my most cherished possession. holstered like a primary weapon
baseline until i count to 7, quiet like a library session
six. these moments just help you evolve
which adds truth to my theory that pain is a necessary involvement
in life and in fiction, typecast me as your typical loner
sedentary absolving finding peace as a cynical joker
time caught in a stone. i’d propose if you let it
i could grab you a minute, if you’d hold me a second
into a caterpillar
hold me. then clench me. visit my calloused winters
(don’t) let me go- grab my spring and it’s passive whispers
don’t catch my depression. but, do catch my kisses
even if it’s something to feel
run to the hills. rip out this chapter & section
tourniquet heal. veins indigo, black, and magenta
dab in scented oil to mask the repentance
cloaking valid potential into the aridest deserts
ignoring red flags was only half of the question
half the equation, double the time, a third of the lesson
do clipped wings still make birds as majestic?
do my inklings slipped under your door make you regret it?
still hear your laugh interlaced in absentia
if a tree falls in a forest you burn does it matter no more
does the sound it make get engulfed in the roars?
séto masochist, full of control
atom poems in my notepad stayed so reactive
drunk cursive shooting out my pen like the borealis
digitalis in the garden. ketel 1 in my ale
procrastinating the ending, i couldn’t have been better prepared
no plotwists keep character progression derailed
fighting uphill battles with no wind in my sails
i promise you i meant what i said
even if half of it was muttered on the other side of the bed
I’m waiting alone. plagued by a catch-22
you sang me song, but sang it in blue
win, lose or draw. paint pictures of this varying muse
recapturing colors that i barely knew
this is in response to a friends blog post, titled “self help” a person i silently & greatly admire from afar.
in ten days from valentines, it will be the “anniversary” of when my childhood friend, took his own life. i was 17.
he lived down the street from where I lived. the morning after I went to school, (late, as usual) walked towards the class I was failing. noticing something very strange about the air. when i walked into class, everyone sort of just welcomed me, with fake smiles. depleted hearts.
sobering reality kicked in, and the world seemed off. i didn’t pay much attention to it, i didn’t pay much attention to anything that seemed off. cause, fuck the world, and fuck you. i ignored it (per usual) & continued to be my rebellious, teen self. one of my friends in class – mentioned what happened to george “was crazy” and that he “couldn’t believe it”
i remember so photographically – that one instance. in fact i remember everything so vividly, that thinking about it haunts me, still. if i ever get good at painting, I’m going to paint this very moment, kids standing in class, some sitting on desks, centered around me, almost like a centrifugal mass, where i was the unknowing sun, and my classmates were bastions (planets) of information- and name it “he doesn’t know what’s going to hit him”
when i mustered up enough curiosity,
i asked which george, and what had happened?
everybody figured my perpetual disregard of mere small talk was of my coping mechanism to deal with my friends death, rather than regular happenstance.
read that again. my classmates thought me ignoring them, was my coping mechanism, and not my regular go-to reaction in life.
“george got into an accident.”
-“oh like skateboarding?”
very nervously. while the class looked on, my friend said
“no, man. he’s ..uh. he shot himself.
walking into next class. i felt as if the grim reaper was following me. the day got dark. metaphorically, and i felt as if there was a giant cloud fucking making its way over me. permanently. there was no other way to explain it. i got into class and slowly, felt tears fall off my face as the lecture went on. they felt hot. too hot. lava dripping. like tears i’ve cried before. the night before. and the night before that. but i never cry in public. that’s something i do at home, comfortable. door closed, locked, pillows and blankets underneath the door so nobody can hear me (or rather, i thought, that i don’t disturb anybody with my cries for help)
what i did was curl up into a ball and cry. i cried and cried and they had to call my mom. i was embarrassed(!) i demonstrated such weakness. everybody understood, though. nobody remembered, i hope. my mom came and i walked as if i had lost a limb. tears falling off my face.
mom asked “why am i picking you up?”
starting to cry.
she asked why.
over and over. it got frantic.
i couldn’t talk. it’s as if the reaper who followed me cut out my tongue. fed it to wolves. to demons, that i felt were following me for quite some time.
after letting pressure build up, i manifestly let out a guttural cry, held her, and said “my friend mom. my friend! he’s gone”
i cried. and i threw up. i said many more things, but i’ll spare you for the sake of how explicit i was.
i guess, perhaps, looking back, i felt like i wanted to take my own life. (not perhaps, but decidedly, did want to) i was almost upset at george for doing it first. it sounds weird, disingenuous, dispassionate towards my friendship with him. but i felt, perhaps taking my own life would have spared others from doing the same.
