Hate Sleeping AloneEach night
I lay in bed...
Letting my covers
Try to keep me warm
Though they're never
As warm as your arms.
Letting my dreams
Try to soothe me
Into a deathly calm
Though they're never
As calming as your
Letting hundreds of sheep
Try to caress my eyes
To finally close
Though they shall never
In the way your gentle hand
In mine will.
And while the covers may try
They will never fill the place
Where you slept beside me.
My dreams will never
Fill the emptiness left
Without your breathe.
The sheep will never
Lift me away
Like the comfort of knowing
That your near me
And that you
Will be the first thing I see
When I wake
And each night I stay awake
Because without you
I'd rather not sleep.
Glassi found a mangled body
and tried to fix it.
but i got too close
and ended up cutting myself
on the jagged remains.
the bleeding hasn't stopped.
we used to make butterfly handsYou told me that when I was older I would understand
and I looked up and saw the sky in paper planes and periwinkle blue.
I reached out and drew a line for you;
traced it all over the globe and back to your wise heart
so that when I was older, my head full of understanding,
I’d be able to navigate back to my place there
and touchdown, settle down with you.
You said that our worlds were too distant,
you with your job and bills to pay and me with my honey-sweet dreams.
I nodded and pulled back my flyaway hair
thinking that if we’re alive together, against all the odds and centuries alive together,
that’s close enough for me.
I kissed you and you told me I was great. Carousel great. Sandy-toes great. Smiles on a Saturday, belly-laughs great.
You snapped the string and flew away.
I’m older and I do understand
that dotted lines get tangled or just fall away completely and
you were right when you said that things aren't quite as pretty
as they are in my party-h
what do I mean by that?
you are the bonfire in the summer sand
in the setting sun. you are the setting sun
when the flames align with the horizon;
your eyelash touches are a thousand
wishes coming true in a single breath.
you are yesterday today and tomorrow
all in a kiss, a constant reminder that life
isn’t so bad so unfair so impossible to live.
I forget reality in your eyes--
I mean literally,
you are not a bonfire. you set the bonfire.
and you’re not a flame, only attached to the finger
passing across it in a dangerous tease. you are
eyelashes and breaths and lips but you are also
synapses misfiring and calling me the love of your
life who you do not mean. you have life in you
but you are not life and
there is something beyond you.
someone else beyond you
that I must reach for and I must,
in the name of her,
imagine new metaphors.
You've Endured So Many Storms That You Became OneYou have endured so many storms that you became one.
Your mother was a tsunami.
Her emotions came in waves
and crashed down on you like
“this is all your fault”.
Her high-tide flooded your basement.
There’s water damage in your roots.
She taught you how to swim when you were five years old,
but somehow you’ve been drowning for seventeen years.
You once told me that you hid all the knives in your house
so that the waves wouldn’t carry them away.
Your father was a thunderstorm.
His voice shook your house so much,
I could have almost sworn that you lived by train tracks.
His thought clouds
generated enough electricity to light up your neighborhood.
When his lightning cracked you’d count
to see how far away his hand was from your face
before the friction in his bones was too much for him to bear.
You have endured so many storms that you became one.
You are an earthquake,
and my heart is your San Andreas Fault
A Short StoryIn the nursery, he quietly cried
A man who was torn from the inside
Seeing his son, the first in his life
The murderer of his beautiful wife
Work of art.Don't wince at my scars, instead use them to find where I am broken, and put your body against the cracks.
Don't let me fall out of myself again, the parts might fit together, but the breaks are never clean.
Sometimes I feel like glass in the middle of a war zone, just the sound of goodbye may destroy me.
I've picked up the pieces before, cut myself with shards of who I was, carefully pasted them together with who I am, hoping no one would notice.
The trouble is the masking tape I used, doesn't seem to mask anymore.
The trouble is I leave tiny bits of myself behind me, just so I can be found.
The trouble is my heart is made of clay and it might just break with one more fall.
Maybe that's the wonder of me, even once i've broken…I can break again.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez