You are standing at my doorstep now
I open the bright pink gate and there we stand
Two souls open to knowing each other
And so it floods in
Our secrets and your veins protruding from your wrists when you sit on my bed and take your pulse because you’re scared
And as I rub your back it floods in
We weren’t cautious
And what have you done with my whispers and tears?
I’ve saved yours. Not on purpose of course.
The visceral memory of you is so suffocating it makes my bones crack
And I feel betrayed by my intellect which had spent all of its life convincing itself it was not an animal
Not this thing that sees the way your eyes droop at the corners
And your exigent laugh that cries out to fuck the world
Or the way my head fit so perfectly on your chest to take a nap and as your chest expanded to let in air I knew you were already broken
Your kisses placed along my spine and the way you reminded me to breathe
The way you reminded me to breathe…
Lungs expanding
5am and there I am in the streets of Compton looking for you
Like the crack rats I studied convincing myself I was superior to them because I could analyze and word them.
I could know them, but the only reason I could was because I was them. 5am and I’m convincing myself I’m not a crack rat while you’re convincing yourself you can conquer the world on your own
except there I am.
Fragile and in front of you, a mirror of you.
Were you afraid to be weak?
Was I afraid to admit who I really was fighting for?
And what became my medicine now poisons me
Silly girl
I should have known those eyes were a cautionary tale
When we were together I made it my job to memorize you
Guess I’m a masochist.
I walk through world with an image of you not in me but all around me.
I’m fine.
And then the wind blows and I smell you.
Or I catch a glimpse of curly hair and suddenly my stomach betrays me
Or I see that red coca-cola shirt or I feel deep within me
Deep within me.
There you are.
I’ll salute you every morning and say goodnight to you when it’s dark
And the only ones left are those with
Visceral memories that betray them.
The pink gate
That bandana
Your hands
Your hands…
The artist hands that painted my sorrow.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
I could do Worse than You
I could do worse than stand at the edge with you holding your hand
Easy on the eyes and careless like the Hortensia
At other times Discombobulated and gasping for words
As they wheeze out into the hot summer air infected with mosquitoes begging for the warmth of you
I don’t know how to ask
Or how to help
All I know is I notice the dribble of sweat making its way down from your forehead glistening with rage
Or is it from your eyes that have seen too much of this world
And not enough of that heavenly planet where angels reside
Does it exist?
I could do worse than hope for it.
I could do worse than skip around from branch to branch looking for you
Creating an executive correspondence with the wind which can travel much farther than even my hardest run to search for you
And I suppose I could do worse than ask the yet living what it feels like to rejoice in your joy and wallow in your sorrows as my gaze stops even the strongest stampede
I am a warrior now
I will not stop
I could do worse than you.
Your Light- 1/23/11
I should be asking myself how the poets did it
Writing about beauty when there is little more to do but sigh
And stare at the way his eyes glimmer against the sunlight and reflect the bright pink off the setting sun
While the birds circle their own world, playing their concerto
Oblivious of the part they are playing in my love song
His hands shielding himself from the harshness the weather has exposed
Or maybe from my burning gaze attempting to save something as precious as the poets muse
Because I know as soon as I look away it will be gone
And I will be left with a vaporous trail of sweet nothings
And melt into a pool of stupidity
From where one certainly couldn’t conjure up a poem
So I must refrain and remain content letting the poem breeze through me and releasing it back into the atmosphere
Because there is no time to write what I see
Your hands, layed flat like a beautiful plane
Against the curvature of your face
As the sun recedes into the background
And takes with it, your light.
Writing about beauty when there is little more to do but sigh
And stare at the way his eyes glimmer against the sunlight and reflect the bright pink off the setting sun
While the birds circle their own world, playing their concerto
Oblivious of the part they are playing in my love song
His hands shielding himself from the harshness the weather has exposed
Or maybe from my burning gaze attempting to save something as precious as the poets muse
Because I know as soon as I look away it will be gone
And I will be left with a vaporous trail of sweet nothings
And melt into a pool of stupidity
From where one certainly couldn’t conjure up a poem
So I must refrain and remain content letting the poem breeze through me and releasing it back into the atmosphere
Because there is no time to write what I see
Your hands, layed flat like a beautiful plane
Against the curvature of your face
As the sun recedes into the background
And takes with it, your light.
