Aquí (Haiku in Spanish)

Yo voy a pie.
Quiero mirar el sol.
Me lo salió.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I go by foot.
I want to see the sun.
It left me.

Six Ways of Looking at Hands

Holding your head up
as the droning eases its way
into your ears.
These lessons don't tell you
anything you want to hear.

Clasped together in your lap;
your leg shakes the chair rhythmically.
Fears wash over you
and you pray the lines don't flatten.

Shoved in tight pockets of trousers,
and the trains roll by.
The stuffy scent of underground life
is enough to constrict anyone.

Moving along keys, strings, everything.
The music echoing from the instrument
silences the people.

Placed still on her thigh.
Keeping this moment
forever
is your goal.

Ink dried onto fingertips
at birth,
Showing how different
we truly are.

Untitled

It's a new day,
but everything is still the same.
The things you said last night
collect in my mind once again,
stifling my chance to move on.
I'll tell you I'm better,
that I overreacted,
just so it will end.
But deep inside of me
I hear the sting of those words
numbing my entire body.
You choose not to apologize,
while I stumble over the
"I'm sorrys" every few seconds
for no reason at all.
Don't worry, though,
I wasn't expecting you to do anything
at all.

Out of Sight

You see her face,
covered in a smile.
No one would think
that anything is wrong.
Sometimes, a glimmer of depression
will peek out of the mask
she put on in the morning.

But no one notices.

She laughs at the jokes told
at the expense of people who are different:
Slut, emo-kid, preppy know-it-all,
bitch, dyke.
"That's so gay," she'll comment,
as her hands grasp
the long sleeves that hide her truth.
She knows that telling anyone who she really is
would ruin her life in this hell-hole.
So she locks up her feelings
and saves them for home.

That's when it starts:
I haven't cried in years, she thinks.
Slowly, not-so steadily,
her skin is met by cold steel
and warmth pours from the new openings
added to an old collection.

Her parents aren't home.
Or rather, they are and they just
don't bother.
She doesn't even care.
All that matters
is how much she wants to feel:
the caress of someone who
actually loves her,
the tingle inside that happens when
she truly laughs for the first time,
the touch of a parent who
wants to keep her safe from harm...

Her parents won't find her
until it is too late.
For once, mother will utter the words
"I love you" to the limp body on the ground.
The father? He'll just stand there and say,
"She brought it on herself..."

Three Ways of Looking at Breasts

Different shapes and sizes,
colors and textures.
All are unique
and speak of only what they know.

Once objects of affections,
health is lost to disease.
Rip apart their pride,
and take all that's left of me.
They bear the violent scars of success.

My favorite part of you:
Nothing can stop us
from moving on,
not even a pair of
beautiful disasters.

(untitled)

"Mommy, I'm thirsty."
The girl's wides eyes stare at the bloodshot spheres indented within the skull of her mother.
"Can I have a sip?" the girl inquires.
"Sure," the mother says. She leans over to grab the aluminum can, handing it to the little girl.
While her mom isn't looking, the young child chugs some of the golden liquid before anyone notices.
Her eyes gleam, as if she accomplished something amazing.
But what she doesn't realize is that this will haunt her for the rest of her life...

Society's Standards

It seeps into every
orifice of my body;
The words of incoherent babbling.
At this moment, no one matters
but myself.

And I see them for who
they truly are.
Teachers, "parents," everyone;
singling us out for no true
reason at all.
How selfish of you,
treating us like garbage
just to make yourselves seem
superior.

Well, here's the thing:
I don't care about your rules.
And you shouldn't care
about who I love.

(untitled)

I stand to respect
the wise.
But to respect such
a place like this?

It'll take more
will than I can offer.

I clap to show appreciation,
but if you think,
for one moment,
that I enjoyed the show--

Please, think again.

Let's Talk About Something Else

I've seen the good times,
but now all of them are
blurs in the past.
"I wonder what it'd be like
if they didn't hate each other."
"Ah, but the thing is, darling,
that this would never happen.
He, a selfish, obnoxious jerk.
She, sometimes too inebriated to
know what's happening.
That mixed with 26 years of
blind hatred--"
"Oh boy, you should have
known that it wouldn't end well."

Ad now, stuck all alone
in a crowded room, with
only my suicidal thoughts...
Well, this isn't good.
"Just stop, relax,
tell yourself it'll be all right."
"And if it isn't?"
"Well then at least you know,
that if anything should happen,
I'll be right by your side to
make it all better."

Epiphany

Murmurs caress my ears.
If only it was the voice
I truly wanted to listen to.

Through the windows, I see
unknown faces looking across
the courtyard.
What could they be up to? I wonder.

I peer around the brisk room.
My gaze holds on a boy
that had entered my dreams.
His eyes, that smile.

Oh no, I think, why must
this always happen to me?
The butterflies in my stomach twitter
when he passes me now.

It was never like this.
Never did I know who he was
or what could come of him...

The room is silent, and
as I put this pencil to paper,
I realize that it is not him
that I want to look at.

But it is her.

And her beauty engulfs me
now, for I know that I
will never be without
her.

Thank You for the Future

I've fallen for you.
My heart is in your care,
my life mapped out in your mind.
Do tell me what is next for me.
Let's hope we'll be together in the end.

I won't be dramatic or sensitive.
I just want the truth from you.
Be strong, I'll tell myself.
You tell me you'd do it,
pull the plug on my life.
"Because I wouldn't want to
see you suffer," you say.

Well that's all the
answer I need.
Thank you, my dear.
For telling me the future.

Two Voices, One Melody

The music pulses into my thoughts;
melodic reverberation is all that
fills the room.
Her fingers move in such a way
that I have never seen before.
Her voice echoes within the building,
pulling everyone towards her.
They may see just another guitar player,
but I, on the other hand,
I see someone with the ability
to reach for anything and everything.

Their voices collaborate;
one male, one female.
Each with a new perspective
on the world.
The sounds mix to make a collection
of new discoveries.
Everyone sees it, hears it, believes it.
We feel it throughout.

Polish: I Don't Understand

They speak in a fast dialect
that only they know of.
Tid-bits of words make
it through my ears,
as I concentrate on the
pace of their lips.
Every note, every sound, every
accent on a letter
is all foreign to me.

As I nod my head
and my eyes glaze over,
I see the land that
you have been describing
to me for months, now.
It's a wonder how I never
knew of this place.
That is, until I met you.

Being Alone Is A Choice

I am from a once-brown-now-dull-shade-of-gray house,
in the middle of a humble town
called Lafayette that
no one seems to know of.
I am from a loud-mouth father
and a mother who never knows
the right words to say;
A sister who can do it right--
but only if she feels like it;
From a group of unique cousins,
who will always be there,
but not likely for you.

I am from a place where
hitting your sister is only okay
when she gets to hit you back, but harder.
From yelling and profanity
that suffocate me,
to silence and loneliness and ignorance
that never seem to go away.
A place called home that accepts you
for all that you are:
We'll call you family the minute you
walk over the threshold into our home.

I am from the depths of
a cluttered room.
My thoughts end up mashed together.
I am from the back of the classroom,
hoping for long-term invisibility.
From suicidal thoughts clotting
the mind of an out-of-place sixth grader...

I am from the warm embrace
of a friend who sees my need.
The laughs shared between us
are inevitable.
I am from a supportive girlfriend,
and understanding friends.

From a shy girl with innocence clouding
her eyes,
to an open young woman
with more experience
than you would believe.
I am from an irreversible past,
where the only thing to do
is move forward.