unsent letter 2: visions

I keep having visions, you see

terrible, vibrant, beautiful visions

perfectly intrusive scenes projected across my eyelids

until the moment my frontal lobe winks them from existence.

 

I keep having visions, you see

the olive tan of your skin,

the softness of your expensive clothes, the faint dimples in the cloth

the blue of your eyes meeting mine across the table,

marbles glistening from a great height.

 

I keep having visions, you see

of thick green glass

meeting my skull right right above my brow, right where you kissed me

the shattering of glass and blossoming bruise,

twin stars in the midst of creation.

 

I keep having visions, you see

that someone gathers up the keratinous mane of my hair

brushes it gently, pulls it taught against my skull

the professional updo she would always wear,

and cuts it away in one swift motion.

 

I keep having visions, you see

love and death,

violence and passion,

loneliness and love,

your smile, our laughter, my tears

perfectly intrusive scenes projected across my frontal lobe

until the moment my eyelids wink them from existence–

 

I keep having all these visions, you see

I wish any of them were of you,

coming back.

 

(hello my loneliness)

 

 

 

unsent letter 1: maybe

maybe one day, this won’t feel so bad

maybe the heavy stone in my chest will be eroded by the riverine flow of time

broken down, ground down, absolutely pulverized

metamorphosed into sand,

that will flow so neatly as if from an hourglass,

future, present, past.

 

maybe one day, this won’t feel so bad

maybe the knife in my chest will move

turned over, spun around, excised

metamorphosed into a scalpel,

that will cut so neatly the meaning of your words,

the truth between the lines.

 

maybe one day, this won’t feel so bad

maybe the room in my heart you left so gaudily decorated will be taken over

sublet, rented out, even bought.

metamorphosed into a vibrant space, cozy, warm

redecorated permanently,

no longer the space where you really live.

 

maybe one day, this won’t feel so bad

maybe the songs I used to quote to you will ring out again

less intrusive, more thoughtful,

metamorphosed back into the warm blanket of sounds

that kept me swaddled up, small, safe

melodious memories mellowed out.

 

but maybe, just like today,  you will always be here

this heavy weight in my chest,

the tense tearing of the muscles around my collarbone,

a room silently screaming to be filled with sound.

the love between us metamorphosed

 

Into it I sing our song, hoping

no matter what

that you’re happy.

 

(I am missing you)

a good memory

sometimes, I think of the day we met

of how different our pretenses were for meeting the other.

In truth, I wanted to scam you. To use you,

unfurl you like a napkin, wipe away the dust from packing my skeletons back in the closet,

and throw you out.

 

sometimes, I think of the day we met

of how you looked at me when I called your name.

In truth, I wanted to feel powerful. To use you,

wrap you up in my words, smear into you the greasy gaudy nature of my persona

and cage you in.

 

sometimes, I think of the day we met

of how I looked into your eyes

and in that moment, the apparitions came to me

In truth, I was stymied by your gaze. How could I use you,

ignore the bloom of sage that are your eyes, gloss over the smooth sound of your voice,

and throw you out?

 

Sometimes. I think of the second day we met

of how I looked into your eyes

and in that moment, the apparitions came to me

In truth, they met the grey green wall of your gaze and decided. To use you,

wrap themselves in your form, tear away the soft cloths of your words,

and trap me.

 

Sometimes, I think of the second day we met

of how I looked into your eyes

In truth, it felt like being in pouring rain, freezing and cleansing simultaneously

And all I wanted was to use you,

to let you wipe away the greasy gaudy nature of my persona, unfurl my crown,

to let you wrap me in a thousand soft cloths

and return me to the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

a secret?

hey, listen

blue eyes beautiful

you can’t hide

 

not yourself, not your feelings, not your thoughts

 

hey, listen

blue eyes beautiful

you can’t hide

 

not the shaking of your voice, not the quivering in your hands, not the crumbling of your thoughts

 

hey, listen

blue eyes beautiful

please don’t hide

 

can’t you see that I am hooked on every thought, every motion of your hands, and every shaken word

that tumbles out

from your perfect peachen pout?

 

 

hold me tight (or don’t)

hold me tight

(or don’t)

this isn’t that song, you know

you can’t just peep and pick and choose

the pieces of my latinity that you’ll worship to infinity

you either hold me tight

(or don’t)

 

this isn’t that movie, you know

you can’t just say you love

my brown skin my black eyes my sacred hair my divinity

just to reject the traumas you can’t fetishize into something you can own

you either hold me tight

(or don’t)

 

this isn’t that book, you know

you can’t just spend everyday

listening for hours about the million ways I’m nothing like you

just to dismiss this halfway house of an identity the minute your whiteness can’t save it

you either hold me tight

(or don’t)

 

So either hold me tight with a body nothing like mine

(or don’t)

If this isn’t how our story goes then say so

there’s a million stories in my culture that tell me exactly what you’ll do

I’ll keep a candle lit for you, because what else is love for but forgiving men like you

But I hope the distance between us cuts you like a knife

the next time you either hold me tight

(or don’t)

 

 

 

 

al otro lado de la pared

on the other side of the wall

that plexiglass fortress that keeps you

sequestered away in that little office of yours

complete with windows barred in rusted iron

there’s a million sounds to reverberate the air

 

there is

the sound of your tongue

tliq*tliq*tliq

against your teeth when you talk

 

there is

the sound of my feet as I skitter over to you

tuuk*tuuk*tuuk

a baby’s footsteps on the hard corporate carpet

 

there is

the sweet serious baritone of your laugh

heh*heh*heh

honey flowing from deep in that broad chest of yours

 

there is

the sound of wounds healing the

swish*swish*swish 

of your hand on my back the

scritch*pat*scratch 

of your fingers in my hair the

softest thud

tuht*tuht*tuht

of my chin on your shoulder when we hug the

prosaic hum of our bodies falling into safe rhythms

zoom*ziss*shhh*

 

all these million sounds to reverberate the air

in front of that red-iron barred window

where you’re sequestered away in that office of yours

a tiny fortress of gleaming plexiglass to keep you

on the other side of the wall.

 

las canicas

what if I told you that

whenever we talk I spend what feels like endless hours

staring into the depths of your eyes

marveling at the perfect smoothness of your irises

how there is not a single ridge or pore or dip or divet

not a single flaw in the perfect disk of your eyes

instead the rivulet of colors

the warmest hazel the deepest grey the softest blue

all flow outwards from your pupil

a hundred thousand rivers

crisscrossing on the flat plane of your iris

their overlapping flow uniting to make the perfect jade of your eyes

a sea in which I would glad spend

a hundred thousand years embraced.