“would you jump off a bridge if your friend did?”
in this case, no. i just wish i had jumped off first.
felt as if he beat me to the punch. for years i delved, not in self harm. but a weird form of masochistic self torture. not in the “traditional” (is that even the correct word? it sounds awful as hell) sense (wrists, cutting, eating disorders, etc) i trained my body vigorously. too much. i would do sit-ups and pushups until i couldn’t move. i would punch myself in the stomach, and face, to “build” myself up. id break my wrists from punching things. i’d pee blood regularly. id have bruises the size of grapefruit, that i strategically covered with baggy clothing, my long hair, and other tools of my rebellious nature. the list, unfortunately goes on.
that was my twisted version of strength. me being strong was being able to survive my own version of hell that i felt the world created for me. i wanted to show myself (and myself only) that i was stronger, than the demons that followed me.
i never went to a therapist. never told a friend. never mentioned anything. ever. how could i?
in the incoming year or so, i heard my mother crying. crying like i’ve never seen her cry. crying like how she saw me cry. i go into the room, apathetic. “strong”- like, (stoic, unperturbed, with a calm demeanor) and asked her “what’s wrong?” she choked up the words, “se murió, mi papá está muerto!”
i’ve never seen so much pain in someone’s eyes. so openly vulnerable. kneeling. with the carpet visibly showing that she’d probably been crying for hours.
i turned to her and said, “well, … life.” (i regret that).
and walked away.
i never shed a single tear. in fact, i still haven’t regarding my abuelitos death.
years later my cousin of similar age as me (with a child) died of breast cancer, that eventually took out her lung. she fought a tough, strenuous, long battle. i still haven’t reacted to that, as i probably should- as i feel a pit in my stomach. nobody ever asked me to react. in fact most people probably react the same as my classmates did when they thought my silence was my overt, and obvious pathway to coping. death is a very personal thing. and as poetic as i am, i can’t make any particular component about death as shakespearean as most would want it to be life.
i don’t regret anything i did to myself. my only regret was not seeking help when i needed it. and creating my own version of strength. my regret is not going to my kneeling mother and giving her a hug that breathed life back into her. (she never was quite the same.)
exclaiming to her it would be okay, and that I’m here for her. my only regret is not
doing the same for myself. help yourself. please
again thanks for reading, and the poems you guys wait for will be back on schedule.
i hear footsteps awaken the creaks in the floor
again. who the fucks at the door? night stand machete laid neatly in drawer. revolver neath queen mattress. in case of a quarrel-
there’s nothing. just repentance, contempt, intentions dissolved. gun powder, protein drinks, and penniless thoughts. could’ve sworn there was something. apparently not. hear a swarm of bees next to me every dawn before dark. borderline manic. try undoing the damage
safe spaces fossilize our balloons & our cages
as therapeutic as raindrops on metal roof interchanges. bruised inner spaces, perusing the callouses. mister aloof and erratic meeting his doomsayer. how many times are you going to be abusing my patience? interactive relations via internal damnation. stray further from kinship. let’s purge the pervasion. starboard to king ship- observe the insane.
social connection more grandeur than normal distinction
hormonal response. formality close to instinction
forming a bond. cutthroat. synovial strong
childhood friends like famous rockstars. so many gone
kurt, latore, shakur, shuffling through on the browser
normalcy’s paused. quiet as space. jupiters powder
going through life thinking, how do i amount?
inner city soul, stained by destitute out-of-towners
with every nuance i learned from human encounters
too many to count. too many to counsel
when obstacles are given names like they’re mountains
who wouldve thought. who couldve saw this
my descent towards aloof disregarding
diluvian shark fin. hell in a handbasket
downpours start when my umbrella unravels
distinct as makeshift drum sets in the big apple
phasing out white noise on hierarchal basis
psychosomatic. mind warp. self actualization
dwell in differentiation you promptly install in
we’re basic creatures. basically bombs
waiting to go off. waiting to want.
