Love, as I've come to know, is  a shapeshifter
every time I experience her she is in a different form
but there is always some semblance of nostalgia every time
I used to think every new love would be my last
and figured that every past love was a misunderstanding of the term
but I've come to realize that every love will be different
every love teaches me new lessons
and I could not be more grateful for what she's taught me

I must be allergic to you
every time you come near me I swear
my stomach starts doing somersaults
My palms grow slick with perspiration
and I start to asphyxiate on fantasies of you
Surely I must be allergic
Why else would my eyes water at the thought of losing you
why else would I hold onto hope like an epi-pen that you are meant for me?

I don’t know what it was about you that
made my soul easy
I trusted you with the deepest pools of me
I did not know myself.
Underwater cave exploring is a dangerous
profession,
And I am so lucky that you feel bold enough
Crazy enough
Trust in me enough to do so.
It’s not easy to show others these parts
of me
To know me is to spend years on a puzzle
only to have that dreaded last piece go
missing.
Only my solution isn’t as beautiful as
slowly building art
And it’s much more time consuming.

    --Letting people close

It should have been easy
I shouldnt have had that unsettled feeling in my stomach when kissing you
And honestly I really don't
But the thought of anything else makes me uneasy
I'm attracted to you
I'm comfortable with you
So why can't I make myself go further?
I thought it was just that I hadnt found the right person
Or maybe we just hadn't been together long enough
Or that my religious upbringing caused me to have an avoidance to ***
Some psychological training in the back of my mind telling me I would be shunned from God
I never understood cheaters
How *** could be so tempting
How anyone could get addicted to it
How random hook-ups and one night stands were the norm in our world
I am out of place here
It's not like I dont want to have that connection
I just don't feel the drive
Then I thought it was my medication
But I realized long before the chemistry in my brain was artificial that I wasn't intrested in the ****** acts most people were
And to be honest even when I am in the act, I dont really have a drive
Never felt the need to ******
Always focused on satisfying the other partner
Because this was a relationship and it's what I'm supposed to give and I dont want to keep that from them
It causes strain in them
Causes a distance that I dont feel is there
For a long time I thought I was broken
Now I know for sure that I am
But I want you to feel secure,
So I'll fake it again and again
Let you do to me what I have no interest in
Maybe this time will be different.

We she ran into my store begging for a hedgehog I didnt know how much she'd affect my life
Over time she became a regular
A familiar face to chat with semi-awkwardly because I'm still on the clock and doing my job but I'm lonely and dont have friends and I want to be yours
We bonded and exchanged numbers
Eventually we hung out nearly weekly on our so called dates
Painting pottery
Getting tattooed
Going shopping
All the things we said we'd do with our boyfriends but they never wanted to
I saw you blossom
I saw you grow
I knew the most complex things about you but if someone asked me your favorite color I would have to make a guess
It's somewhat comforting to know the trivial things dont hold much weight with us
Our friendship was deep from the start
You're moving now
Hours away
And I'm still trying to come to that realization that I'll be alone once again
I've never really had friends before
I say I do but when you get down to it it's just me, myself, and I
You wedged your way into my solemn trio
Thank you for running into my store that day
I'm sorry we didn't have hedgehogs but I'm glad you came.
I'll miss you when you're gone, but I'll visit I swear.
After all, we never did get to go rollar skating and my skates are still waiting in my car.

The only steady thing in this world is the fire in yourself--
A burning, constanly flickering flame refusing against all odds to die out
You are here
You are burning

It starts here with your hand gripping the bottle too tightly
It ends with stained hands
Impulse
Mania
Change
For now this will do.
A small semblance of control back over your life.
It will satisfy for a bit until it washes out
And the stains are slowly lifted from your hands
New skin cells replacing the old
And you'll be back here again in time
Gripping a bottle too tightly
Breathing in fumes too precariously
Listing to music too loudly
Chasing a minuscule sense of control and steadiness and power and change
And change

--Dying my hair

The worst birthday present I ever received
Words my sister says to me
End of August never belonged to me
It belonged to my sister, a day after mine yet two years older
It belonged to my cousin a year older same day
It belonged to my other cousin four days before mine
It belonged to my cousin younger but died of leukemia before childhood could end
My birthday has never belonged to me
It never will

I don't want to exsist for awhile
But I'm told that's suicidal ideation
And I realize time again that yes I have depression
I want to call into work sad
Tell them I cant do this today
Or any day for that matter
That my brain is missing chemicals here and has too many chemicals there and it makes me exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally
But I can't call into work sad
I can't take a personal day to not exsist
There are jobs to be done and people counting on me
Ironic that anyone would when I cant even count on myself
How could I ever explain that I fight every day with a body that doesn't want me to exsist
How do I explain that showing up to work took more energy than my coffee fueled brain has
How do I explain that while I dont want to die,

I dont want to be.