Birthday Wishes
It’s your birthday and there I have you
Sitting on my bed as you rest your head on your motorcycle helmet
I’ve done myself up
Covered up the sadness and knowing
And I try to breathe
You don’t notice and again, I fish for the compliments
It’s times like these that you make me feel five
Dressing up in mom’s high heels and smearing that bright red lipstick
Attempting, desperately, to be taken seriously
You’re wearing that bandana that I hate and we’ve both at this point gotten very good at our roles
But this time you’re uncertain, you don’t know where were going, and for once I have the power.
I’ve been dangling it over you for days
Rejoicing in how it feels
But as you sit in my bed now it feels awkward
You’re favorite word…
I walk you over to get a massage and I play the role of good girlfriend as best I can
Don’t worry; I’ve taken notes all my life
Be agreeable
Always be there, even if he isn’t
Always answer that phone
For heavens sake don’t argue
Is that good?
Stick your cock wherever you want
And so I proceeded.
I wined and dined you and prayed that this would be enough
To cover up the fact that earlier that evening you wouldn’t even take my clothes off
To cover up the fact that earlier that evening we stopped playing our roles
And simply became them.
Sitting on my bed as you rest your head on your motorcycle helmet
I’ve done myself up
Covered up the sadness and knowing
And I try to breathe
You don’t notice and again, I fish for the compliments
It’s times like these that you make me feel five
Dressing up in mom’s high heels and smearing that bright red lipstick
Attempting, desperately, to be taken seriously
You’re wearing that bandana that I hate and we’ve both at this point gotten very good at our roles
But this time you’re uncertain, you don’t know where were going, and for once I have the power.
I’ve been dangling it over you for days
Rejoicing in how it feels
But as you sit in my bed now it feels awkward
You’re favorite word…
I walk you over to get a massage and I play the role of good girlfriend as best I can
Don’t worry; I’ve taken notes all my life
Be agreeable
Always be there, even if he isn’t
Always answer that phone
For heavens sake don’t argue
Is that good?
Stick your cock wherever you want
And so I proceeded.
I wined and dined you and prayed that this would be enough
To cover up the fact that earlier that evening you wouldn’t even take my clothes off
To cover up the fact that earlier that evening we stopped playing our roles
And simply became them.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Should you be telling me this? Also, is this real?
We'll, my pessimistic/realistic self was a little surprised when after only a week of turning in my app to schools I get a phone call from one of the professors I want to work with. I won't say who, and I won't say where (cryptic I know). We talked for about an hour and a half and this professor told me things I was little shocked to hear. Also, I scored an interview! I'll be flying out in February, so wish me luck! In the meantime, I'll impart what I've learned, because yes, I learned a lot from my phone conversation, some of which I don't know if I should even know.
1) GRE scores may not matter as much as I thought- fit with a professor for a clinical program really seems to matter a lot more.
2) If applying a more researchy school, stop talking about clinical stuff!
3) apparently, if you have a partner applying to the same school, a professor that wants you may put in a call to have your partner's application "seriously considered"
4) if you think you blew a phone interview- you may be wrong!
5) professors get drunk during a weekend of interviews. They don't expect you to. Graduate students get drunk, they expect you to as well.
6) being a minority works in you favor- and whatever, I'll take it.
This is all very vague I know, but I don't want to put anything in jeopardy or to be honest put anything out in the universe because I might not get into any schools.
Needless to say, a small part of me is squealing. I could actually become Dr. Cruz!
1) GRE scores may not matter as much as I thought- fit with a professor for a clinical program really seems to matter a lot more.
2) If applying a more researchy school, stop talking about clinical stuff!
3) apparently, if you have a partner applying to the same school, a professor that wants you may put in a call to have your partner's application "seriously considered"
4) if you think you blew a phone interview- you may be wrong!
5) professors get drunk during a weekend of interviews. They don't expect you to. Graduate students get drunk, they expect you to as well.
6) being a minority works in you favor- and whatever, I'll take it.
This is all very vague I know, but I don't want to put anything in jeopardy or to be honest put anything out in the universe because I might not get into any schools.
Needless to say, a small part of me is squealing. I could actually become Dr. Cruz!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Thankful for...
Well I would say I'm back from an extremely long hiatus but that would imply that I'm back...
It's more like, it's 43 degrees, I'm too cold to sleep and I decided to write.
That said, things have happened while I've been gone, many of which have kept me very busy. What have I been doing?
1) I've been taking GRE's and applying to grad schools. Almost done!
