To dust, The old boxes in the attic, the old toys in the basement, they turn to dust as they stay forgotten, the cotton rabbit going rotten. The boxes taped close, as if reopened they'd grow and Molden. the small bed in the room, needing dusting, the frames rusting and the sheets clustering. the pictures turned down, the stand broken and the glass broken, the frame cracked and dusted. The kid in this room loved it, but moved out for peace, getting a lease and building a life, new bed, new pictures, new boxes and new toys for the kids they had themselves, and soon enough that kid's room will dust too. Not in dirtiness but in affection, showing how much it was looked in, slept and cried in, and used. SO if you dust it don't throw out the boxes, don't resell the toys, don't throw out the broken pictures and please don't dismantle the bed, leave it to be, leave the memories fly around, leave it as a museum until the kid comes into that house, picking that same room, using that same bed, ripping those same boxes and playing with those same toys. To dust, is to love.
Feeling herself she drifts
but nothing like yesterday
while she was young-
she screams at the door
to nobody on the other side
but she feels heard-
so she slowly dies in her anger
and comes alive on the nights where she has nothing to spare
digs a hole so deep
but never deep enough to be found
we call that blood mercy
when youre unseasonable
and unwanted
for the world
with blue hands
she knows nothing is how it seems
govern by lunatics
no better than she-
sleeps with her head on a rock
and her side on a pillow
so she always knows
permanent things you are ungrateful for
your child bears weak arms
so you cut them off
is this love?
bloody mercy
meanwhile my Haitian Dreams
drive the moon to insanity
as I linger in my death bed
they shout
"Tu es inops!"
"Prepare yourself! Quickly does the river flow!"
I should've listened.
What it's like to grow up
From sleeping soundly to thousands of sleepless nights,
From laughing because u want to, to laughing to hide ur pain
From listening to music for fun to making it a way to relax to forget everything,
From watching the drama in shows to handling ur own life's drama
From having pure hearts to having broken one's
From fighting with ur siblings, to trying to put in an effort to even start a talk
From crying because u r physically hurt to crying because of mental pain
From thinking of forever happy to realising all these are just lies
From fighting with parents for toys to fighting with them for freedom
From loving urself to just trying to again love urself
From giving all ur attention to things that mattered to just giving up on them
From just letting urself do what u wanna do to just overthinking all ur actions
From not giving a damn about people's opinions to thinking about what people will say
From just wishing to grow up to dreaming of becoming a child again
my backpack used to swallow me whole
now i barely notice it on my shoulders
recess felt like it lasted forever
like the sun never went down
one friend moved to Fairfield and stopped texting
some just stopped sitting with me
the trees by the fence have changed
but i can’t tell if its them or me
the bell still rings the same
sharp and impossible to ignore
but sometimes i wonder
when the last normal day was
or the last time my parents carried me
time didn’t wait for me
it just kept going.
i didn’t think it was bad,
till i’m sat in bed
flipping through my pictures,
wishing i was thinner.
i catch myself clicking edit
then scrolling the options,
moving the dial further and further back
until there’s almost nothing left.
i would always hate on girls,
the ones that hated themselves
until i realised i turned into what
i swore i’d never be,
pointing out flaws no one else even sees.
and i forgot how to just exist
without editing the evidence.
What hurts more than the fact
I didn’t get to say goodbye
Is the fact
They’ll never see what I become.
For it to…
For it too—
Four and two.
Forty-two!
A number?—or a gate?
Where past meets present,
And dreams no longer wait—
Fighting, and finding—their rightful place.
For it to…
For it too—
Four and two?!
Forty-two!
An age where silence breaks,
Where the pen takes its rightful place,
Listening to the voice long ignored,
Now, writing what has been stored.
Yes!
42!
Cheers!
For Me—and You!
Who am I,
but a woman with atlas's burdens on her shoulders.
Who am I,
but a little girl trying her best in life's arena.
Who am I,
but a flower waiting to bloom in withering winter.
Who am I,
but an impostor trying to find balance in the injustice and fog.
Who am I,
but structured stardust in the blazing sun.
Did you know that it is dinner, my dear?
You forever in your room thee door shut.
You needeth join us, lend a willing ear?
Thee father has great stories of wisdom.
You make your ears always deaf to our speech,
Refusal brings no supper to your plate.
Ungrateful child, listen to your dad preach,
Remember, child, we are your parent, great.
Be kind, attentive, heed our earnest plea,
“To get away from the noise,” do not lie.
Never rebel, hush harsh words, thee not free,
For rest and for quiet, so thee can cry.
The excuses you invent, my child, poor,
Time thee grow up–thee ask help nevermore.
I’m from the smell of cafe con leche dancing around the house and
los primos already full of energy in the backyard.
I’m from guava and cream cheese crackers for breakfast and
the constant sound of abuela saying “come mas mi vida”,
I’m from the smell of fabuloso and mama’s radio never failing
to wake the family up on a sunday morning,
I’m from the sound of bicycle bells and children’s
laughter ringing through my ears,
I’m from salsa music and dancing until three in
the morning when los primos had already fallen asleep on the couch,
I’m from el que estudia siempre sabe and mi niña es
la más inteligente del mundo,
I’m from la prima’s hand me downs and creces
muy rápido,
I’m from ponte las pilas and the endless
sound of pages turning and pencils
scribbling,
I’m from morning traffic and
days with no end,
I’m from estas grande ya and
esa es tu responsabilidad,
I’m from a quiet house,
I’m from a quick breakfast,
I’m from an empty house,
No more fresh café con leche
to leave its scent behind,
No more time
No one to make
the house
a home,
I’m from never wish
to grow up.
Dearest Child-Adventuring Man, My Darling Peter Pan:
Since that never to be forgotten day when Wendy first brought
you my way, my heart has been enchanted thru and true with
love for you. You are as magical as your happy-thought dust
that brought me flight thru star-glimmer skies, shimmering great
joy from my soul-core straight to my eyes. With you, I have felt
amazing fantasy as enthralling reality because of the wonder that
is you and your purview.
I love Neverland, Tinker Bell, the boys and the countless joys that
made up the minutes of each day we shared. Though nothing in my
future will ever compare, I can no longer deny that I am compelled
to step into adulthood, that such is what I should do, what I am
meant to do, and must do without you. In your world, I will always
be your girl, but in the traditional world, I must let my woman
unfurl. What is calling me onward and forward is all that you
would never walk toward and risk dying adult-bored.
Turn any woe into a splendid crow of much ado, repeat until woe
has winded you, then smile to know -
~ I shall always gratefully and lovingly remember you ~
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