There was a time I was drowning--
screaming--
air filled bubbles rising to the surface
until the darkness took over;
after awhile I found a cave,
an underwater haven where I could breathe
alone:
hidden

I managed some days to float--
aimlessly--
there in the dark;
it was cold,
and lonely;
the saltwater mixed with the tears
I didn't know I was crying;
I managed to dredge back to the cave

I was always waiting for something--
change,
light,
a hand,
but there was nothing but more darkness as far as I could see:
no way out,
the water too deep

I decided one day to take a chance--
to swim--
further than I ever had before;
up to the surface I was sure was there,
and if I drowned in the process, well
--I had already been drowning--

I was soon running out of air--
my chest burning--
I thought that:
surely this was the end

Then, a hand grabbed mine

a sudden pull

I was ****** to the surface


I saw the light for the first time in years,
and I breathed clean air into my lungs;
I stood on stable land;
I learned to walk again without the flow of water pushing against my chest

This was new--unfamiliar--
fear mixed with anticipation:
the promise that I could breathe easy again,
walk among the light,
float without sinking

It's still new--
still frightening--
but I am trying,
and I am healing,
the pruning of my fingers slowly dying down--
the salt in my chest no longer as coarse--
the darkness not nearly as daunting

I hate the way we teach English in schools
it's so structerd
and rigid
and every paper is a carbon-copied version of a paragraph template we all learned in the fourth grade
I wish I could break that system
show students its okay to use personal pronouns and to stray from the example
that not every writer needs an outline, rough draft, second drafts, etc
That you can and should just sit down and write
don't think
just let the words fall from your fingers
I wish I could show students how incredible writing is
that poetry is all just big anlogies
that books give you better screen time than televison
that grammar and wordplay isn't hard if you find a love of language
I want to indulge every child that way I was with nights filled sitting in my mother's lap reading books instead of watching cartoons
I want to give every child the opportunity to grow and express themselves
I want to show people that writing can be and is so therapeutic and that paper and ink are much better listeners than most people could ever be
that words are so much more than they ever thought they were

I have loved my name and I have hated it
Hidden it; buried it; burned it
Threw it back to my parents—I did not want it
I let it fly from my lips only as a toxic poison.
Do not call me it.
A nickname then name change and I renounced what identified me my entire life
Sick of the jokes how I was so ungraceful for someone who carried that title
Sick of the smiles from strangers telling me they always wanted a daughter with my name
Sick of the expectations a name like Grace held
As I renounced my faith
Renounced my upbringing
I renounced the name that kept me tied to a life I never wanted

But I have loved my name
In its fullest, truest meaning of the term
Love to the unlovely; peace to the restless;
Love that cares and stoops and rescues
A name with such a force to live up to
I realize even when running from and hating myself,
I loved so deeply for others that I began to learn to love myself again
And maybe expectations are frightening and thrilling all the same

--I’m trying to live up to my name

It has been said tears excel as makeshift
facials
How understandably then my skin is raw

    --I haven’t cried this much in years

And eventually your name will stop tasting like poison
and your picture will no longer stab like a knife
I will be able to face you without slowly dying
Finally able to continue on with my life

broken conversation
awkward and too overly formal for both our tastes
I tried to hide my anger and pain behind politeness
feigned interest about your day and life
when really the only thing I wanted to know was how you were doing without me
you expected to do better without me
I dont think you're doing better without me
I won't say it though,
trying to give you some semblance of pride in the mess you created
in our short conversation I tried to make you feel something again for me
not love, no--
maybe something along the lines of regret and jealousy
I am doing better
I am doing fine without you
My world is moving on just like how you said yours would
I think your world is moving too
only yours is in a slow reverse
and mine is in a steady, forward pace

I wish I was someone who took risks instead of calculated safe
I wish I could be spontaneous money worthless
Instead I'm careful and blunt
I am selfish to those who don't know me well
Resting ***** face is my second name
If you invite her she will back out
we're not worth her time
my time is instead spent lying on my bed reading a book I've read a hundred times over
because leaving and doing something takes so much out of me
I can't live wrecklessly
I can't be adventerous
I am too much impulse control
here take some of mine
I don't need it
I don't want it
I don't want this

you used to tell me that you could never be certain if what I told you was the truth when I had never spoken anything to you without my soul open and exposed
My honesty was always laid out before you like an animal in a trap
wounded, hiding, scared, but utterly raw and open for the ****
In truth (if you can believe me) I am not the pathological liar everyone says I am

