Small Voices

 Small voices,

even smaller secrets 

hidden in constellations.

Short stories,

of an unknown past,

one that’ll lead us 

to a future

none of us

has yet matured enough

to be able to claim.

Sacred poetic poems

all captured in the eyes 

of the starry night skies

bestowed upon one special person.

Last night’s whispered words

left me saying prayers 

like a child making wishes

blown into the wind &

on the backs of dandelion seeds.

Sometimes,

nothing feels real

a daydream 

you take part in,

while the truth is

others testify that life’s a test,

make one wrong move & 

there’ll be no recovery from it.

Take things in strides, but 

don’t forget to read the fine print.

Make a mistake, but

remember to learn from them all.

Small voices speak wisdom 

into the air, you breathe,

don’t regard it for the air full of pollution,

with the gibberish, 

your peers advertise to you as knowledge.

Remember it’s a life we all take part in.

Small Voices of Elegance

I guess you can say 

I want to be like her,

my mother,

fill in all the gaps in my life 

she wanted me to fill,

put my foot down & 

try as hard as she always 

wanted me to.

I guess you can say

I’m the result of all her prayers,

the dreams 

she always had, but

never got the chance to see it happen.

My mother, 

the author of

every poetic piece of wisdom I have & grew up

repeating like mantras,

all short stories mirroring 

the light of mother’s poetic poems

lives on while I stand in the mirror 

reciting them like chants,

cheering on my favorite team.

I guess you could say

that I was always the team 

my mother cheered for &

that I was her favorite,

so therefore

by cheering myself on 

using her own words of wisdom

I’m still able to root for the home team.

I’d like to think

that someday

I could be more like her,

someone who showed pure elegance,

intelligent beyond her years,

an ability to forgive and forget

while not forgetting where she came from &

being proud of it,

all of which are qualities I lack.

Small voices whispering

secret constellations,

her sacred jewels shining brightly

to remind me she’s never too far away

always & forever in the night skies.

captured in the eyes 

of the moon’s daughter

mental polaroids 

forever cherished in the keepsake 

my mother had always held dearest,

left here saying prayers 

like princesses making wishes on the evening star or

when I was a child frolicking in a field of dandelions

whispering all my wishes that were too heavy

for the stars in the sky 

with even the strongest glow

blowing them into the wind

hoping their seedling angels would

hear & grant them.

I guess you can say

because of her

my mother

I’m able to see the world

as it could be,

a daydream 

that she took part in that & 

I am taking part in,

that you can take part in.

 

A Forgotten Queen, That Wears no Crown

She has the devil inside of her,

her anger would be

a taunting red fire

leaving no room for any other emotions

to extinguish the flames,

leaving the anger to consume her internally.

She holds herself like a queen,

a forgotten queen,

but she wears no crown,

the respect she craves

with no real reason why she needs it

if she feels better off alone,

looking at the world

from the bottom of a spyglass,

all held in the palms of her hand.

The she, we see

gets us running for the hills,

the fright of the type of fear

she bestows upon you almost 

like a random gift she won’t later 

try to steal back.

Pleasant from a distance,

do not mess with her in her natural habitat

in the back of the classroom,

far in the right corner

with her face deep 

in what’s not a notebook, but

a cell phone suffering a notification drought.

She’s a predator,

who wishes to be apart

of a pack.

The forgotten queen, but wears no crown

To The First Man Who Called Me A Queen and Meant It

 I assume you never knew how powerful words can be to a once lonely girl. A once lonely girl whose only friends at times were her thoughts and the words that those words invoke.

I guess you really knew what it meant to me afterward when I brought my general reaction up in the conversation days later, when I told you in that split second the red sea of my life parted and all I could see was the final destination of a home was right there in front of me. All I had yet to do was build a bridge so I could cross before I could finally get there.

I could only assume your reaction from behind your mask, from behind the screen.

I could only assume what the story you pasted together in your mind of me and why I could have gotten as excited as I did. My message to you would only you probably didn’t even scratch the surface,  or have even dug deep enough to reach the casket that I’ve buried myself years ago that is now the final resting place of who I once was.

