Poetic Response # Turtles All The Way Down

"I took his hand and part of me wanted to tell him I love him, but I wasn't sure if I really did. Our hearts were broken in the same places. That's something like love, but maybe not quite the thing itself."

--John Green.

(Turtles all the way down)

I mean…

No, what I really mean is so far so good.

No tears being shed,

No deep awkward silence,

not yet,

Hopefully not ever.

Take a deep breath in,

slowly let it out,

regulate your heart rate

don't let him know-how…

how excited yet

equally mortified you are.

So far so good, 

I mean 

I'd eventually have to remove my Band-Aid

and 

get vulnerable again. 

Pretty sure he feels the same way, 

yet, 

looks distracted. 

Could it be that he's given himself the same lame excuse for a pep talk? 

Hey, 

that means 

I'm not the only one who's nervous here? 

Calm down, 

breathe, 

The girl breathes in and out,

think of something else. 

Let him know he's not alone. 

I put my hand on his and smile, 

he smiles back... 

But only half one,

a shy one, 

an "I know what you're trying to do, but thank you anyway" smile.

I mean... 

What else can I do, 

I mean I really into this day. 

Wait... 

This is a date right? 

I'm not too high-strung, 

I'm not forcing myself on you... 

Am I? 

Stop worrying no panic attacks. 

Breath... 

He suddenly Smiles, 

my heart stops, 

my worry stops, 

my short-lived pending attack also stops,

hell the world around us, 

the Earth's rotation, 

the people that surround us disappear and stop, he turns towards me and 

lightens the mood. 

He squeezes my hand 

and my cheeks turn red 

our hands intertwined 

and our lips slowly, 

tenderly get intimate. 

What was I worried about? 

Breathe, 

don't breathe so hard, 

don't hold your breath. 

Enjoy

Our lips grow 

further and further 

apart my eyes are still closed 

yet 

I feel his eyes lingering 

and 

admiring my hot pink cheeks 

and with my cloud 9 smile.

I open my eyes to only think 

that I will wake up from a dream, 

but

quickly and pleasantly proven wrong. 

I don't know how to handle it. 

I almost forgot how to 

and

that I needed to breathe. 

Take a deep breath in, 

let it out slowly, 

not all at once. 

Give your lungs a chance to do what they need, 

give your life a chance to heal before you get too excited. 

Give him a chance to make up his mind, 

make sure this is what he wants. 

So you know for sure this won't last long. 

Don't worry,

don't allow lingering thoughts, 

breathe and enjoy. 

Understand that you are not the only one who's been hurt in the past. 

Acknowledge that though it's not the same. 

But. 

It stung like a branding iron in the same place. 

Cause

in a way 

the two of you didn't get 

branded, 

the two of you can't just wake up 

and forget the pain. 

Just understand the slow and steady wins the race. 

Breathe, 

not too hard, 

not too fast. 

So far so good... 

Breathe.

Casualties

Casualties are often hard to avoid.

Starting strong in life,

soon after middle school ends.

You either

become one yourself

or

you took part in turning 

someone into yours.

Every argument,

Every ill-mannered comment or remark,

Every broken heart 

results in an inevitable casualty.

Pretty much

every situation

ends with casualties left behind.

The intentional situations

like a shootout with victims already

in mind

ends with the most and 

is usually commented by a casualty themselves.

The non-deliberate situations

in my opinion, 

are the worst.

Still committed by casualties themselves,

However,

this time

their mouth like guns

just accidentally fired off and

severely wounding another person.

Now like blood leaving wounds,

tears are leaving their eyes,

in big uncontrollable, unstoppable globs.

Unlike wounds,

time isn't always to help heal.

No,

instead of gotten gauze,

time alone,

time to heal,

time without closure

is like a branding iron

to the wound,

while the brain is hot-wired to an

aux cord

constantly replaying

the reminder of why they're no longer

seated safely on the bench

out of the way,

but

Yet make dab in the middle of the war

no one knew was even taking place.

Now when you look outside

you see the casualties and 

the casualty manufacturer.

You see your people in front of the gun and the one pulling the trigger.

You see the aftereffects in the fear of the casualties rebelling.

You see it, 

You watch it,

You're apart of it,

Yet,

you have enough courage to dream to be above it.

Casualties

they're extremely hard to avoid.

Either it's you who become on or it's

someone else who becomes yours.

Either way,

it's inevitable. 

Zen

Zen is,

me standing in the meadow 

being close to my

Grandmother again,

talking with her,

being with her.

Zen is,

the morning cup of coffee,

you didn't spend an arm and a leg to get.

It's that fresh caffeine

that you inhale with every sip.

Zen is the

good morning kiss

the baby sunlight gives you,

the morning dew on the grass while 

you leave for work,

the hesitant patience you feel in traffic.

It's the lullaby

you start to hum to yourself

when you get made

Or

when a young one scrapes their knee.

Zen

Is zen

the word you've based

this poem on

yet

you already knew that.

It's the being super in touch,

in touch with life

in touch with feelings and emotions.