ticking til doomsday. can’t wait to disarm me
something is wrong when
my maslow pyramid has 5 entries for love and belonging
some things prolonged, let the panic begin
to quiet storms to harsh circumstances again
don’t need you to resolve what i mention
put my tears in a mason while you nod in acceptance
I’m stronger than you. Or, I thought I was. Maybe I am. Don’t touch me. Make up your mind. Tell me you love me. Fuck me like you mean it. Mean it when you fuck me, love me when you tell me, you love me. Tell me a secret. Show me your ghosts. I’ll show you my demons. Baby, you should go. Maybe we only got along cause our monsters played nice. How to atone? I’m so over, being alone. But, I rather be alone, than prone to abandonment and holding, on to consolement that’ll never be known. Fuck what your sentiments wrote – they lied to me and let it be shown. A lantern is only a guide if the lights lit, and you have your sights set on looking for home. Hope you sow what you reap, motherfucker, my eyes on you. You’ll be holding up hollow fruit with no seeds in between. you asked me to keep my poetic words away from hurting your soul. I aint keen on breaking promises, but, no. Hold on a minute, hold on a hour, hold onto my throat. my broken heart is telling me you told him you won’t.
Fuck it, I’m definitely stronger than you. If I did half the shit you did, you wouldn’t be breathing.
I could feel it. MY heart beating beats it probably should not be. Cry kissing you while my eyes blur up the honesty. Moments freezing. Cryogenic holding cell, to serve as reconnaissance. Mild dilemma. Miles of enemies. My field of daisies wakes up to your bombing them. Rot in your holding cell. Holding your rotting cells. Selfish, cold, hell, I hope that you’re happy. Well, I’m happy you’re hoping. We look at the present like it’s not as good as the past, try to absolve ourselves from the what future brings us. Cumulonimbus. Futuristic. Who are you kissing? It’s me. Look at your constellation tattoo and connect the dots. I am that shining star. You ever look at it? It’s the letter Y. The same letter to the question I ask. Phases un-phased. Finding myself in the middle of nowhere. Then, I’m finding myself. In the middle of nowhere. I don’t know what I am, but.. I do know what you aren’t. Humans are complex. We’re showing emotions of what we don’t currently feel, and hide the ones that we do feel. I’m a crab in my shell when I’m screaming to let me the fuck out of my own skin. Someone once said it is impossible to be selfish and happy – and that’s terribly true. I just hope you stop being selfish.
Telling yourself you’re a free soul, unbound to any chains. But my love, you’re holding your own chains. You aren’t free. Just running away. There’s no underground railroads for people running away from the truth. There’s only one way to unlock the chains. Your lips, need to not tell lies. Now tell me with your eyes how you’ll make that happen.
in a drunken moan. she’s slowly falling in love
ask her how slowly? we’re slowly making art when we fuck
making sure she comprehends. a lion covered in cuts
licking wounds. vicissitude. saliva and blood
we’re controlled experiments. and you’re variable A
variable b, mumbles to self-paranoia pirated brain
dancing in her solitude, self awareness immense
telling women it’s OK to aim that gun at my head what’s wrong with you? she asks.
where do i start
the mountain that’s eroding or my castle of rocks?
where debris of glass houses lay in demise
I’m praying to god. don’t even know if god cares that i die
barely a heart. just a human vessel, imitating a life
my advice to any friend is don’t end up like me
what do you mean?
deflecting momentary practices to forget I’m diseased
why do i feel so strongly? it isn’t normal to me
feel my ocean tide get wilder. moons orbiting me
dormant volcano waiting for a moment to speak
sometimes; i need… just a moment to breathe
declining every phone call is a habit ive reached
detaching from reality so i can actually breathe
do they call it paranoia if i want you leave?
she whispers; how will i find you in this wintery prose?
