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Brooklyn Cruz Poem
it's like
the petals
of flowers
are the pins
on grenades
i pick them
one
by
one
are we better
are we not
one
by
one
until they all
drop
Copyright © Brooklyn Cruz | Year Posted 2019
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Brooklyn Cruz Poem
i can't possibly talk about the sun
when i'm still in the shadow of the clouds
who eclipse it
i'm waiting for the wind
to push them aside
but i'll wait forever
unless i become the invisible force
that grants myself my own right
to move the future out of the shadow of the past
Copyright © Brooklyn Cruz | Year Posted 2019
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Brooklyn Cruz Poem
he is like the weather, inconsistent and unpredictable.
and we're like meteorologists,
always trying to predict when the rain will come and go.
but the truth is we don't know.
sometimes there's not a cloud in the sky yet the rain still falls.
Copyright © Brooklyn Cruz | Year Posted 2019
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Brooklyn Cruz Poem
do you hear yourself?
your words pour out, uncontrolled,
like overflowing dams.
no barricade you own is strong enough to block your words.
if you even have barricades to block them.
the things you say — do you regret them?
you are like a drunk who does things without knowing the consequences,
except you are without the excuse of alcohol.
maybe you just don’t care about the effects of the sounds you make.
i wish you were a drunk, so i could blame the poison in your blood,
but i can only blame your mind, yours,
nothing more.
do you know what comes of it?
behind doors,
under sheets,
wrapped in the warm comfort of blankets,
there are tears.
moistened pillows,
dark circles beneath absent-minded eyes.
you’re not meant to know or see —
how could we show you that we’re so
fragile,
delicate.
my skin is much like a flower petal:
torn easily.
my mind is much like fine china:
beautiful and broken easily.
weakness has nothing to do with it
because my soul is much like a diamond,
strong and brilliant, yet it is cut and shaped to appear perfect.
not by me. by you.
we wonder … why we were not okay before.
what if … we thought we were?
what if … you’re the only one who sees the fault in us?
we wonder … how you like your diamonds.
what if … you make a wrong cut, and we’re left ruined?
what if … we already are?
does salt defile diamonds?
that would explain the erosion …
i’m sorry, blame me.
i bottle the tears to bathe my soul,
using pain to clean myself almost makes it seem like i’m winning.
Copyright © Brooklyn Cruz | Year Posted 2017
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Brooklyn Cruz Poem
My feet bled from walking on the broken glass
Bits of mirror, bits of cups, plates, and parts of my glass table
I realized how much glass we had in our house
Too much
Why did we keep such easily broken things in a house like this
Now it was all on the floor
Some innocent pieces of wood were thrown into the mix
They seemed out of place
The splinters among the shards
My shoes were on their way to a dump somewhere
My clothes were in the laundry, waiting to be stripped of their new red color
The hallway to my room had no glass
The mirror in my room was untouched
The only one not shattered
The only thing not ruined by the sculptor
But it looked out of place now
So I took my fist
I took my anger
My grief
My hatred
My sorrow
And I shattered that mirror, so it, too, would be as broken as the rest of us
My knuckles bled; the red droplets painted the floor where I walked
My feet left red footprints, so everyone would know I came back
They would wonder why I would come back here
And I’d tell them I came to see what has shaped us
What is still shaping us
Our sculptor is gone
The sculpture is here… but in fragments
Copyright © Brooklyn Cruz | Year Posted 2017
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Brooklyn Cruz Poem
she sighs
and you can feel
every ounce of sadness
in that single breath
her chest rising with hope
then falling with disappointment
inhaling a wish
exhaling wistful dismay
why does she insist
on hoping so much
when she knows
all that trust
will only bring her torment
her discontent ferments
until all her hope is spent
and every single breath
is a sigh of deep regret
Copyright © Brooklyn Cruz | Year Posted 2019
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Brooklyn Cruz Poem
I cry for my mother
because that voice, which is like a shear,
presses its blade unto her skin—
drip — gore oozes from the wound; she doesn’t shed a tear,
but i feel it within.
that voice, which is like a shark,
sinks its teeth around her head—
slowly enough to hear the crunch of her skull,
But i feel it instead.
That voice, which is like a noose,
tightens its rope around her throat—
not even a whisper gets loose,
feeling it too, I’m choked.
I cry for my mother
because that voice used to belong to her lover
but now it cuts her and she suffers,
I wish for a father who loves and loves her
Copyright © Brooklyn Cruz | Year Posted 2018
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Brooklyn Cruz Poem
I’m writing a letter to you because I want to talk to you, tell you how much you mean to me, tell you how much I care about you, tell you how much I love you; but we can’t talk right now. This letter will never reach you. Or, maybe when I die many decades from now or tomorrow (who knows?) someone will be kind enough to get it to you. (I hope you will outlive me.) Or perhaps I’ll let you read it one day.
I am completely in love with you. I know you know this already, but you don’t know what I mean when I say this. When most people fall in love, it’s like they’re at the top of a hill and they trip and come tumbling down, and there at the bottom is the one they love. I used to fall like that too. No grace, just a misplaced step.
But not this time, not with you. With you I am climbing a skyscraper to the very top. At the peak, I look down and see how far the ground is. It’s a long drop. I know this. I’m not scared to jump. It will be purposeful. All at once I will throw myself into the air. It will still be a reckless fall, but beautifully so. Not like the recklessness of the hill. This is not a misplaced step, this is a meaningful leap. When I land, I will be fine. No bones broken. Because I will control the landing. I can do this because I am soaring … downward … recklessly. I choose to be reckless because if you’re careful, it means something bad may happen if you’re not … but if you’re carefree, it means you’re not afraid that something bad may happen.
That’s another thing you do for me: you make me fearless. I’m not afraid of what will happen next. I’m not afraid that I may get hurt or you may get hurt. I’m not worried about the future because whatever happens is supposed to happen.
The only thing I’m afraid of is what-ifs. The only thing I will ever regret are chances I never took and words I left unspoken
You are the first right after a series of wrong turns that led me to the middle of nowhere, but now I think I finally know where I am.
Copyright © Brooklyn Cruz | Year Posted 2018
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Brooklyn Cruz Poem
must i arise every dawn
to do nothing but shine upon
and warm all those who shiver
i, a scorching giver
and rarely am i truly praised
seldom i am looked upon
my rays seep through the cloudy haze
the foggy mist of early dawn
but no one seems to thank my presence
scarcely do they think me pleasant
often just a searing blister
only wanted in the winter
for that is when they realize
they miss my warming rays
they crave the brilliant, sunny skies
a sparkle through the gloomy haze
if i should leave, would they care?
would they be left beyond repair?
only deep in snow they see
that they, in fact, do need me
Copyright © Brooklyn Cruz | Year Posted 2019
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Brooklyn Cruz Poem
I have dried up rose petals from past lovers
In a little jewelry box
The browns and pales long ago were bright colors
But beauty is tied to clocks
And I try to smell the scent of new flowers
But the perfume faded long since
I wish I could reverse the cheating hours
to the time when the frog was a prince
Copyright © Brooklyn Cruz | Year Posted 2017
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