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Best Poems Written by Tahirih Montes De Oca

Below are the all-time best Tahirih Montes De Oca poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Young Girl

I saw you welcome the sun's kiss in the tropical country.
I saw how you wished you had swings and the feeling of soaring through clear skies.
You dreamt of being your brother's kites.
I saw you cut the string and set them free.
You were so deeply young.
You wondered about rain and its touch.
You smelled of serenity and warm poetry.

I saw how you so proudly wore that red dress with white Daisies your mother bought you.
The chickens pecked at its flowers and you laughed.
I saw you running full speed into your father's arms.
He'd never let you fall.
You felt loved.

Like a child you had small doubts.

You are the girl that never chased after butterflies
You are frightened of cart wheels and shower drains.

As you grew older
You were afraid of deeper things.
Afraid to see your father's closet empty.
Your mother never hugged you.

I know you lived in a concrete home built on sand.
At times the walls came crashing and it left bruises.
You learned to resist,
Against all down falls and tumbling downs.
I saw you survive and it was beautiful.

Your father struck down on you with bone crushing words.
He no longer talks to you.
Your mother doesn't understands you
She doesn't know you.

Womanhood left you stranded.
I saw you drift into deep thought,
Disconnect from the earth.
Love felt like a different language.
You found refuge in a smile.
You put your hurt on paper.
You wanted the world to stop and admire your strengths.
You always run away.
Your voice tucked itself away in it's safe place.
Demons strangling your bravery.
You felt ashamed of becoming a woman
It took your father's love away
And like your mother he made you feel like you don't deserve respect.

You discovered womanhood in the dark. It is a cave of secrets. It is full of difficult strives and expectations. It is full of hardships and twisted inequity.
But somehow in the midst you found it breath taking.
You could never trade it.
It is the birthplace of strength and admiration.
It is the salt of the ocean and the colors of the sky.

Young girl
Learn to never live unapologetically.
At times you will still find it difficult to accept your chipped edges
But you are a woman.
You'll find beauty in the scars and in everything that is broken.
Only you can tell the story.
Only you can change it.

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Making Amends

There are still things to be done.
Places within you that I can call home.
There are depths to dig
And heights to climb,
There are still things about you that have yet to blow my mind.
There are kisses beneath the moon.
Stars to wish upon.
There is a world in your eyes that awaits for me to find.
There is still room for redemption.
We can shed our skin and never have to look at the bruises from our past.
We can sculpt our faults and singe our scars to the wind.

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How Do I Love Thee

How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.
I love thee like the ice-cubed world that has been dropped in Vodka,
splashing Pink Nuvo
Freezing the sands of time,
The Northern sky with the color of sunsets. 
I love thee
Thy soul nude, drunk, and mute beneath the Aurora Borealis...
It's mystic music.
I love thee in here
Beyond skin and ribcages 
all wrapped up in a cocoon,
Breaking through
Sprouting in butterfly season,
My dear Morpho Menelaus
Fluttering my sky into the Mariana Trench
the deepest blue... The deepest.
I love thee
my most quiet need to remain gasped in sighs full of awe.
I love thee burning into my vine green veins like the furnace of a forest fire.
I love thee in and out of breath.
With lungs full of asthmatic.
I love thee,
Thy love has sunken and engraved it's print into my back dimples.
It made its way into the marks my skin refuses to forget
Thy love has given my scars meaning,
it has made them beautiful.
I love thee.
With no words
No ink,
But simple and majestic as a candle's fire blowing in in the dark
Yet so present as the aroma of vanilla on skin and the thick of smoke.
I love thee.

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I Will Never Forget

I once remember feeling hotter than the summer pavement
I remember the horses racing in my chest.
At the touch the endless silence of winter,
I remember feeling safe in our nervous sweat.
The echoing of the world around us.
The beauty.
I remember wanting to stay.
And if one day the horses grow old and in time the race ends,
I will never forget how we hold hands.

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Happiness

Does a bee return to a flower after having seen a vast beauty of meadows?
Is there redemption after lightning has struck the Fig?
Can you rescue the forest from the desperate hands of men?

I don't know if tomorrow will hold our smile. I don't know if our laugh will carry its way like the wind.

But I know when the sunflower blooms and stares into the sun, it stares back and it falls in love.
I know that lightning doesn't strike twice on the same broken branch.
And I know that the earth strives to reclaim its place.

The flower's happiness does not depend on the bees's return. It simply awaits the sun's caress.
The Fig does not linger on its brokenness but it rejoices on its rebirth.
The forest does not die; it seeks furiously to recover its kindred.

Happiness is within the integrity of the flower's love.
Happiness is in the broken Fig's hope.
Happiness is within the forest's strive.
It rests calmly unshaken.

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Hydrophilic

There are 800ml of water in a mother's womb.
Amniotic fluid that flowed and filled your lungs.
It protected you and kept you warm.
You were safe from the decay.
But something happened.
Something went terribly wrong.
The world forced its way in early and washed the fluids away.
Left you weak and twisted.

Water is love.
I've come to understand
At birth you were deprived of its' full satisfaction.

We are hydrophilic.
I've come to understand.
Our bodies ache and strive for water intake.
We share fluids and connect.
We sweat and kiss 
We make love and dream of being submerged.

But we also cry.
Bitter.
The sun beamed
And our mouths parched.
We hurt and clawed our way through deserts.
We have lived unhappy.
Unsatisfied.
Now we are afraid of breaking the bond through hydrolysis,
So we remain acidic.

But still I know...
That I have come to love you like water.
I have lived with so much urge and need.
And now I am filled with it.
Like the Atlantic Ocean's vastness.
82 million billion gallons
Flowing and coursing through my insides and washing over me like rain.
60% of my body's existence to share with you.
I love you...
But there is no current... No flow connecting us both
It sits within,
At times crashing like waves and fighting its way...
Urging for tsunamis, a storm... For rain.
Why so much destruction for something so vital and so wonderful?...

There are 800ml of water in a mother's womb.
Amniotic fluid that flowed and filled my lungs.
It protected me and kept me warm.
It made me want to stay.
So I stayed.
Took all of it in until there was nothing left.
Until my lungs found nothing to take in.
But God knew of the world's mistake.
And maybe
He thought of you... So He didn't let me suffocate.

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Skin

You are the warmth that cloaks my fragile structure.
Emotional to pecks and blows; goosebumps to the chill of the autumn breeze.
You are characterized by scars.
Your color washed over me,
beautifully dark.
You stretch and expand and make room to hold life.
You resists pain,
You protect my treasures,
You are a canvas,
a masterpiece of freckles and moon shaped birthmarks
white spots, bumps,
you are full of pinks and purples
soft, and ruff.
You dream of touch and connection.
You are the landmark to past lovers
a handprint in the sand.
Once washed away you refuse to forget.
They have called you beautiful and I have denied it.
I have covered your nature and beauty.
I have taken you for granted.
I have yet to truly accept you for who you are.
My skin.
I want to never forget it.
Skin is love, experience,
It is a teller of stories reluctant to hide the truth.
It speaks of hardships and it stores its proof.
Skin knows of first kisses and remembers of being embraced.
It is shy of its insecurities but it owns up to it's mistakes.
Skin mends its wounds.
Skin is honest and gentle.
It listens and feels.
Skin sheds off the weight of the world.
It leaves behind a portion of itself like the dandelion. 
It is so selfless and free.
It trusts like poetry...
It gives in.