I know you by the state of your hands
Calloused palms and split nail beds
Your voice can grow flowers and root seeds your hands can never touch

I guess I was surprised when I met him
he often asks me what I love about him
I always feel bad because I’m never able to tell him
I’m always at a loss for words
and that’s a scary thing for a writer
it’s a terrifying thing to be completely speechless--letting the silence stop thoughts in a chokehold
letting that blank piece of paper blind you from
writing with its whiteness
it’s a terrifying thing to not know what to say
normally it all comes so naturally to me,
I’m able to create worlds with words,
but when I look at him, my mind suddenly forgets
what an article is and what an adjective does
it’s a terrifying thing, truly
but it’s a beautiful thing to feel the silence
for once instead of the constant hurricane of ideas pounding
at my skull, and I have to wonder if this is how it must be for everyone else

Walking in tap shoes on tile floors is an
excellent metaphor for life
if you’ve never attempted then you’re
unaware how thrilling and absolutely
freeing tap shoes can make you feel
suddenly your entire body is an instrument
the world is your audience
you don’t need rhythm
those who know nothing about the art
will still be enthralled by the sounds
coming from your feet
But when you walk on tiles you have to be careful
one wrong move
one miniscule shift in balance and you’ll be on the
floor accompanied by the lovely sound of metal
scarping polished tile akin to nails on a chalkboard.
On tiles you walk with care
Slipping so easily
But those sounds
The beautiful clicks as you walk
They radiate so much more power than
stilettoes on a quiet church floor.
Next time it rains listen to the drops dancing on the roof.
They perform for you.

    --They still sit in my closet

Like you my muse has been lacking; distant
Like you
My muse went from lover to friend
Upbruptly and unexpected
Like you my muse is becoming less and less of someone I know very well and very fondly and more of a tense acquaintance I pass in the grocery store with heavy eyes and a forced smile
Grocery stores are the worst though
We're always forced to meet up in a different isle
And we continue this ruse of feigned "okayness"
And you take your handfull of items and emotions to self-checkout
While I'm drowning in a cart full of ingredients I can't feasibly make a meal out of
And check out with a clerk I pay a hundred dollars every visit
And meet a nutritionist to help me shop
And you
You just get on with your life

I have a bad habit of holding on to things I no longer need
I hold onto people the same way
believe in them---
try to build them up while they break themselves down
But I'm not a contractor
I don't have a permit for this operation
I can't keep avoiding the inevitable
I hate this part
This part always comes with a goodbye

I took a shower today
a ritual I was taught as a child--
one I had abandoned long ago;
showers are cleansing and comforting
I used to not think that I deserved that
but I needed a shower today and I took one
I know it may not seem like much to you
but I am proud of myself

There's a moment every day I remember
that I'm here
phone calls and probing questions
I'm forced to face the reality of my situation it's therapeutic knowing
--the process is progress--
I may not see it yet,
but slow happenings are still happening

  --- I'll get there soon

I hold resentment towards you deep in my veins
every mention of you stirs something thick and dark--
I try to add water to thin it
the tears are never enough to smooth the churning
I feel the shame I don't believe you feel
this has become my normal
I keep trying to feel other things;
but resentment becomes anger and hurt rather than healing and forgiveness--
Still I stir

maybe it wasn't love
maybe it was the perfect illusion
one where I saw myself as someone
being capable of such a concept of love
where I saw myself happier than I really was
where I didn't make compromises for
my happiness to allow you some of yours

Maybe it was fear
the fear of being alone again
the fear that it was always me all along
who wasn't capable of making a relationship last
the fear that if you weren't the one then
there was nobody else out there that could be

And you know, maybe it wasn't love
maybe it was contentedness
the feeling that I was comfortable
so that should be enough, right?
that I should be happy with being comfortable
and not being truly happy

But maybe it was love
Maybe it was love that kept me with you
so much longer than I should have been
maybe it was love causing me to sacrifice
so much time and effort and energy into us
love causing me to think differently about my future
love making me blind to other possibilities
love making me selfless rather than selfish

So I guess I should thank you
because I've realized now that it's okay to be selfish
that I don't have to compromise to be happy
that I don't have to change my wants and
dreams to match yours
and that I can find someone who shares my goals

