Exasperation is the new season, flaunting it around instead of holding it inside.
Yes, these bags under my eyes are designer.

Help arrives in the nick of time, losing your unfiltered mind.
Bricks thrown, all sorts of sizes, too. Collecting and building, haunting your shrine. Hovering above is my denial. It reminds me why what I experience is such a trial.
Such a set back, run another lap. Farther and farther away…
Introduce me to the style.
Expired ideas are lightly sketched.
I gave up my sight of fashion when pressure popped out my eyes.

There was once,
A pretty colour, so vibrant as it attempts to bleed itself
out in your name. A petty tyrant, in whose talons your life and death
are gripped.  Caressed even, by the sharp attack of an avatar of self-importance.

"Speak back to me!" it screams as if a trap. This may be a dangerous p0rtal
towards necessary frequency.
Maybe,
The moment can speak
if you let it.
Jump in.

OH! To tune in when someone is trampling
bringing such impetuous force to the fore-
-play. Such violent noise, hastily moving towards
your space.  All of this reminding
of control,
blessed like a desert rain.

However such patience is not easily bled from this raging heart.  What then is
forbearance in the face of such solid, personable disgust attempting so sanguine a victory?

The room, though it is darker
now.  If you're careful
you might see the outline of the colour's scream;
A sin wave sculpted in fury
and projected in great hurry, as if a fisherman stumbling
to throw his last net around a future pet.

Though at this moment, you are
patient

as the hidden moon behind the clouds
waiting in simple joy happily holding its light back
until timing,
such a beautiful quality
governing the release of all

makes it’s move.

In this room, while the colour is fading to grey-scale
you make one last attempt to scale the dam

constructed as it was through control, discipline and forbearance
searching as if you had eternity

for the Achilles heel of the pinches tiranitos,
knowing that time is the gate of that dam.

If you focus ******* the stone
you might be able to read

The mossy inscription, round
about the frame's border.

"Don't worry
Mama gonna
wash it
all away."

Your steps

Soft.

Each an embrace,
as you walk

towards the setting sun.
Waiting for time
to end.

To the me who was young and didn't think it would get better,
It is to you that I write this heartfelt letter.
Thank you for holding on when things were rough,
It just proves that you are insanely tough.
Thank you for being so level headed,
I know there were many times that you surely dreaded,
But keeping a clear mind,
Shows that you are one of a kind,
And not much can over take you.
No matter how blue,
You feel,
There are a few things I know to be real,
You are kind, funny and smart,
And you have a pretty big heart.
Although sometimes it doesn't feel okay,
Please know that it will one day,
Because you cannot grow with just all rain.

Sé que escondes bajo esas lindas risas,
conozco el sufrimiento de ocultar un dolor insoportable,
son mil penas y un corazón que han hecho trizas,
pero te escondes bajo una sonrisa que te vuelve inconsolable

Que más quisiera que curarte con abrazos,
Sin embargo es difícil incluso hablar de amor,
y aunque quiero pegar todos los pedazos,
me es imposible pues a mi también me queda solo dolor.

Por eso no me arriesgo con las palabras,
y aunque mi sueño es darte el paraíso,
las promesas vanas cortan como dagas,
no te puedo tener esperando por siempre, sumiso.

Y sin embargo te amo y me duele soltarte.

I drowned all my memories of you,
and let them drift to the bottom;
sea foam bubbled as you sank, and the thick green froth gurbbled when you plunged-
into the abyss, my cavern of exile.

I had to **** you so I could live;
but the fish, too, became intoxicated,
and so they were gone; crushed coral littered your descent into the black ink, to the places my mind won't reach.

My feet placed firmly, barefoot, caloused, in the chilled sands of time,
watched the water go still, and the sounds of life, birds, and the wind ceased, all the while the salty smell of defeat rest across the monotone blue.

I had to **** you.

we all would like to sit upon a balcony,
overflowing with leafy companions,
and look out into the city, absently,
at the skyscrapers that fill the canyons;

and we all would like to float upon dark blue seas,
our tanned backs skimming the cool blue,
the sun's golden locks tickling our faces like a tease,
and, blissfully, there is nothing to do;

of course, we all would like to laugh uncontrollably,
with our beautiful friends with wild, beachy, bronze hair
and with bejeweled fingers that hold onto ours tightly,
while the loud sounds of the living city permeate the azure air;

nevertheless, we all would like a dark, rainy evening,
our warmth exponentially increased by a knit turtleneck,
and above, the moon emanates its blue light, pale and pleasing,
while we read a book about chance meetings, secret gardens, and a car wreck;



we all would like beautiful things, but life is more meaningful with the untimely thunderstorm, the unwanted acne, the enraging traffic ticket, unexpected endings, and much needed beginnings;
we all would like to not be alone in these things,
and we never need be alone in these things.

He travels in scarlet,
A scarlet shirt for all the fears.
He would go around and smile at all of you,
He may shake your hand,
And hope the tremors beneath his skin are hidden from your dry palms.
For even though he looks you in the eye,
He is afraid, always, since whenever,
Frightened, petrified, secretly exuding panic.
But this little boy, the one in red,
Was brave enough to face all of you,
For touching you may mend,
That part inside his mind that chokes,
At every bit of human contact,
Ever since that first night of contamination,
When red had become bad on his sheets,
When a candle was lit, slowly,
And he was made to watch as it burns,
And feel, and see, and scream,
But as the flame, over the years, slowly fade,
Another creeping memory,
Edges long since frayed,
A battle raged inside him,
And he told me,
"I will fight,
For tommorow and hope,
For the sunrise and heat,
But of all things,
I will fight for that smile you'll give,
When you see me cured,
I will fight for that hug,
And all our nights."
I have our hope,
And I will wait and watch,
As he touches you and grin.

It never stops pouring over you.
I've noticed that, in spite of everyone calling you beautiful,
the feeling never rang true to you.

I met you a little over a year ago,
and I had never believed in love at first sight.
But when I saw you awkwardly smiling at nothing,
and heard you giggle at the sound of my jokes,
I couldn't help but feel like I had done something right.
I couldn't help but feel I saw something to love in those eyes.

It took me a little over half a year to build the courage to talk to you.
You see, it wasn't the distance of you being across the class that stopped me.
The devil on my shoulder pulled my strings until I was able to break free.
And I've never had a regret as strong as not talking to you sooner.
The sun suddenly shined brighter and the flowers bloomed in color.
My stutter stopped choking me and my confidence grew like you planted a magic bean in it.

However your view wasn't all sunshine and rainbows.
Your everyday battles were there as inevident as they were.
The naked eye could not see it as hard as they tried,
yet I found myself straining my eyes to see.
I couldn't give you my happiness.
My once clammy hands could not transfer my feelings of joy.

I came to find out about your last love.
How you came out of your shell and he rejected everything about you.
He rejected every aspect of you and left you alone.
My only job now is to be the mechanic, the tuner, the love of your life.
Your broken heartstrings, in disrepair needed artisan hands to fix them;
however, my amateur hands did their best.

Little do you know, you fixed me.
Our rainclouds vanished together in unison.
My simple vocabulary can't find the words to describe you, my love.

But please believe me when I say you're beautiful.