2) I've been enjoying living out of my parents house, and it does have to end and I have to move back :( I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say I can't afford to live on my own anymore
3) I've been mourning the loss of my cat :(
4) I've been dealing with hells of dental surgery, which contribute to number two
It's been a tough couple of months. The old me would hide under my covers and cry, hoping it would just end on its own. The new me did that, but only for a couple of days. And the new me has some things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
1) for my friends- through my tough time they've all really come through. Also, for making new friends!
2) for this awesome new E! show called "What's Eating You?" (seriously, it's good!)
3) For learning again how strong I am
4) for my mom
5) for (almost) being done with this grad school app stuff
6) for having medical insurance (oh boy, I really am a boring adult now)
That's all I've got for now.
oh yeah, for Turkey! and Pie :)
It's more like, it's 43 degrees, I'm too cold to sleep and I decided to write.
That said, things have happened while I've been gone, many of which have kept me very busy. What have I been doing?
1) I've been taking GRE's and applying to grad schools. Almost done!
2) I've been enjoying living out of my parents house, and it does have to end and I have to move back :( I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say I can't afford to live on my own anymore
3) I've been mourning the loss of my cat :(
4) I've been dealing with hells of dental surgery, which contribute to number two
It's been a tough couple of months. The old me would hide under my covers and cry, hoping it would just end on its own. The new me did that, but only for a couple of days. And the new me has some things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
1) for my friends- through my tough time they've all really come through. Also, for making new friends!
2) for this awesome new E! show called "What's Eating You?" (seriously, it's good!)
3) For learning again how strong I am
4) for my mom
5) for (almost) being done with this grad school app stuff
6) for having medical insurance (oh boy, I really am a boring adult now)
That's all I've got for now.
oh yeah, for Turkey! and Pie :)
Thursday, June 17, 2010
After
It’s been a while since I studied.
I mean really studied
The books sit on a table that isn’t even mine in a foreign room
But I still read
Sometimes my own poetry
Sometimes yours
I realize its edges are yellowing and it looks like one of those old withering photographs
Or a flower so falling off its stigma
One touch- disintegration
The words are old and decaying and it’s quite miraculous that it’s only been a year.
Since then I’ve replaced the images in my head with real ones
And these new images are so sharp and bright, and sometimes painful
That they’ve replaced the need for poetry
Or really, it’s just that they’ve taken over any room to create it
I come home exhausted, forgetting really what it is I dreamed
Creating newer, simpler dreams
I hope she goes to her group today
I hope we can decide on a discharge plan
Let’s not have to call a code today
My stories fill up rooms with laughter, sadness, and overall amazement
And as I tell them I feel myself growing bigger and less tied down
like a balloon
Stories get reconstructed, dolled up and shiny, like a Hollywood starlet
or those bags of fake gold you get as a kid after taking that field trip to the gold mines
And I find myself asking to go back to the dream
That original one
The student one
While I get dressed and ready for another day
And at work one of the patient’s looks up, smiles, and says “Thank you”
And there’s no bigger dream in that moment than wishing that was enough
And that this image could replace last nights
In which she was strapped to the bed in restraints
and she cried out to get the fuck off her
as the janitor picked up the broken pieces of porcelain
and the children lucky enough to be on the other side of the fence
ran after the ice-cream man
I mean really studied
The books sit on a table that isn’t even mine in a foreign room
But I still read
Sometimes my own poetry
Sometimes yours
I realize its edges are yellowing and it looks like one of those old withering photographs
Or a flower so falling off its stigma
One touch- disintegration
The words are old and decaying and it’s quite miraculous that it’s only been a year.
Since then I’ve replaced the images in my head with real ones
And these new images are so sharp and bright, and sometimes painful
That they’ve replaced the need for poetry
Or really, it’s just that they’ve taken over any room to create it
I come home exhausted, forgetting really what it is I dreamed
Creating newer, simpler dreams
I hope she goes to her group today
I hope we can decide on a discharge plan
Let’s not have to call a code today
My stories fill up rooms with laughter, sadness, and overall amazement
And as I tell them I feel myself growing bigger and less tied down
like a balloon
Stories get reconstructed, dolled up and shiny, like a Hollywood starlet
or those bags of fake gold you get as a kid after taking that field trip to the gold mines
And I find myself asking to go back to the dream
That original one
The student one
While I get dressed and ready for another day
And at work one of the patient’s looks up, smiles, and says “Thank you”
And there’s no bigger dream in that moment than wishing that was enough
And that this image could replace last nights
In which she was strapped to the bed in restraints
and she cried out to get the fuck off her
as the janitor picked up the broken pieces of porcelain
and the children lucky enough to be on the other side of the fence
ran after the ice-cream man
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