The girl who has seemed to have been drafted in a war that she wouldn’t just be the battlegrounds for, but both of the rival armies. 

A girl who when she looked in the mirror all she saw was the hurricane that still hasn’t hit yet and the war that was, and the war that has yet to have been decided to take place.

The girl that knows for a fact that when she is looked at she is being looked upon with the eyes of a sheep, but that was before you.

Cause now this same girl sees you and sees the little slice of heaven, the little cut of the “American Dream” everyone keeps bragging about, that health pack that everyone keeps saying is right there if you just look for it.

To the person who called me a Queen for the first time and meant it, before you could have to swear that the health packs tt I’ve found are all just disguised grenades ready to blow up in my face. Before you, I thought the best way to survive without giving up first was to go along the path solo, to define myself in front of a jury without a lawyer.

If only you knew how much you have changed this changed that woman she became and how much you hanged the woman that the two have yet to become.

“Why Are You Acting Like You Don’t Wanna Make Eye Contact With Me?"

 Because you know me. You knew me all too well, every bit of me and I think that still kinda scares me about you. How I could ever be as vulnerable with someone as I was with you and for them to just leave me. Yet you took all of my fears and exploited that knowledge, discovered all of my weaknesses, and then turned around making more to add courtesy of your ego and my willingness to give you the whole self, I didn’t even know I had in my possession.

Because you knew me and it didn’t seem to have taken long enough to know all the right words to say to me that wouldn’t set off any red flags and yet when you did, you always had something up your sleeves that made convincing me to ignore them and to go against my better judgment easy.  

Because you had ways to turn those red flags into roses before my very eyes, later offering them to me as id supplements to yet another apology, to make up for sending me to yet another automated voicemail box “Where the ‘user’ you are trying to contact can not come to the phone at the moment, please leave a message after the tone,” as I always do, but you never listen to them even if I call back to back...What’s the point? You told me to use my resources and even listed yourself as one of them...Where are you now?

It’s because you knew me,

You knew the ghosts of the past that still followed me.

It’s because you swallowed them whole, leaving me with no more than the memory of them, no more than what you left me with the memory of who I was before you.

It’s because when you devoured them, you left me with nothing more than your words in their place and 

It’s because of your words are still what keeps me up at 3:47 in the morning, wishing that the part of me that still exists, the one who wants you to be in bed beside me, to give me something more positive than my two cats to wake up to, would die off and get cremated.

So if I saw you again and I don't look in the same eyes I used to get lost in to escape my reality, but now not looking in them would help to escape that reality you’ve seemed to become.

It’s because I know you and I guess I know your eyes not only knew me too, but also saw depths into me I wasn’t willing to let others see.

It’s because looking into your eyes, now, could somehow conjure up who I used to be, then, and she wouldn’t have a body to come back to. She’d already had a funeral for and has been buried.

It’s because of you. she’ll have to retreat back into the shadows, right where you first found me, but somehow,

you still knew me.

In The Days of Quarantine {A Reflective Poem}

“In The Days of Quarantine”

Things are just now starting to open, & yes, 

that brings me great joy,

let it be joyous that in the given days

I should be able to see my friends and family,

from outside of the windows of our computer screens.

But though I am happy,

I have still grown weary of the time 

that has passed & aged

just as I have,

all the time that has elapsed that my friends & I

would have to backtrack, rewind & skim over

just so we can pick up where we last left off,

which means even though it’s been more than a year &

just to pick up where we last left off

we would have to go through our bookbags of time

just so we can get back on the same page,

needless to say the same damn book.

Again, I wouldn’t say that I am sad to have to do this

I really did miss a lot of people, but

even though time is shutting this chapter of our lives

getting us back to the dystopic-utopia we once lived

where nothing was perfect, but at least we felt like 

it was us & our loved ones against all odds

without all odds being the separation.

