Potential Mistake

The way I move as a whole

is intentional,

and I’ve regretted

giving so much credit

to other individuals,

thinking

they move the same as me.

Not everything

everyone does means something

the way it does

when I act.

I’m purposeful and present,

while most do the bare minimum—

if they even show up at all.

They give to get,

as if love is transactional.

And perhaps to them, it is.

But mine is unconditional,

priceless,

and cannot be bought.

And I’ve sought to find the same

in people

who never meant

what I thought.

Polaroids under the palm tree

The moon bright as the sun. Sitting under the palm tree. Missed this feeling. The ocean waving to the sand. Thinking of YOU. Wishing YOU were here. Picture this.

Its simple

laying on the sand

Your softness

Those lips so caring

Tender moments

The whispers during love making

Those words

somehow mean more

Tequila breath

While we walk the pier

Make sure we keep the memories

Photographs with film

Polaroids for your office

Music playing in the background: Bad Bunny “BAILE INoLVIDABLE”, Bad Bunny “Turista”

Worn

I said yes

ninety-nine times,

but you must’ve forgotten

and clung to

the one time I said no.

So ungrateful.

Your arrogance

is unfair —

entitlement is a son of a bitch,

and it fits you well,

like a suit tailored in hell.

What is it they say?

If the shoe fits,

you wear it —

and you proved it does,

perfect like a glove.

You twisted Cinderella.

Unquenched

You cracked your cup.

Stuffing it with conquests

isn't the same as filling it up.

You can try and pass the time

with one-night stands

and easy fucks,

but we both know

it's temporary,

and it's never really enough.

Fractured chalice,

hollow victory, my friend.

Empty soul,

full bed —

overcompensation

for what's missing within.

Thirst is inevitable

when you drink from

what you won't fix.

Numb Enough

Numb, but not numb enough

to stop feeling stressed

or depressed—

but numb nonetheless.

It’s time

to reassess,

because in the process

of pursuing

feeling something—

anything at all—

I’ve been making fast,

rash decisions,

doing whatever feels good

in the moment,

only to end up reflecting,

wondering

if I’m just being reckless,

trying to feel something

through the numbness—

even to my detriment,

like swimming

tied to blocks of cement.

Poetic Irony

I lost myself

in loving you.

I’ll find myself

in losing you.

Poetic irony —

it’s how we excuse our foolishness.

We use pretty words

to romanticize pain,

so it isn’t in vain

and agony has its purpose.

Because the alternative is

admitting

it was all for nothing —

it has to mean more.

We have to have learned from it.

The Other Shoe

It’s rare that I have them—

those small, stolen

moments of release.

But then again,

it never ceases

to amaze me

that they’re over

as soon as they begin.

I tell myself, be present.

Don’t waste time

focusing on the wrong things.

But I can’t stop

thinking of what comes next.

It’s almost impossible

to enjoy what I know

will be short-lived.

Even if I wanted to,

even if I tried,

and I do,

sometimes I’m lost

in that short-term bliss,

nonetheless,

the whole time

I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop

Collateral Damage

Hurt people hurt people—

but I’m always the one

hurt by the hurt person.

And I just absorb it,

as if the result

is somehow my fault—

for not only accepting it

but perpetuating it.

Because I have my moments,

despite my effort to do better.

I am magnificently flawed,

I know.

Still, I have this

unadulterated urge

to love the unlovable.

Minefield

I am a minefield

at your hands.

Buried mines

in mine —

and you can’t seem to understand

why I’m a mess.

Tiptoe cautious,

I’m just as surprised when one goes off.

There is no map;

I guess with each step,

still healing from the last,

only theoretically prepared for the next.

And you- the audacity-

to actually

be mad at me

when I react

to a bomb you set.

Blissful Ignorance

I’m merely shadowy remnants

of what once was blissful ignorance.

Pessimism hardly defines

the darkness that’s swallowed up

my positive perspective.

What I wouldn’t give

to get it back —

to see through those

rose-colored glasses again,

to believe everything happens

for a reason.

Back to blind faith,

the benefit of the doubt,

to second chances.

I rarely give

first chances now.

The In Between

I swear

you’re a bottomless pit

because I’ve been in

a constant

state of falling,

and I’ve gotten nowhere.

Is this it?

Suspended in air,

do you even notice

me there—

in that place in between

trying harder

and giving up,

amidst the abyss

of all your damages.

Again and again,

monotonous—

wash it away

with drinks.

Bottoms up.

Indifference

He asks if I miss him,

and the truth is —

I don’t have a preference.

His existence

makes no difference to me.