I can thank you for the growth
Thank you for the insight
for the days of joy
and for the nights of pain that made
those happy times even sweeter

So maybe it wasn't all love
But it was real
We were real

Growing up,
my mother always said
that life isn’t always fair.
I’ve come to realize
that this is only one of the
many lessons that I will take
away from my mother

    --But it should be

These poems of mine always seem strangled
Tangled in a web of tight vocal chords
My throat can't get the words out it needs to so my hands do their bidding instead
I guess that's why none of my poems seem happy
Those words burst from my chest like firecrackers
My laugh unsurpessesble and bellowing
Much too fast for hands to grab
Happy emotions are light and feeble. Carefree and quick
Trying to grab them is fistfuls of sand in water
But the dark
The taboo
They are much more heavy
Easier to grab
The weight of those feelings only leaving by typeface
Wet cement drying then being slowly chipped away
And I am free again

I wish my life were an etch-a-sketch
I wish I could just shake the screen
and have a blank slate
or have at least been born an
artist or a geometrist
so that my life weren't just a series of confused squiggles
because I've never been one to walk in a straight line
and I have no clue where I am or where I'm going.

I'm rocking, I'm rocking, I'm rocking
back-and-forth
and my senses are being overwhelmed
and my hands won't stop shaking
and my heart is beating loud and fast
my skin is crawling
back
forth
back
forth
I try to hum
to cancel out the quiet ringing
back
forth
my hair is touching me
my clothes suddenly feel like walls closing in back
forth
back
forth
the gentle constant motion steady
my breathing tries to mimic it
I'm rocking, I'm rocking, I'm rocking
back-and-forth

I heard just what you said
empty promises on your breath
A cup of coffee in between
I'm meeting your eyes through the steam
But it's like when I talk
I'm a coprse not a human being
Because I'm sure you heard what I said
But I can tell you don't really see me

And like you
The coffee is bitter on my tongue
I hope next time you shoot your shot
That you're the one who gets stung

I wish I could shed my skin like a snake
Maybe then I would feel content knowing
That this body has never been yours

  --The only time I was grateful for taking martial arts was when you were on top of me

I want someone to treat me the way I treat my poetry
With care--delibrately chosen words
I want someone to feel that rush of nostalgia and pride when they look at me,
The same way I feel when I read past font
I want someone to wonder what else I could mean to them, as if I am more than a passing fancy to be briefly admired and then forgotten
But then I think and remember
When I write my poetry I am enthralled, proud, captivated by it's words
I read it again until it's perfect and keep it close to my heart
And when it is finished it is done
Another page on my laptop
Another document to title and hide from the world
Another poem just like the rest
I go back and re read
More often than not forgetting the emotions that were once so strong I felt the need to make them physical
Forgetting what made that poem so special in that moment
Forgetting why I ever thought it was once one of my best now seeing that it was just okay
And it makes me wonder if I really want that at all

We have choices every day
I choose now to be better
try harder
every day I am a different person
and that used to scare me
the first step is discipline
it creates stability
here--I am fighting
my demons that only I can see
every second
every minute
every hour
I am fighting now

--when I look back I hope I like what I see

We're done, aren't we?
I've been feeling it now for a while
Too scared to let go of the one person that has been consistantly in my life that
I've been selfish
I'm sorry
But we're done aren't we?
You stopped talking to me
Say you'd rather be alone
Stopped telling me where you were going
So we're done, right?
I think I did my grieving that week you were crying and overwhelmed and I gave you some time to think about us.
I told you I'd give you some space but I'm pretty sure this is more than I bargained for
So we're done, huh?
I cant be the only one here not feeling anything
I know that you feel just as trapped as I do
And I'm tired of being emotionally used.
So we're done, aren't we?

I painted my face today and did not seek your validation
I did not think of your words telling me that I look better without it
I did not argue back saying I wore it because I liked it
We did not end the fight with me wiping my art off my skin
I wish it was because you finally learned to accept my fondness of the result
Rather than the reality that you are no longer here.

I've always been a liar. Compulsively, reluctantly, neededly, jokingly, egotistically a liar. Yet, the one I've told the most lies to is myself. I believe sometimes if you say a lie enough that sometimes it becomes the truth. I believed that if I said I'm fine enough that eventually it would come to pass. But it doesn't work. I can fool every other person on this earth, but the one person who can see through my lies is the only one I wish could believe them.

