commitment [0r lack thereof]

commitment [0r lack thereof]

she doesn’t want a boyfriend

“I don’t need anymore friends…”

she’s done sleeping with strangers,

letting undeserving boys into

underused covers.

he’s not like any of the previous ones

especially the last.

white like a glass of milk,

stark against the memory of the bitterness of almond and chocolates.

he sees your impulses as harmful.

he might be right.

Anxious all day after talking all night,

nose bleed upon awakening from troubled dreams

.Hiding your phone under your bed

so you won’t be tempted to say something that can’t be unsaid over text.

“I thought I was over this shit.”

 

 

 

are you happy

are you happy

the clouds have gathered slowly.

maybe it’s because I briefly gave up writing

poetry and pretty words and

things that I thought only little girls did.

I did not even notice how dark it was

until I could no longer see my hands.

This entire poem is so cliche.

I asked this question at a party last night

to no one in particular, receiving no response.

Why is this question so difficult to answer?

are you happy

nostalgia

nostalgia

overcast day

I came to present a paper at a conference.

feeling foreign in my business clothes

formally dressed in this place where I was so casual

no bra bare nails no skirts long hair no heels my bare face

I had this event on my calendar for months.

reptilian,

is how I felt,

seeing the remnants of the skin I had just shed,

but still uncomfortable in my new face.

This was the first time I had come back since I left last December, and now I admit that it was because I was afraid.

everything so familiar, the quad, the clock tower, my professor, some of my classmates,

yet so different, with a new building sprouting and people not recognizing me and the most important people gone or changed.

nostalgia and nausea, and discombobulation.

I came with two friends from my new life and seeing them there made me feel even more out of place.

everything is different, but still looks the same.

omniscient tickling of my brain that tells me that I have been dreaming that I have been back here since before I left,

stumbling around the quad in my dreams, sleeping in JRC, talking to Kierra about everything, kissing under the street light,

and your hands cupping my face while I look into brown or blue or green eyes that only seem to blankly stare back at me in my

nightmares.

As I give my friends a tour, images flash back to me of memories that feel only weeks old but are actually from a year ago.

Talking to you under that tree, sitting on that marble bench, saying good bye to my Mom for the first time in that parking lot,

learning that my grandmother died in that parking lot, crying in my car and in that office and in that room.

I am very proud of the paper I gave, and I was commended by professors and peers by how I answered questions afterwards.

I couldn’t fully appreciate it because of the suffocation I was feeling from my new skin tightening around my neck.

It didn’t occur to me until now, 5 days later, that I was dumped twice in that same building, just one floor up.

Doing homework with him on the couch outside of the chaplain’s office, doing homework in the booths, crying in that

bathroom. Giving Danny the riot act, telling Evan that he could trust me, doing homework in those booths,

writing the paper I presented on Friday, you meeting me there, my phone not working,

you not even unpacking your bag,

you telling me that we need to talk, you telling me that we were too different,

you telling me that it wasn’t my fault,

you telling me that I was too liberal,

you telling me that you didn’t mean to hurt me, you crying too.

you getting angry when my anxiety escalates, you putting your head in your hands,

you not responding when I say that it isn’t fair, you apologizing.

you saying goodbye.

me feeling my stomach sink like a rock, me in total shock,

me unable to convince you that we were the same,

me seeing that you had already changed.

me feeling defensive, me feeling violated,

me starting to cry big fat tears, me turning red, me my nose starting to run.

me feeling exposed, me telling you off for doing this in a public space,

me texting Kierra to ask her to stay awake until I came home and that it was over,

me crying some more, sobbing into my sweater to muffle the noise.

me still having to tell you that it’s okay, me holding your hand.

me wiping my face off in the bathroom, me staring at my face morphed by tears in the mirror.

me barely holding it together. me asking to walk home alone.

me walking past all of our street lamps, me hiding in darkness so no one would see my face or hear my tears.

me crying myself to sleep that night, me waking up.

me getting into the business school the next day, me feeling genuine pride and joy, me being congratulated by my classmates.

me writing my paper, me doing my homework, me studying for finals, me acing my classes, me dancing with Kierra at formal,

me seeing the students I tutored succeed, me taking charge of my peers at work, me being given responsibility,

me loving my work, me looking toward the future, me packing up my stuff and putting it into storage, me leaving Oxford behind.

me coming to business school, me joining a sorority, me struggling in my classes, me loving my friends,

me making impulsive decisions, me being reminded of you with him, me calling my family every day, me turning 20.

me doing my best, me being proud of what I do, me having genuine friends both new and old,

me being more me than ever before.

I know what I was afraid of now.