i bleed slowly. follow the trail in the vermillion snow
KILL OR BE BROKEN. KILL OR BE ME
killed in combat over and over
killed in disguise
killed when i sleep
killed in my dreams, killed cause I’m weak
attracting spiritually broken, they see healer in me
chill in my bones. killing me slowly, kiss me. it’s frozen
feeling the breeze. or is that you behind, huffing on these
maroon eye, jeweled demon, ruby iris. drool dripping
do or die
sheep ring bearers, unsheared sheep pastor
wool clothing. the warmth of our corrivalry helps me fall asleep faster
hyper empath, i hear your heartbeat miles away
hear it, before i fall asleep. hear it when I’m on a date
why does it all of a sudden, beat faster?
is it a scary movie?
reading a letter from me you’re ignoring?
are you late to work? or have you met someone new..
i like looking at you when you aren’t looking at me
it’s relaxing to know, you aren’t thinking about how my eyes engulf you
i’ve lost the illusion of things i thought irreplaceable
only to acquire ones that i thought hoping for once made me delusional
losing you, learning to realize reasons why I’m the way i am
like my obsession for control, like a sextant in my throat
i couldn’t control falling in love. and there you go
want to know a secret into tricking yourself?
think of a moment when you’re warm, cradled.
drinking an aromatic, or brushing the warm fibers of your bed
now, this is where you think of someone.
you can trick yourself into thinking they’re there with you
back muscles tense up.
i keep forgetting to forget about you
can’t remember to remember you’re not here
i’ll try harder when
and you’re drunk
and we can
find each other in that inebriation
and what shouldn’t have happened
the moon the sun
the sun the moon
doomed doomed doomed
I’m doomed. we’re done
who who who
who are us? collusion
contusions. so very meek
you’re a cup of hot chocolate
on the fiercest winter morning
feel the blisters forming
whistle through the windows
whistling. cold air
through the windows
frost on the glass
icicles look like christmas ornaments
makes me question myself
i was too human
too human. too human
too godamn human.
(everywhere i put a period, is a moment in the story where i teared up and cried)
i fucking, maybe i should’ve danced.
that one time
that one time(.)
maybe that would’ve changed something
that one time that
hot chocolate woman cup
god damnit. open up
do i remain robotic?
or do i remain human!
robot. beep booop
robust. beep boop
my safe full of cold guns
what do i do with you?
I’m a fucking fire breather.
Breathing fire. Eating dragons, for breakfast
who wants some? None of you do
I’ve held back for quite some time
exerting no strength
Ball of fire. Giving the sun spots
ink blots and think thoughts
disregard your discourse
munching on mantras, making mistakes
i learn from them
wake up from nightmares hardly impressed
more creative next time, brain
laughable sequence, you could never understand
i ain’t lazy
you work hard i work smarter
catch a sneeze in the air
yelling from the sidelines
telling mayweather his footwork is scarce
looking at my mile times like godamn how old is too old to compete in the olympics?
facebook shows me gold medal ads the next day
your ads probably have bronze medal ads.
investing in bronze exports. making a killing
thanks for losing to me. still winning
dumb down my vocabulary to be able to talk
seto masochistic flair pops up when lactic acid settles in
i will say though, my only weakness is knowing when to try
i do it or not
do i love you or not? it’s the only time
where I’m clueless. i love it.
I’m scared of these dungeons i’ve never visited before
i barely gave you a chance
only because I’m terrified of defeat
but i’m oddly attracted to how you make me listen to you
not by force
by this weird thing called
it’s the only thing i can’t decipher
so i try to break it down
molecule by atom
acid and protein
muscles and madness
deconstructing everything into dust
but i didn’t need too
I’m only figuring that now
masqueraded dominance with self love
self deprecating jokes were my crux
like, you came out of nowhere
RIGHT THERE. but nowhere
solving puzzles in seconds
nice one on the wall.
visit art galleries just to figure them out
i know where you thought your last thought, picasso
no escaping my big brain
but you, oh you
i can’t figure anything out. and it’s
where? right there
she’s right here, cristian
maybe. but right there. whisper
tinier text. right
i remember once i was in mexico
strutting the city streets. and my game was
to memorize everybody’s face for 5 minutes.
needless to say i did that, and i saw them later
they didn’t know who i was
it was the hardest i ever pushed my brain
i slept for half a day. then went hiking
it wasn’t a pointless story.
we’re right there. the whole time
as were you.
not you physically. but. you.