I keep thinking about December

the season of snow

a once a year wonderland where there should have been 

no room for tears & fears, 

where no one should have felt alone

but it was 2020 & here’s the thing

as the temperature fluctuated 

as much as the direction 

had changed

at any given moment

all I could think about was all the Grentches outside of Christmas

how they’ve stolen more than just one holiday,

more than just some materialistic presences

how over this past year

they have spread their concur & divide techniques &

have seemed to have taken over,   

how this shit has discouraged me,

how it has scared the still young child inside of me 

that still grabs at hope like cookies in a jar &

says her prayers like a Disney princess wishing on an evening star

even though this world 

has been proven both the victim & villain, 

the thresholds none has overcome

the newest form of fine print

in our daily contrast constructed lives.

On the 365th day of Quarantine

all I can think of is how

when people ask me what I want last Christmas 

all I could really think of was my wishlist of face,

how I wished the emptiness that filled me would subside like a drought

after years with no rain, 

all at once without warning

how this entire time

just like so many others I had been looking for my way out,

one without damning dishonor,

looking for youtube videos on

how to build a latter out of tinsel, 

how to build a bridge out of gift boxes & ribbon

how to construct a way out with ornament wires & candy canes

how to find a way to get those out my window 

bridging the gap between me &

the bittersweet taste of freedom 

I had almost forgotten the taste of.

See then there’s the funny thing 

how all of you have all expected

me as an artist,

as a poet to have been able to break free from my chains,

to have found my ways to thrive &

tell others how to survive,

while the truth is I’ve learned how to build a raft out of 

my own sheet of poems, 

how to keep afloat among the wave of my own covers & 

speak with the tongue of the night owl poets,

how they have all built their wings out of their poetry &

had allowed those wings to take them to new heights 

all from their bedroom,

see then they reminded me 

I’m still just a young buck

got a lot of learning & writing to go.

Now I can look past how 

it was only 2020 & how all I could think about was

how I can’t wait to add that one.

Thanks for listening & Maybe from listening

This can change some of the things that have been happening.

 

Isn't it coincidental

 Isn't it coincidental 

how I decide to wait

how my heart & mind 

has been the ice 

keeping me frozen in time.

Isn't coincidental how 

the silence continues, but

when the opportunity of me 

breaking it arises 

I can not break free, 

no, I still stay frozen in time, 

not being able to break the tension that wraps around my body, 

making me unable able to say 

what I need to,

to break this curse of your echoing voice

to alleviate any unused space in my brain,

to unclutter my heart 

from the litter 

you tend to leave 

everywhere you once were 

like breadcrumbs 

however, every time I try to follow the paths you leave 

I always end up lost

somewhere I shouldn't

willing to do stuff,

say stuff &

go elsewhere I shouldn't, but

you never cared

where that'll lead me

you never cared 

about the repercussions

I'll later have to live with

after following your lead.

don't you think it's coincidental how all this love that's 

going on in the month of February,

all this time that's been going on between us,

a constant battle 

of will they won't they

of speak don't speak, but yet

I'm still not convinced 

that love really does conquer all

that despite us meeting 

we still really haven't met yet, but

yes, I love you.

a complete stranger 

that I can easily pick up 

where we left off

during every love at 

first sight glance

 

 

 

In retrospect

 is waiting healthy,

telling your subject of a body

that though the true king who made you

is already here,

you are to continue without an amateur king & 

are to wait for his return,

for him to take the responsibility

he has not yet taken,

to sit upon the thrown 

he has not yet sat in,

to put the crown on his head

he has not yet worn &

to claim the queen

truth be told he has yet to fall in love with, but

yet they all wait.

She waits for the sun and moon 

to rise in separate skies,

for days to pass and seasons

to change on separate earth's

all in his absence.

They waiting for a ruler,

who acts like their ruler

not the dark side of the moon 

never seen.

Yet, as life goes on

so does his adventures during

his disappearance,

lollygagging whimsically with 

ocean tides

that is different than most treading lightly on melting thin ice

almost frostbitten by the wind

that says

stay away from the shoreline,

but that's where

his people and lady waits,

never mind them and the kingdom

their in is one in the same.

All while she

waits for the dreams to stop

almost just as the room spinning had, but

she waits for the impossible to end it all at once & permanently.

They wait to be told to be somebody or something

other than nobody had told them 

to become.

When will this cycle end &

when will this retrospect be rational?