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2022

Updated: Mar 17

2022 has been ... an inconsistent year for me. There was a lot of changes going on in my life and it's been a struggle for me to find consistency among the changes.


Despite the crazy year, I still made time to write. Here are some of my favorite pieces that I wrote this year.



 

2022

Connected By The Sky

I Used to Hide Behind a Pen Name

Roses on Valentine's Day

A Garden of Kisses

If Autumn Had a Face, it Would be Yours

I Spoke to God Tonight

On That Day

That First Kiss feeling

He's The One

Don't Break My Heart

The Nobel Prize for Reading


 


I want to spend my evening with you

on the water,

like we did the last time I visited,

gazing at the sunset

and seeing how all the pretty hues

blend and bleed into one:

the pinks, the reds,

and even the smallest bits of blue.


Do you remember that day?


You called me your sky:

your reason to wake up at 5AM

to see the sun rise

and your reason to stay out every evening,

seeing the sky fade into night.


And as I sit here at home,

knowing we are only a sky away

I smile

and I sigh

for you, too, are the sky of my life




I used to hide my words

behind a pen name:

I scribbled my soul onto the page

and then laminated it with a name

that was not mine.

My words were still legible

but they were protected —

they were protected from all the eyes

that I didn't want to read my work.


I didn't want the people who knew me,

who knew my real name,

to read about the side of me

that I keep hidden behind brick walls and towers,

that I keep guarded by my own personal infantry,

that I keep in a realm I constantly escape to

because real life is simply too much to bear sometimes ...


I hid myself behind a pen name,

hoping no one would know who I really was

but still wanting to be found —

I still wanted people to understand me:

to understand how much I love

and how much I hurt,

to understand just how much I hold inside.

I wanted people to understand that writing

is the only way I know to use my voice,

to even have a voice at all.


The two most vulnerable things I have ever done

is write:

write every bit of my soul,

bearing it onto the page,

and the second is reveal to the world

that I was the one writing those words

that hid behind that pen name.



Inspired by the painting: "Automat" by Edward Hopper (1927)


The couples of the world were out spending this annoyingly romantic Valentine's Day with one another, delighting over their love with champagne, chocolates, and cliche roses that would wither in a week's time. Rose, however, sat alone at that dingy 24-hour diner table meant for two. She exchanged glances between her espresso and the window, not seeing much but her beautiful reflection in both. She never liked Valentine's Day. She wasn't a fan of being showered with love and affection only to have herself be forgotten shortly after. As the night grew darked and the clock ticked closer to midnight, Rose remained frozen to her sear, not wanting to go home. Aside from having to walk in the cold, empty streets alone, she didn't want to go home to her bed — her bed was far colder and lonelier, especially on this day. She may not have liked Valentine's Day, but she didn't like being alone either.




I want you to plant kisses on my body —

kiss me all over

like flowers will bloom

wherever your lips touch:


your "I love you" kiss

will bloom romantic red roses,


your "Honey, I'm home!" kiss

will birth darling daisies,


your "I just feel like kissing you" kiss

will grow golden marigolds


your "Good morning" kiss

will sprout smiling sunflowers,


and your "Good night" kiss

will flower the most divine dahlias.


And soon,

I will have a garden,

filled with all my favorite flowers,

filled with reminders of your love

that bloomed

one kiss at a time.




The autumnal hues plaster the sky

and it turns red like your blushed cheek

on pale skin, with a hint of gold in your eye,

but not nearly as special or unique.

Your lips always taste like vanilla

but dressed like a pink lady apple.

And you smell of nutmeg, of canela,

like a snickerdoodle-scented candle.

The leaves match the spotted dots on your skin

and you have that jack-o-lantern smile:

always wide with laughter to get lost in

and just enough mischief and guile.

Autumn is something I always look forward to

but it doesn't compare to the beauty of you.




I spoke to God tonight to ask Him about you:

I asked Him to give you a message from me

and I asked Him if you were thinking of me too.


I regret how far apart we grew

but I still wonder what we could be

so I spoke to God tonight to ask Him about you.


I wish you could see things from my point of view

and see how much I miss what we used to be

so I asked Him if you were thinking of me too.


This conversation with God was long overdue,

but it is just what I need,

so I spoke to God tonight to ask Him about you.


I look to the skies, both black and blue,

and think of you as I watch the waves of the sea

and I asked Him if you were thinking of me too.


This is not random or anything new:

I've stayed up many nights thinking about our story,

so I spoke to God tonight to ask Him about you

and I asked Him if you were thinking of me too.




You're handsome, but you're not a ten

(perhaps an eight at most).

Still,

you captivated me at our first meeting,

our first reunion,

for I recognized you instantly,

or rather, my soul recognized you.


On that day, our souls found one another again,

for the first time in eons —

they had spent far too many lifetimes apart,

too many years drifting through the galaxy,

and swimming in and out of the stars,

between the rings of Saturn,

bouncing off the moons of Jupiter ...


and I wondered:


Is this love at first sight?


But it didn't really matter,

for the gap between us had been bridged

so that we were now only a screen apart —

a few clicks

and a simple message away.


I don't really believe in love at first sight,

but that day made me believe in soulmates

and that mine is out there, two thousand miles away,

but only a screen apart.




I wanna have that first kiss feeling again:

feeling the butterflies, the fireworks,

as your eyes gaze into mine,

making their way down to my lips —


I wanna have that feeling of you staring at me

for just a few seconds too long,

because you're nervous

and you don't want to mess this up,

but in that moment, all I'm thinking is:

"Please just kiss me already ..."


I wanna have that first kiss feeling again

because it means something new

and exciting is about to happen

and after so many endings,

I wanna have that feeling

of a new beginning again.




He asks me how my day is going. He's the one. He smiles at me when I look at him. He's the one. He tells me I'm pretty, that my eyes are beautiful, soulful. He's the one. He calls me "babe" and "my girl." He's the one. He told me I'm special, that I am unlike any other girl he's met. He's the one. He texts me sometimes, almost every day. He's the one. He calls me every night at 2AM, telling me that he misses me and to come over, even though we still haven't had a real date. He's the one. He tells me that he doesn't want to rush into labeling our relationship. He's the one. He tells me that he doesn't want me to fuck other guys, but he wants permission to fuck other girls since we're technically not a couple. I tell him that I love him and that I want a serious relationship with him. He tells me that he never wanted anything serious. He also tells me: "well, what's being you without a little heartbreak?" I thought he was the one ...




I know that Augustus Waters told Hazel Grace

that it would be an honor

to have his heart broken by her

but I can't say the same when it comes to you —

I don't want to have my heart broken by you ...

having my heart broken

again, for the Nth time,

would be the straw that breaks the camel's back


you breaking my heart

would affirm that cynical part of me

that believes there is no such thing as true love

and if I give up on my belief in love,

then I lose myself.



The Nobel Prize for Reading


(A response to Nicanor Parra’s “El Premio Nobel”)


A nobel prize for reading, huh?


What an odd proposition

but one I am thoroughly intrigued by


so I am officially nominating myself for the Prize


because like you,

I read everything I can get my hands on:


I read the letters of my unused psychology degree sitting in the frame

I read tweets and Instagram captions religiously

I analyze text messages like philosophical scripture

I Google whatever random curiosity pops into my head

and I ALWAYS have captions on the TV


I’m quite the reader too you know

so may the best one win.



 


Thank you for reading. Here's to another year filled with poetry — cheers!

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