It’s strange how

his absence

has the same affect as his presence,

when months ago, even moments

between text messages

felt torturous.

I practically held my breath

until the next time I saw him.

And now?

Perhaps I’m numb —

or better yet, healed.

I feel

nothing,

except regret and confusion

for giving him

what he never deserved,

and wondering

how I could.

DARK @ 5PM

Cold rainy nights. We should be all over each other. Watching dusk during the fall. Our spirits deserve this. I miss your kisses. Summer full of HOPE. Now lonely afternoons thinking of what ifs. Wishing but I understand we have to move on. While it does get dark too quickly. The light will soon return.

Situationshit

Am I to settle

for whatever this is?

But I’d rather have it

than nothing...

I guess.

I’ll pretend I’m fine with it —

while secretly wishing,

but never admitting,

biding my time

in silence,

fighting my instincts.

Luckily,

I’m so gifted

at dismissing

my emotions

as if they never existed

that he’ll never notice

the difference.

So I’ll hold it in.

Stay

It’s depressing,

wrestling my better judgment

and losing—

still refusing

to admit defeat

and call it what it is—

pointless.

Did I take you on

as a project,

thinking healing you

might distract me

from the fact

that I haven’t?

I neglect my own wreckage

by trying to fix yours—

or pretending to.

I’m not even sure

what it is anymore.

Am I drawn to someone

as jaded as you

because it feels like a challenge—

as if earning your affection

could prove something,

redeem something in some way—

but it’s seeming

a lot more demeaning

than anything.

And still,

I stay.

The Cost of Creation

I was never in love with you.

My fixation was not with you.

It wasn’t that I romanticized us —

it was intrigue.

I was entranced

by what

you unmasked

in me,

slowly,

then all at once.

The loveliness

in my chaos.

The artistry

in my insanity.

“There is no exquisite beauty

without some strangeness

in the proportion.”

I embraced my distortion

like a kaleidoscope —

fragmented, but beautiful.

Nothing feeds my poetry

like ache and desire,

and you provided both.

You dragged me

to pathetic emotional lows

that burst

into powerful poetic troves.

My creative veins overflowed —

but you wrung out my soul.

The writer in me

is grateful

for the material,

despite the cost.

I am masochistically artistic,

and you —

you are the cure

for my writer’s block.

Astronomical Consequence

How can I move forward

when you are a centripetal force

you pull me

in and off course

and I am absorbed

into your atmosphere

I brace for impact

as I crash land

but I am intact

always fine on your planet

It’s only when I’ve returned to mine

that I notice the cracks

Damnit

But I come back

for more of it

circle in your orbit

aimlessly I

take the same path

the perpetual cycle

hopelessly on standby

foolishly available

waiting on the next time

your occasional boredom

has you toss me a line

and reel me back

into your gravitational pull

Slowly then all at once

I am incapable of fighting it

I plummet

to your surface

and what’s worse is

I swear

you do it on purpose

solely to see if you can

That’s not right

I fall like my wings

were clipped mid-flight

but you don’t care

despite how sad of a sight it is

You won’t acknowledge

that you caused any damages

Just because I was fucked up

before you got here

doesn’t mean

you didn’t have a hand in it

Oops

Ain't no point in

trying to define

whatever we were

it's an enigma

I figure

for the bigger picture

inflict a pain

encourage change

or that's how I justify

my wasted time

Find the silver lining

the lesson

in feeling less than

the message

in the mess of

what happens

when I reacted

to emotions

I hadn't managed

silly me

I exposed

my soul

when you only

wanted my body

PAUL & CHANI

In the desert

Sand is the landscape

Sun showers us with vitamins

Our eyes are on each other

We stay in the present

No need to thirst

The saliva from your kiss

Is enough

I know the way we met wasn’t ideal

But you showed me the way

To LOVE

To survive

Now we can save each other

Even though

The outside look at you as the side

Some sort of distraction

Look into my eyes

You are in my center of my soul

Water that pumps through my Stillsuit

My moon that comforts me during sleep

The one who watches when the enemy creeps

Love how you MOTHER

Forget titles

Our names will forever be attached to one another

Evil whispers

They better run for cover

Just know who you are

My WORLD

Vindicated

Vindication is a few

pathetic

late night texts

from you

at 2 AM

after you've been drinking

thinking and reminiscing

and regret sets in

saying all the things

I wish you'd said

when I was willing

(or more accurately)

foolish enough to believe

and me up late

not responding

or reeling

but feeling

amused

and relieved

although slightly confused

attempting to conceive

how I found you appealing

in the first place