Zen

is the compassion

that's felt between two

that are in love.

Zen is that love.

Zen…

In the simplest metaphor

resilience, everyone, needs.

Zen is the joy

that's felt when test grades come back good,

low grades come back high

And

high grades stay that way.

Now you define Zen

Here's the Thing About Being in Love

Here's the thing

about being in love.

It's only true love

when both people feel

the same thing and 

lately

I've been second-guessing myself and 

self-conscience 

to the point

I'm procrastinating 

amongst other things

to spend time with ya,

when all we do is stare.

For all the staring we do,

it makes me wonder

if my eyes could speak,

   What stories would they tell?

Maybe,

we'd ask the same questions.

Maybe,

they'll say 

all the words I can't bring myself to put into words.

They'd probably the glory it is to be in full focus

with you being in the mainframe.

Maybe,

they ask when will things between us be different?

By different,

I mean finally finding the answer

as to how much more

of myself

is gonna have to be given as hush money,

as payment for my silence.

How much more

of myself is gonna have to be given

to help keep silent around you.

Cause the silence I feel isn't always forced,

it's more like wanted,

more likely on my end than anything, but

I tell myself it's what's best for us cause it'll ruin the mood, 

it'll disrupt any chances 

I have for us to get

past base one.

 Here's the thing about being in love.

It

never really stops as love,

yet

it slowly drifts you down

a peaceful and quiet time past

where that's all you think about.

It's almost kielbasa you stalk love

or 

it's the other way around, but

what difference does it make?

You don't know

nor 

do you really care,

but 

that's fine with you.

Here's the thing about being in love.

It's completely cool,

nerve-racking at first,

but cool.

Yet,

turns damn right Scary

when you make the discovery

the other person like you back.

Your heart goes into shock,

therefore 

the whole body follows behind.

Trailing behind infant-like little hatchlings

who's imprinted.

Here's the thing about being in love,

once it ends,

it doesn't really end.

No,

it never truly ends.

The reminisce stays behind,

bouncing between the freshly hallowed walls of your heart.

Giving you empty high hope that

it's not really over, 

that it's only just saying goodbye to return shortly, but

chances are it's just a dead deal, but neither you nor your heart is willing to

give that any thought,

any attention.

Here's the thing about being in love,

you sit there in random spots.

Writing endless poems,

other than you're in love. 

As a matter of fact, there are three types of love.

The love

where both of you have metal feelings.

Love,

that only you acknowledge and

the other person is completely oblivious to it.

Then there's

the love where you're in Love and 

the other person know,

but

is just there.

Like nails

dining deep into a chalkboard

yet

the squealing never stops.

The silence

is the nail after a while and

the

chalkboard ends up being the heart.

The words that are left to say

is limitless, but the speechless are numerous.

Love is weird, but so are dreams,

which this is,

when am I gonna wake up 

or

am I already awake?

My heart's gulp over sips of Love

My heart's pist, telling you I love you supposed to be the perfect fix.

Yet, now
My speechlessness seems to be another dead end.
So now my heart has to fend for itself
or learn to bend to your will.

Ya, see,
love & I
never seemed
to be on the same page.
But nowadays since you sloped the cracks I can't wait to see the
better days.
When ya get in one knee &
tell little old me
exactly how ya really feel.
So my burdened
anxiety
can step my heart from hardenin'.

See you make me wanna
harmonize
make my mouth sync up &
tell you,
What my heart wants ta declare.
Yet,
to do that
I'm gonna have to synchronize and my 

My heart, mind and soul alike might have ta prepare.

You got those bunnies stuck in my head,

Yet, but these part ain't fucking funny

when my heart's that bunny and

it's hoping,

skip,

skipping beats

cause at ties it's like

you're sending out a battalion

not considering

You're outnumbering my fleets.

Heart's got, soldiers

ready to protect,

yet

when you're around all hands on deck loses composure.

Dude, I get it

a shotgun like heartbreak, 

I read it.

Yet,

dude forgets it.

cause you came around

You freed me and I had to get formated.

I used to not believe in love, used to view it as pity.

All these little cliches full of people who's

mind and soul never really clicked. 

Never. checked into reality 

cause some know far too well that

heartbreak ain't fucking pretty.

I'm laying' on my bed,

the bed that allowed,

me to rest my head

each time felt weak.

But every time

I came to that conclusion

life started to seem a little bleak.

Cause I was afraid to be me 

and let my heart leak like the faucet structure

my heart is.

Never really restocking

my heart's overwhelming ability

to see

who I see

yet

feel what eyes can't seem to believe.

Before you.

It was just me and the monsters under my bed.

The daily feelings 

of those self-conscience villains

keeping me awake.

No kudos to you 

for being one of a few.

A dime of a dozen

that doesn't keep me fussing'.

No, you put my worrying to rest.

Now I'm just hoping

this love you're making me feel ain't just a test.

God knows

that I pray

for what's best in my life.

Yet,

every time thing gets hard, like a lucky ladybug charm

you heal the haters hatting wounds

straight from their knife making me wanna sit still to be your wife.

