to do that in a long time.
Holidays are approaching, my favourite time of the year. I’ll be home again in ten days and it’ll be like nothing ever changed.
I’m too strong to give up, and I’ve come too far to turn back. As cliche as it sounds and as much as I fucking hate it here, for the first time in a long time I think I’m gonna be alright.
It’s 4:20 somewhere.
I’m on a plane back home, flying over somewhere.
It has been 4 long months
And 20 something days and I’m thinking about what got me into this mess in the first place.
It’s always about a boy.
I moved to get away from one, so I could get closer to another one. And I keep thinking what is my major malfunction?
And I keep thinking that I should have gone to Iowa, or California, or anywhere else but Virginia.
It’s almost Thanksgiving, and I’m thankful to be coming home, to be on familiar soil, to breathe dry air. I am thankful for my ribcage for holding up my bleeding heart because lately I can’t tell if it’s beating or not
because lately I can’t tell the difference between breathing and what it actually means to be alive.
This isn’t vacation, for me it’s a doctor’s visit.
Arizona, stitch me up.
Lord only knows I need something to fix me up.
And I am ever-thankful for this life, even though sometimes I feel like it’s killing me.
I may never get to rearrange the constellations or go sailing or skinny dip at midnight or kiss my knuckles before I punch you in the face
but I am grateful for the hope I can etch in my lungs.
So that every time I exhale, someone, somewhere will catch inspiration like an airborne illness and then maybe we’ll all know what it means to be thankful, to be home, to be alive with your heart beating and your lungs breathing and your eyes gleaming with fragments of hope in your tears.
I’m not actually a poet tho
We aren’t measured by how many moments that we stay breathing but rather the moments that we are made thankful for doing so
So, this is my thank you note
For every back alley barrio
For every kid who stayed alive when all they could think about was how easy it would be to die
For all the times that getting high didn’t solve my problems
This is a love poem to myself
For my battered body
And my tattered soul
This is chicken soup
And chicken enchiladas like your mother makes you when you’re sad
This is my fast car
My coat of arms
This is my family crest
For every paperweight I put over my heart, like a lead balloon in my chest
For the lions on your doorstep
This is my last request:
Keep me here like the thorn in your side, the one single cactus spine that got out alive and tell all your friends that I was just a temporary ache even though you keep me pressed between your vinyl covers and tell me I was blessed to be your lover when all you ever did was skip like a broken record over the turntables of my heart, one scratch for every scar. You played dj for the nights when I forgot where home was, the nights when the wind carried the dust too far.
This is for the ones who stay warm in arms rather than coats
For the families with the weight of headstones in their chests
For the lions on your doorstep
the thorn in your side and the gravel in your skinned knees
For the bleeding sun in the middle of the Arizona sky
For the palm trees and the sunsets and the sand in my palms
This is my closed fist in the air
My victory poem
Estoy yendo a casa
I am coming home.