You come to offer every single bit you took.

The bits I used to like so much,

you now bring to me, as a present,

a return to sender,

broken, scabbed, charred,

faulty manufacturing, you claim,

after having worn them to threads.

I like what they remind me of,

I like the "what-ifs" you want me to recall

I see the ghosts of our togetherness

You used to be everything I wanted

but now... it's all I never want to have.

You are offering, open handed,

trying for them to look like they once did,

baby, I know you too well,

not even my magic can fix those broken bits.

I once loved you,

I truly did.

But now, you're mere shadows,

the darkness within seeped through.

I wanted to be grass under you

misty and cool

but you left me for the pavement 

you've been walking around on your bare feet

and you expect me to come and heal you.

March rains but April showers.
It rains like the sky is crying,
like it misses being near your face.

I think about you when it showers
about your ever loving for the rain.

How many years will I miss you
I have never learned to let go
so I expect to be calling for you
an eternity or so.

You'd be happy I like to think
if you were here and we were near
you'd be disappointed too
on my ability for patterns to repeat.

I miss you, love, with longing sighs
for worse times with better people
now that life's better and my heart is quicker
not having you around
turns me a little bitter.

March rains but April showers
may it shower me with memories
of your gentle smile and so much more.

Once again, it ought to be a long one.

 

I'm looking to feel your adoration
nothing less than absolutes
I want to feel worshipped
the most forbidden of the fruits.

I want the passion burning through you,
show me what you can do for me,
look at me like I'm the solution
an answer to your every plea.

I may not be
the remedy for your illness
the cool water for your thirst
but let's pretend, why don't we?
that I can quench that raspy throat.

We can keep and keep pretending
-After all, it's my favorite game-
that I'm special, that we're not ending,
that I'm a lady you can claim.

 

Stop reading my poems

looking for yourself

drawn across my lines

hidden behind curtains of ink.

Stop trying to see your reflection

in every one of my verses

listening so damn carefully 

for the slightest shimmer

of your diamond name.

Egocentric.

Egotistic.

So full of shit

and of yourself.

This life is mine to live,

my words are mine to write,

I don't revolve, like a moon, around you.

Even if this poem is about you

it's a mere warning

to back away.

 

You hold me

With the strength of someone

Afraid to lose a bird

Kept between hands

But the bird doesn't fly

The bird holds still

You hold me

And expect the worst

I let you

With the raptorial yearning

Of tasting butter on tongue

Puckered lips

Orange zested

Salt rimmed smiles

The smell of cold air

I alone extinguished

The words I expected

From the depts of your soul

I digged too far

Pushed you over

Took away your self-control

Yet you hold me

my body shivering from

the sequin starred night

the biting cold against 

my burning skin

You hold me

Delicately

And kiss me like you mean

To erase every tear

You ever made me shed

I let my hummingbird heart 

stay a purring burden

in the hands that hold me

I forgive you

And forget you were the cage.

You deserve the love you give.

Open-armed, any moment of the day, acts of service, thoughtful gifts, words of affirmation love that showers you in it daily.

You deserve to be woken up to a lovely day. Mapped out specifically for you. Taken into consideration for plans and outings. To be surprised and incorporated into the routines that you want.

The kind of love that is honest. That doesn't hide. The one that is proud of having you around and feels lucky to be counted into your adventure of a life.

I don't like to see you beg for scraps. For seconds in a minute. To put yourself down if someone isn't pleased by all that you are. You don't deserve a half-assed kind of love. Nobody does, but specially not you.

In a world where you give every bit of you to the one you love, not expecting anything in return... it's kind of good manners to return the love you are receiving. We weren't raised in barns.

 Qué buen remedio

para el bloqueo creativo

que tus miedos se cumplan

que las voces en la cabeza digan la verdad

ojalá limpiar la vida

de lo que nos hace daño

sirviera para limpiar el cuerpo

de lo que se esconde en él 

sentarse a pensar

que todo pasa muy rápido 

haga que lo malo pase también 

y se olvide

y se quede atrás 

Ojalá sean miedos injustificados

ojalá la intuición esté mal

ojalá que la rueda de la fortuna

no llegue a dónde empezó 

ojalá no se repitan

las cosas que me asustan.