Wednesday, November 9

degrees of separation

i can understand your silence.
because at times it plagues me too
filled with words i can only say in my head
words I keep thinking you already know

it happens whenever i remember the folder of pictures i can't ever open
or when wondering whatever happened to all those photos you'd taken of me

when i listen to any of the songs that don't sound the same anymore
when I pass by that bar i can't ever visit again, not even with an army of friends.

I know there was a time when you didnt exist, I just can't remember how that felt.

so now when I'm still awake at 2am
i wonder who's there to notice your sink full of dishes
or the mapped trails of spills on your kitchen floor?
who bravely sips godawful margaritas with you on warm nights
while watching foreign films on your threadbare couch
or has that too since been replaced?

just remember that even when you've come to know all their stories
none of their stories know you.

Thursday, May 5

words of a story of thousand mile stares

he played me a song on his guitar
where it had all of the elements that i love about music,
like he had written it specifically for me.
and i thought to myself – damn
this is the stuff that makes you fall in love with a person.

i need a license to revoke a void
to knot a fear, and to crush this background.
listening to these words so far in afterthought
makes me feel silly to think i was wrong
for ever thinking differently

Saturday, August 21

with the light on

i dislike your absence
more so than your complacent anxiety
that acts out plays and monologues of nothing

i dislike your vacant excuses
more so than your holding on to the past
to people that feign interest only when convenient

i dislike your vices
more so than their effect on you
they remind me of past darknesses that still haunt

i dislike your silence
more so than the truth it hides
it eats away at my trust in tiny nibbles

i dislike your apathy
more so than the coins that litter your floor
it's a ticking clock marking our differences

i dislike your desperate need for love
more so than your reasons behind it
it speaks volumes about what i fear

Friday, June 11

until i can’t and then well, i'm a story

my body woke up very early this morning.
or maybe it just never got to falling asleep
maybe it's protesting the fact that i'm no longer dreaming
when even my subconscious thoughts seem to be elsewhere.

obviously closing my eyes never makes it easier to see.
but i've always been attracted to challenges
i'm full to the brim with doubts and questions.
others reply, seemingly with the wrong answers.

everything is spilling out chances, promises and goals
both overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time.
i can't carry both our baggage when i need to travel lighter
especially when there's the weight of loss in leaving too.

the futility and frustrations of everyday life
i laugh to keep them separate from me.
while to others it may seem a sign of insanity,
it's actually the only thing that prevents it

i'm absentmindedly repurposing my expressions
through weird t-shirts and ripped jeans
i fear not the erosion or what they expose
it's my choice of souvenir from the weight of the truth

flexibility gives us the ability to not to break.
anything that has no mobility will not stay whole for long.
so there's a tilted bottle of irish whiskey against my lips
to help ease the doubts and soften the blow of your lies
there's a string of secrets written in the lines of my own palm.

Thursday, May 20


i come from the cracked hands of men who used machetes to uncover the fruits of their labor,
from the sweat that collected on their backs in the burning afternoon sun

i come from the skirts of women who carried jugs of water on their heads like an art form,
barefoot on dirt roads, with babies strapped to their chests

i come from sunday morning church sessions with the family singing hymns that never forget,
from where prayers of forgiveness are passed down like family heirlooms

i come from the cloud of smoke from a lit worn pipe,
from the melancholy sounds that come from stringing a sturdy guitar,
from the smooth trails left by sips of good whiskey
even from the hidden stitches in a pair of handmade shoes.

yet every day the muscles in my jaw tighten, swollen with unspoken words of where i've come to.