I have fallen in love, out of love, and everything in between
lately I don't know what I've been feeling
and I don't know what that means

I dont speak truthfully with my psychiatrist
The fear of mental hospitals keep my lips glued
I know that there should be somebody that I can speak to about anything
But the daunting premonition of being crazy keeps me chained in this cage of mine
These glass walls in my brain are bullet proof
No amount of "how does that make you feel" will ever break through
I want to tell someone everything
How I want to **** myself
How I have multiple ways planned out
But those plans would leave me institutionalized and the fear of that chokes down the words in my throat
I wont do it
I wont commit that taboo
But the fact that I have plans
That I close my eyes driving cars
That I see how long I can last without medication in a hospitalized withdrawal keeps me quiet
I fear to be known by my illness
By my crazy and my unpredictable
I got help once
Medication paired with therapy
And lies fighting back the truth
I wouldn't be here If my impulse control was normal
I wouldn't be here if they knew

If it was sunny outside, her eyes didn’t show it. The darkness in them was glazed over leaving every light that touched them turn to a dull void. It was as if her mind was a black hole and the opening in which it was seen was her eyes. None the less, they were beautiful. I had never noticed brown eyes to hold such beauty. I had always grown tired of mine- plain, boring, simple. Brown eyes didn’t have the many shades of blue I often found myself intoxicated with. Those elaborate patterns of greens, whites, gold, and silver hiding behind delicate lashes. Yet hers, they were so intricate. The depth at which they fell, the richness of the chocolate was like breathing for the first time. I guess I hadn’t realized how much I needed that air until I found myself drowning in her eyes. That is how I discovered love for the first time.
            She held my gaze only for a second. I guess it could have been an eternity. Time is a funny thing. It is always here, it is always gone, and it is always coming. In a way, there could be an eternity in a second. In one second life could change. I baby is born, a man has died, a new species is discovered as another goes extinct.  All I know is that in that one second, in that one, single eternity- life was changed for me.  I knew at the exact moment that I would never be the same. I had found the one person that could make my life feel meaning again, and in that moment it was taken away.
             I know that many people would tell me that I am being ridiculous. I know that they will tell me that there are so many other fish in the sea. But you see, I’m not looking for any fish- I’m looking for a clam. All I’m looking for is my simple clam, but there is the secret. When you open up a clam, there is the possibility of a gem. The most shining, pristine pearl could be waiting inside. All you have to do is find it.

  --An attempt at writing romance:
       From my high school years

I'm starting this new life
new town
new job
better fiends
I'm building myself up and you're still demanding a roof with no foundation
you're complaining about the lack of paintings but you don't have any walls to put them on
I've given you all the materials that I can
It hurts me to know that you wont be with me the same way on this journey anymore
seventeen years of growth has changed us both
and while I'm terrified to go without you
I know you will hold be back
I am excited to see how far I can go by only taking care of myself

I will always be your best friend

--I think you stopped being mine awhile ago

I'm playing Uno with God
And they keep hitting me with a draw four.

I want to pack a bag, step outside, and walk
I don’t know where—I don’t have a destination,
Never have
I just want to walk and escape life for a little while
But I can’t do that
I have bills and jobs and people and animals depending on me
I was supposed to know who I was by this point
Instead my soul endlessly wanders without my body’s company
Reaching conclusions with flawed logic
And I know healing is not linear,
But all I’ve ever done is walk forward
and I’m still unsure of where I am and where to go from here

I blame it on a lot of things
The timing was wrong
We had different goals
The spark was gone
We just weren't on the same path
I blame a lot on outside forces
I should own up though
I only spoke when spoken to
Only hung out when asked
Never me being the one to iniate contact
I distanced myself
Emotionally
Physically
Mentally
I was our ruin
As with every relationship I've been in
I am my own downfall

Call me basic white as I sip my iced coffee
and feel free to laugh at my obviously fake spray tan
this orange could never be natural anyways
I watch the hairdressers roll their eyes every time
I ask for black
It's my natural color, I promise them but they doubt me anyways
I became a guessing game for my co-workers
my ethnicity a puzzle with missing piece
I know Spanish but I'm not Hispanic
You look Arabic but that side of the world was never familiar to me
I say I am Native
Native American on my dad's side
Half my blood flows with that of my mutilated ancestors
Yet you see my white, coffee sipping lips and doubt
My skin in the winter is snow
but my nick name is at summer camp was snooki
my tan unbelievably orange
yet you wonder why red-skin is an insult
I am native and proud of my heritage
the only questions I get are about scholarships I never received
You say that I am lucky
and that I must be receiving so many benefits
I resist the urge to punch you in the face
I have received nothing from your people
and I never will