Sit still and listen

when I'm talking to ya

the school now in session.

Cause Cupid's

out on the loose,

but

love ain't gonna make me 

out to be stupid.

As I'm writing this the ink turns to blood. 

Flown from the top of the bruises

love from the past has included 

like a buy one get one.

Yet, 

in must of the case

I didn't ask for the one in the first place 

so why am I forced to pay?

The words I'm written 

are out there slain'

doing my heats dirt work,

but for me not telling you this ain't work.

For me this is it

cause if you 'No"

all the words

I'm still gonna have left to 

say ain't gonna fit,

bro, I gonna

have to make 'em fit. 

Cause my heart

Can no longer

continue to take a hint if the hints that you're hitting at like a baseball ain't

permanent.

How will I survive this?

Pink

Pink.

The color pink. 

That's all people think of when the four simple letters are said together as

one word…

Pink.

Pink, 

yet nobody sees

the chaos that the boundaries 

that might with or 

based off of what others say follows with pink and 

wearing it. 

To some to wear pink equals

a vagina,

boobs or simply put being a female,

having a boyfriend,

going through a week or at times a month

of blood pouring out you vagina

like red Kool-Aid out of a pitcher.

But yet, it is not the cause of the silent war

that goes inside of a man

before he decides to become a woman.

To become perfect 

as if we're perfect.

Pink. 

The store-brand pink. 

That's what people think of 

along with the older sister company, 

lingerie availability,

condom needing,

sex provoking, 

the necessary peevish definition of beauty teaching, 

the store where 

The Devil Wears Prada 

leaped onto like a flea 

when people my age and in my generation 

who don't know a damn thing about Prada 

went to think it makes them look cute. 

Just by wearing a bra or pair of underwear.

Always pure intentions come to keep that mindset,

 thinking I'm never going to show it, 

to only meet this cute boy that makes you want to show it, 

Victoria's Secret, 

you knew it;

but why do you keep it a secret?  

When the four simple letters that were

once pure like Snow White in my book when said together as one word. 

Pink. 

Pink.

The holiday of 

Easter bunnies or cupid on a shooting spree makes me self-conscious all of a sudden around you. 

You want to get me a box of chocolates because life is like a box of chocolates according to Forrest Gump. 

My one to get you a watch. 

Us wanted to spend money on each other, though

we normally don't say 

more than a high any other day, 

or kids sitting around a table and their Sunday's best 

dying regular boiled eggs or egg hunts in the backyard. 

That's all

people think of when the four simple letters are said together in one word. 

Pink.

Pink.

Yet nobody sees 

the two women 

I love more than anything in my whole life. 

Yes my mother the woman who birthed me, 

put up with me, 

just has stayed beside me longer than anyone has. 

I see my great- grandmother,

The woman that’s no longer here,

Who’s in a better place,

Who id wished I sat there at my graduation,

Which I know she was, but

That doesn't mean

I couldn't have hoped to see her.

God, I want to see you here so much.

The woman who birthed the woman before my mom.

Pink.

Pink.

I think of the damn

five years of my life once I got into school questioning myself. 

If I had the right to wear pink. 

See outside of my dad, 

I thought ho society wanted me to think. 

ONLY FEMALES WEAR PINK! 

Yet when I walked into the door people took a gun to that quota’s head and shot it nine times. 

Nine times like I was a cat that just wouldn't die. 

Nine times, one for each of the classes

 I took each day.

P.I.N.K.

Pink

when I think of these four 

letters I think of my favorite color, 

the only color 

I fell in love with like 

my first love 

Like a mother and a child after it came out 

of her womb after nine months.

The color other than 

giving the alternative for others

 to call me a fag or a pig 

cause I snot when I’m happy.

It's given me the insight to know…

to know I'm not white,

that I'm light skin,

that I'm black and 

the only way that I'll ever turn pink

is if you get down and dirty

with me

cause my outside appearance

It isn't the only thing that's pink.

Pink,

nobody stops and think,

nobody stops to signifies

the pain and altercations

that place with me every time I wake up,

every time gets hard for me.

Pink,

is the color of the pillowcase

I cried into

every night off and on

from 2012 till now

when I think I can't do anything and 

wanted to give up.

It's the color of the scissors

I keep looking at

the first time

I wanted to end my life.

Pink was the color of the pushpin

I thought would

Take my mind off of

the current pain

that is the local water

dripping off of the icicle

in the back of my mind

every time I feel anguish.

Pink.

Is the color my aura

if that even existed.

When I think of pink. 

I think of what I see when 

I go to my own funeral and spirit. 

It's the color of the dress 

I want to be buried when I die. 

I wanted to be the color of your roses 

I want to hold on the day of my wedding. 

Pink. 

When I think pink 

I think of the man I love. 

The first person I'm sure this poem with now. 

Pink. 

When I think of pink 

I'll now think of this poem. 

The 223 and counting different lines, 

the 10 and counting different stanza, 

the 1216 and Cutten words. 

Pink. 

Now hopefully when you think of 

pink 

You'll Think of Me.