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“Write,” she said, “it may bring up emotions but it will be very open. It’s good.”

Write. Write even if what it pulls out of you is more pain.

Write even if those words are the splinter you’ve been picking from your heart since the day you were born.

Write even though it may not come out. Even if pieces stay stuck and pricking at your arteries, the holes that splinter leaves behind are where your blood finds freedom.

El sangre de tu alma

Dancing through your body and caressing your bones.

Parts of you have always felt misplaced. Your head is in your heart. Your heart is in your hands. And now your blood in your bones.

Use it. Learn to walk forward no matter how backwards you feel. Even if your guts gather at your feet and tether you to the ground. Find the strength to go. To forward that need. To write.


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Kissing you was poetry.

Being tangled in your limbs

And part of your heartbeat,

Words fled through my mind–

How easily, how wildly I could have

Written mountains out of you.

But just kissing you,

Just that was enough.

It wasn’t enough. And now I want more.

I never got to write mountains out of you

Your streams never became rivers.

I am almost sorry to bind these pages

Behind your back.

But you kissed the poet

And forgot to break her heart

But not her pencil

Before you let her go. 

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How quiet and lovely,

The feeling of standing outside my home

In my favorite dress,

Absorbing the sun.

It kisses my skin so delicately;

And in pops the memory of you.

“You look darker.”

At first I try to push it away

But it was a happy memory

You kissing my face ever so gently.

“It looks like you got some sun.”

And as great as that night was

I don’t care for the other details of us,

So I’ll just keep this one thought for myself


The sun against my skin

And feeling like a flower —

And you, pressing your lips

To me, as if to set roses

On the body of a loved one.


That’s good enough. I don’t need the rest.

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I will love the curl in my hair

When no one else

Is there to notice it

I will look at the sky

And admire its romance,

It’s cuddle-close-to-me embrace,

On my own at the bus stop

When you’ve failed to appear.

Slowly, like the ease of

A haunting tune

I creep closer to the

Melody of myself

And I learn to wrap my

Heart around it.

I step up and down,

Like the notes in the scale

Timidly, but with a grace —

I slip and slide

With a delicious, tender,

Yet novice touch.

I will outline the cold cracks in my knuckles

Feel their soft but rigid caress

Against my own self

When no one else will.

I can learn to dance a tango

With nothing more

Than my own two feet.

Just watch.

Let me teach you

The proper way

To love a woman

Through my own delicate journey

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I wish I could paint for you the picture of each piece inside of my soul crumbling apart as my life continues in front of me. People slip further from my grasp and I grow closer to alone that it’s almost taunting me. Alone yearns for my hand more than any love I’ve ever known. It says to me “you deserve not the love of these people, nor the time of this day.” And as my glass grows shorter in sweet fluid I grow heavier in step and sway I wonder what steps I mistook and what clues I brushed aside. I wonder each day if I’ve lived it correctly as I watch those around me love every inch and minute — so they say and claim and show and post. I watch the beautiful lives of everyday people and I look to myself and wonder. Is your life beautiful enough? Is your love selfish enough? Is your pain justified?

I wonder each day if I am choosing the right people to love but at the same time who is to say that these people I love are any less deserving. Whose to say that those who cast hate upon my lifestyle have any right to judge the ones I love? I wake up frustrated and in pain and never will I know it is was a mistake in chemistry or a fault self-made.

Every day I wonder and receive no answer. So every day I move forward as I can.