mix gunpowder and moments. of silence gather components you’d author with smiles combustible crossover. lost in your eyeballs. gifting a locket, heart shaped alloy
wishing upon a asteroid comet because…
it’ll turn to debris before it reaches to me countdown from three, wishing your frown obsolete douse gasoline, that sets blaze to decree miscellaneous. mundane.
missiletoe mainframe. hypnotize what lingers in me
complex emotions compartmentalizing alone left alone in your apartment high strung and high-rise.
affectionate tease was used to darkness from sun rise- till sun shivers stand in front of me, shut eyes with your fingers pressed mute with your kisses
tell the moon to revisit.
i’d mouth i loved you in english what could’ve been at a later date neck, shoulder, premeditation escape from your inner desire, and overture taste melanin eye, brown sepia. tell me these lies. skeleton sky. clouds breaking off into my lines sound waves-get soft, and decibles dice where consensual lust, rears it’s head in and tithes gives a percentage of care, pretend to be bare you only said what you said to dissect what was rare those are your words. foreword. fast forward
ball of mass in a chokehold
ozone layer of old words layered.
strapped over my torso.
I’m so… so angered. hormones anchored
to you. apropos the flavor
addicted to it. postpone my conflicted prayers
I’m such a sicko. i hate it. like a mad scientist wanting to create frankenstein but can’t, I’m mal aligned. attack of the titans, a clash of indecisive i cants. i can’t, not decipher the feelings, let me rot and writhe. holding a wallet picture of us in my pocket insides. wanting to gift it. arduous. physics. trying to stop what I’m thinking. but can’t
bludgeoning, over saturated don’t be surprised if we can’t be separated science needs a new invention
to mend hearts or a swab test for tears where a story is written by the chemicals in them and the chemicals in them are only ones that i can create
with my signature on them my blood, and my distinction nobody else well, that is interesting. cristian
doesn’t want it to end like this the story is written by an author who has no business writing it don’t be surprised if one night we’re looking at each other eye to eye holding each other, close so close so close, i can feel you brush your passionate breaths against my lungs that fill with air, and move your head
i feel you slipping away. and by now, the category 5 hurricane by all and any expert is said to have definitely slowed down the eye has shrunken our eyes have. shrunk it isn’t a category 5 anymore and it won’t ever be a category 5 and sometimes, looking at the weather i believe it will slow down i don’t want it too the chaos of it all is intriguing inviting. warming sometimes, though other times, i don’t believe it at all other days it’s category 6, maybe 7 8, or 9. category 20. and i feel this storm going up in numbers, up and up. it’s the size of the entire planet now I’m the only weather reporter that believes this i have hope in my math don’t believe in machines i want to categorize 20 different parts of you that i fell in love with category 1,2 3 4 5 i love you your love is a hurricane, it comes and goes in september it came and went it went 6, your honesty is like powerful gusts of wind that rips trees from its roots that blows stop signs from their post rips roofs off house tops 14 i love how much we loved each other it’s like, i thought it was real maybe it was maybe it isn’t. i have so much to give you wanted to give, at least still, do. i don’t know 21 please don’t do this i don’t want to feel like an acting lesson.
your only oscar. don’t if i could id bring a version of you back from a time machine so i could talk to them about the future-you maybe i could understand better feel better i regret anything i did that brought me here did i say to little say too much love too hard love too soft was it me crying was it my silence at 5am i didn’t mean to I’m I’m going. well, i was i was going through some things these things now are different things though hurricane artois they say don’t chase what you can’t catch I caught feelings you caught my heart
i chased. don’t be surprised if you can’t find something like this nobody can do what i do, like me not even close can’t extinguish flames with a whisper don’t be surprised don’t be surprised when i don’t stop
If you jump, I jump over frontiers written in bold text saying “invade me” with invisible feeling into bewitching allure of where my heart is kept in your cage back stroking through the perfect sound waves where each word spoken fits in my ear, words where you made me imagine us together with wrinkles I was so drunk when we were together my submarine descends into our own fucking galaxy (I’m STILL HERE!!!!!!) of silk and honey being hand woven by broken hands
(20th time) into this fucking perfect perfection we perfected I was so hypnotized was that an eclipse or did the moon kiss the sun and did the sun close her eyes while he did? I was captured by your solar flare tunnel vision, tunnel feeling the moon and sun deathly slow, slow dance to the spanish passacaglia raising goosebumps on your arms We jumped to the moon the moon jumped to the sun the sun burned hellhound
i guess this is a letter to young me, and as old me having dominion over young me, and the fortune of being older and equipped with technology and the dream of possibly time traveling by watching too much sci-fi, or something- and possibly giving you this letter.
