Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

This American life.
This great life.
Let's talk about great.
This is a country where we love food, but one of our greatest dangers is obesity.

Not violence, not sickness  like cancer or AIDS or TB, but obesity.
Self-induced, wanted, not-so-desperately needed.
We **** people on sight because "he looked at me funny" and get away with it, but condemn the man who was protecting his family and for what?

The color of his skin or the language of his homeland?
Take your pick.

Oh and there's tons more too.

I was born in South Texas.
I am an American citizen,, but my roots come from Mexico.
I look like my people, I speak like them too,
but when I went up North to New York,
I felt that I wasn't wanted.
I didn't belong.

In the state of immigrants,
in the land of aliens, because the Natives were kicked out long ago,
I did not belong.
Me!
Whose ancestors had been here for centuries, whose people of South Texas have been here since before these "great states" were never great,
I do not belong on this soil.

God bless America.

Did you know that in the U.S. of A you can sell ******, which demoralizes the "sacred communities of our homes",
but two people of the same *** who love each other so deeply and passionately cannot marry for the simple fact that they will ruin our "traditional family values."

Nothing is traditional anymore and by God nothing is valued.
But **** this life.
This American life.
This great life.

Not so great after all...

It was a letter.
A middle school type letter where you had someone give it to me.
You were saying that you loved me.  
Or that you could've loved me had you not been so busy with all that was going on in your life.
How terribly tragic.

Imagine me.
Desperately pining after you,  yearning to grab your attention every time I saw you only to find that you were too busy for me.
You once said you would always have time for me
You once said you loved me.
What happened to that?

I kept that letter.
Kept it with all of the poems and notes I'd ever written for you.
They're nothing but old pictures now.
Frayed at the edges, but still full of precious memories that hurt to look at.

Now common knowledge goes to show that girls cannot makeup their minds.
This is generally true and I am no exception.
Or maybe I am.

I can never decide what I want to eat so I'll eat everything in sight,
but if you ask me what my favorite songs are,
because it can't be just one, I will list off every song that you have ever shown me
no matter how much I hated it.

My existence revolves around you,
but don't you dare **** me off because I will hate you...
for like 5 minutes.
I could never stay mad at you.

You're like school and learning to me.
I might not like it all the time,
but God do I need it to succeed.

See right now,
I'm rather ****** that you haven't spoken to me yet, but I'm always looking forward to the next reason that I have to talk to you.

It's a love/hate thing.

Or more like a "I hate to love you" thing.
but only sometimes.
I can't make up my mind remember?

Maybe you can help me out.
Let's talk it out together.
or maybe not.

Let's write each other poetry that explains how we feel.
or is that too cliche?
Oh whatever, our whole relationship is too cliche.

So maybe one day I'll tell you.
maybe one day I'll work up the lousy guts to tell you that you're all I can think about,
all I can dream about,
all I can dare to see every time I close my eyes.

Whenever people ask me what I want to do in the future
I can't give an honest answer.
I want to be a lawyer. I want to save people. I want to be a librarian. I want to save the world,
but I just can't decide.

But I know one thing's for sure.

No matter what I do or where I end up,
be it heaven or hell or anyplace in between,
I want to spend every second of everyday on this ******* up planet in this miserable, undecided, and cruel world world *with you.

I long for a way
For you to see what I see
When I look at you

To the boy with the saxophone skills,
I miss you.
I never said it and now I see that it was bad.
I hope I see you again.

To the girl who ******* me over,
******* ❤️

To my old youth leaders from church,
You left and so did I.
You might come back, but I won't.

To my sister,
Yes, I'm still *******.
I had to call 911 for you.
I'm glad you're okay.

To my first crush,
Was I too much?

To my cat,
You only like me because I feed you.
That's okay.

To the girl who is quieter than I am,
Speak up, honey.
They won't see your brilliance so make them hear it.

To the homeless man on Jackson Road,
Where are the shoes my mother bought you?

To my other sister,
You are a whirlwind of emotions.
You are amazing.
You are unstoppable.
Grow up and be unconquerable.

To the mailman,
I'm sorry that we're always ordering so many things online.
I'm sorry that they were big packages.

To the cute boy at HEB,
I know you work there.
Yes, I look for you every time.

To my cousin Denisse on my mothers side,
You're annoying.
Shut up.

To Denisse's older sister, Monica,
I'm sorry about your sister.
I'm sure you've hit her.

To my "father",
It's been years since I last saw you.
It's been years since you last stopped calling.

To my friends,
I know I'm an idiot.
I know I'm sarcastic.
I know I can be mean, but trust me, I don't mean it.
Please forgive me.

To the man at the post office,
Get over it.
It's your job.

To my 7th grade Texas history teacher,
You taught me the meaning of sarcasm.
I have yet to perfect it.

To my 9th grade history teacher,
You were the sweetest teacher I have ever had.
You taught me the meaning of procrastination.

To my best friend,
You are my soul mate and will always be my better, whiter half.

To my brother,
You might think that I hate you, but trust me.
I don't.

To my stepfather (the second one),
You were always my favorite one.

To the stray cat that attacks mine,
Go away.

To the missing sock that always stays lost,
Where have you gone and how can I find you?

To my UIL Ready Writing sponsor,
I enjoyed spending those Saturdays with you.
You taught me where the word "*******" came from.
Thank you.

To the boy that my best friend dated for a while,
She did like you, I promise.
Her love was just too strong and burned way too fast.
Better luck next time.

To the computer-programming textbook that I've had under my bed for a year,
I don't regret that decision.

To my mother,
I love you.
Thank you for raising me the way you did.

To the kids who skipped and smoked at school,
How I wish I could join you.

To the Bowery Poetry Club in New York City,
One day I will go back and you will be open and I will perform.

To the boy I love,
I hope that one day you find someone that you love as much as I love you.
*I hope it's me.