I was afraid of remembering this and so much more pain that comes with growth and adulthood.

I was afraid of coming and finding that everyone had forgotten me and it was as if I was never there.

I was afraid to remember that this place was once my home.

frustration

frustration

I probably just need sleep

and to clean my room

do my homework.

It’s the things we need to do that

we should do,

not the things that we did but

we shouldn’t have.

sometimes I just wish

I could dissolve into a puddle

and not exist for 10 minutes

and recover while in my liquid form.

No I am firmly solid

rigid and oddly shaped,

not accommodating and

will not conform to the shapes you want me to.

it’s the things we need to do that

we should do,

not the things that we did but

we shouldn’t have.

wet and cold

wet and cold

it’s raining outside and

the ground is hot

but the air is cold.

he didn’t want to see me anymore,

“this has been fun

but not what I was looking for,”

he said.

that was a week ago,

when the ground was cold and the air was colder

but the world was without water,

so no frozen fragments fell.

I guess he did not enjoy the lemon drops,

or seeing me naked and bear.

the condom broke, he pulled the ripcord.

It’s raining outside,

I’m cold but it’s warm inside.

It is bright and warm and welcoming inside,

don’t worry I am fine.

steam for asher

steam for asher

Eery and unworthy.

fogging up my glasses,

you steam, obscuring my vision,

lust vibrating within us and between us.

I just wanted to love you,

just wanted to hold you,

but that steam wrapped itself around me,

and the colors were so blindingly glorious,

but we never reached that deep red rose,

I never flew above the desert, as portrayed by Salvador Dali.

We sparkled like the night sky, vast and temporary, unknown to our earthling eyes.

It wasn’t really me, we reached deep blue,

we reached lavender too.

You and your pearly white words the morning afterwards,

comparing me to a swan whose feathers shined with the morning dew,

clean and pure and nothing I really am but what you wanted me to be.

Me and my earthy brown response that afternoon, later;

comparing you to an oak tree, big and solid, and stretching around me, providing a home for me to nest in,

but this wasn’t you because you are not earthy nor a tree, but who I wanted you to be.

I am not like a swan, you are not like a tree, we were deluding ourselves, you and me.

I thought you were like water, pure and clean until you met me.

How wrong was I, but that doesn’t excuse you. You were wrong too.

Now I am alone during these cold autumn nights, no one to hold my hand as I walk through the fallen leaves.

You are still twisted up inside of me, but I save you until I am going to sleep, and I think about when it was you and me under my red sheets.

Maybe I am like a swan. Maybe to you I had grace and fidelity, and was as white as snow. Now I’m more like a crow to you.

Maybe you are like a tree. Your roots go down for miles, beyond just beneath you, but this makes you so inflexible still.

Maybe the comparisons fit.

I, as a bird, can fly away to those far away places, while you as a tree only provide me one place to nest. You will not move for me, because you can’t…

But you aren’t a tree, as I am not a bird, and we were not in love,

but maybe we could have been, but does it really matter now if I was a swan or a monkey or if you were a tree or a kite?

I just wanted to love you and prolong the fogging of my glasses so I could just continue to be so incandescently happy that I was content being compared with whatever he wanted me to be.

Your smile was the first thing I would see in the morning, your hands the first thing I touched. Your lips, the first thing I would know.

You don’t smile for me anymore, I haven’t touched you since that morning, and your lips are folded in a tight line.

We never reached deep red.

Honey Part II- Mi abeja se pierde

Honey Part II- Mi abeja se pierde

Mi abeja se pierde,

My bee is lost.

Honey is gone.

We ran off the table and

made it sticky and

it hurts to look at the places

where we fell so

beautifully in the

sun.

Honey is gone

but my inspiration is not.

honey is gone

but I am not destroyed

because I am stronger than that now

no more crying for boys

even if he did deserve me.

Honey is gone

so suddenly there is still golden remnants

on my bed and on my counter top

and in my laundry and on my desk

and most of all in my mind.

Honey is gone and

while I am bereft I am not broken.

Honey is gone but now I know

he wasn’t the one.

Honey is gone and I was right, there will only be a PART I.

I miss you when I wake up because I remember waking up next to you.

I miss you when I go to sleep because I remember how only two days ago we said goodnight.

I miss you when I eat breakfast alone again.

I miss you when I do my laundry because I remember our long conversations in the hot folding room.

I miss you when I listen to music that we loved together.

Honey is gone, but I still remember the sticky taste in my mouth as if it was yesterday, because it was only yesterday.

My chest aches and my eyes water as I write this, but I’m fine and I forgive you already.

Oh honey. We should have been more than what we were

but we weren’t.