dear little boy,
this is older you. and if you don’t believe me, read this letter and I’m sorry for telling people you thought you could handle the worlds pain, silly goober. but here it is: (sorry if you don’t understand a word or two, but by now you’re probably reading dictionaries, soooo not so sorry)
here i (we) am (are) again.
i was naive when i was a boy.
i (we) still am (are)! but… not quite as adorably
with good intentions
but i have a story
my family used to tell me about the bad things happening around the world
how people suffer when they die
when they’re hungry
when they’re raided from their homes
how i should be grateful
i had food. and a house.
i was okay. i would run and be happy!
i used to feel so empathetic
energetic. endless energy.
truly a kind soul that wanted good things for everyone
as a boy i thought i was superman
i’d tell myself,
“god, can you let everyone’s pain in the world just affect this one little portion of my body? for ten seconds! i can handle that i promise! don’t listen to my mom! i’m strong! she’s just trying to protect me. i don’t want people to feel pain. isn’t that good?”
of course it never happened.
little did, little me know, that, the wish i made that day
wasn’t a smart one
sometimes i feel it came true, but as an adult.
as if god is too busy taking orders from wishes and prayers, and he finally got to me when i was
god didn’t ask me if i still wanted it, despite being two decades old.
god just gave it to me. expedited delivery.
it just hit me.
or maybe it didn’t.
maybe this is just the pain and suffering my family told me about
maybe it’s normal, maybe
as a child you need to be hugged and loved
so so so so hard that the love has this everlasting effect that sort of negates the pain you eventually feel
i wish there was a way you could measure how strong you are
nobody gives a shit, though.
how mentally strong you are.
you can measure your physical strength.
but what about your mental strength?
i want to get stronger, still
every time i conquer the unconquerable
i feel a sense of happiness. relief. strength
but i can’t help but wonder… if the same person a year ago would crumble under that pressure?
what if the person i am now can’t handle something in two years or two months from now?
i know it’s dumb to think of the future like that
but i just want to be prepared
i want to be able to continue to feel
how a little boy version of me did, at one time
sometimes, glimmers of that boy shine through
the man i am today
but it’s short lived
how do i sustain such confidence?
how and what can i learn from a boy?
a lot actually
that boy is this man.
that boy dreamed of a man like me
to help him be the man like me
but he didn’t want the mind numbing obstacles
he wanted to not cry through it all
that boy used to count the days he didn’t cry
one month i haven’t cried
65 days, wow.
day 276 i haven’t cried
almost a year
i never made it a year.
but as i got older, my cry calendar fell beneath
my credit card mail, my tax returns
and love letters by many women
and well, i marked x’s on a lot of days
as i got older
so i threw it out
i wish i could tell that boy, that his cry calendar
was something he didn’t need
and what he did need was someone to cry on
a shoulder, so to say
I’m sorry for the shoulders i inadvertently cried on
the ones that approached me because they saw a sweet boy
and not someone who used you as a pillow to cry on
i didn’t mean to, i just couldn’t hold it in
i do apologize
but I’m starting to cry less now
think less now
i don’t ask god anymore for my old wish
rather i ask for strength
to help myself, first. so i can help others
there’s a reason airlines want you to put your oxygen mask on first
cause if everybody was helping each other it’d be a fucking mess
or if one little boy tried to help everyone at once
then everyone would asphyxiate
help yourself first
then you can have your wish
strong, little boy. kudos for never wincing or grimacing at anything, from your first shots, to playing bloody knuckles to breaking bones, hands, and the grueling, over the top body routine, you did in your teenage years.
you are strong. no doubt about it.
but love yourself first, little man. I’m sure 37 year old me will tell me this, too. even if I’m too believe by everyone that, i do indeed know it all. (that was sort of a joke)
if you can love a little more. fucking do it.
i cant wait
love, 27 year old leonardo.
i love you
(ps hug your family and friends more often. don’t half ass it)