She doesn't sit still

She doesn't sit still

or just looks pretty 

she is pretty.
This is something that she has been told but this
is just the posture that she has learned to have as
a fake it till-you make kind of game 

a practice makes perfect vowel,
she became a pro,
it became a skill,
her calling,
her way of saying fuck you
to everyone
who has ever said
that she couldn't and now she did
which means that she has proof
beyond all deniability
that she could have done it
all along, but what does she need to prove?

Days, Months, and Year-- Memories; as compost

She said to think of a memory, 

think of the memory and everything 

that it did for you as a person.

Think about the good and the bad,

think about it sunk into,

into the fibers of your being 

as a whole and how it shaped you to the now.

Think of the people in the memory 

and what part did they play in it? 

Think of the time. 

Did that play any part in the memory? 

Think about where you were in the memory. 

What did you just get through before? 

What were you struggling with?

El puente entre los dos "The Bridge Between the Two"

And that is how the bridge collapsed.

Even apart there was too much weight 

stood between us for the bridge to allow us to cross, 

the bridge to stand, for me to even say goodbye.

This is why…

I stand on one side, where it is damp & windy.

I hate when I feel like I will get poured down on,

and can’t absorb any of it, can’t baptize myself in it.

It irks my soul that 

I still have all 

this stink 

on me,

this stink 

that smells just like you

this stink 

that is still the closest thing I have 

to being able to hold you

this stink

still being here despite always being soaking wet

You stand on the other side.

It is a dessert over there,

the dry wind blows around the tumbleweeds that consist of 

who you used to be, on your side there is no water  & 

I know that if I joined you I would probably die 

A part of me wants to be okay with that.

But I'm not or at least not fully, cause I’ve come to understand

I’m used to it, a part of my existence is taken away 

in order to overcompensate for this distance 

as if this is going to somehow bridge this gap 

as if this bridge is not already there but I don’t want to be.

I stood on one side.

You stood on the other side.

And that is how the bridge collapsed. 

Even apart there was too much weight that stood between us 

for the bridge 

to allow us to cross, 

for the bridge 

to stand, 

for me to even say goodbye.

Voices of a New Day

 The sunrise is like a

student's hand

who has a question

she wants to ask fate

why it thinks it's okay

to separate her

from her love.

The moon is in

a completely different

time zone,

a long distance

relationship, one

where lips never meet.

The sun does

not get called upon, but

she is still there &

raises her hands repeatedly.

Getting ignored

is almost like getting

eclipsed replaced &

carried away she wonders

what really changed.

Does the moon

even still love her or

is she still holding

on to when

they could physically

love each other?

Espacio entre los dos (Space Between the Two)

She screamed his name

at night,

but he was nowhere

to hear it.

She was nowhere

around him, but still

craved him.

He could't think about

her past the

transe

he loved her,

he really did.

She used to

write to/about him,

but she can't get it

anymore

she used to believe

that everything

she wrote would be

written on the

inside of his heart.

He could never &

feel it.

He wrote too,

wrote to her &

she'd never

cave to read

any of it, don't

care to even

tell him that

his words

wasn't as

tangible as a

diamond ring.

She flourished with

her silence, but wasn't

same of his wonder,

his voice; she craved

more than the thundering

silence that

claps from wall

to wall.

She screams his name

at night, but he's nowhere 

to hear it.