1. Your eyes are the sunset of 25th March, 2058
  2. Your lips look like our two children

In essence, you look like the future, baby
You are poetry
No, not like a love poem
Or an inspiring piece from Rudy Francisco
You are a Sabrina Benaim suicide note
Seven levels of hell on the tongue of its reader
But you see, I was born masochist
I never feared death, just what comes before
I would still love you if you were the grim reaper
So let me taste what 70 years from now would look like
May I make a last wish before you take my soul?
Can I be buried deep in you? 


The world is shifting, constantly drifting
The earth is spiralling down farther than Whitney
This woman lost her child at sun dawn
The worst thing you could ever tell a black woman is to calm down
My mom was in control from before chaos was conceived. She isn’t a queen, she’s the ruler
She is a clogged toilet. She doesn’t take shit, no matter how you hand it to her
Her feet are pizza with pineapple toppings
Yet, on most days, I despise her every footstep
The ground she steps on, the dust she raises
She, on occasions, sounds like half eaten apple left to sour over days
She looks like Rock music
On days, I stay indoors to avoid having to look upon the dissapointment on her lips
I love her with all my heart, but I sometimes want to be heartless
I clench my fist at emotions, I lose my head for a second
Her voice becomes a reckless 9 year old Caucasian spoilt brat yelling about his icecream that dropped
I imagine music, but it almost never helps
I want to seize the sound right out her voice box
Yet, you, a girl I stumbled on last week, dare tell me I don’t love you enough?
You slept on my bed for 2 days straight and I didn’t strangle you in your sleep
You should offer gratitude. Love has never been that deep.
Dear poem-writing, heart-clenching, word-twisting, seemingly inspiring people, shut up
I don’t like y’all
You lie for a living. There is no hope here
Death is no better. You either live in misery or die in it
I’ve never been seen in the same room as Jesus
I have a history of being gleam
A demon once called me Satan
I don’t remember denying being him
I got histories


Are you also going to feign surprise?
My knees bear tales my lips can’t tell
Everyday, my hair mocks my skin
It tells me of how soft it is,
Even words could bruise them
So it’s not a shock my body looks like a battle ship
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words carry far more damage
Maybe I’ll never understand my feelings
I’m a Libra
And I don’t have the slightest clue what that means
My hands carry stories
Staircases of yarns I don’t remember
About prayers that never got answered
Promises never fulfilled
My heart has gotten broken more times than my bones
Yet, I don’t know which hurts more
Everyday I cry for help
I write my demons on these scripts
My Wars. You read them and tell me how realistic they feel
How good my poetry is
Don’t you dare tell me you never saw it coming,
Just because I smile and tell you how great everything is
I’m a coward at heart
My tongue tattles happy thoughts my brain does not recall
That my body never experienced
That my soul never witnessed
I’m a forbidden meal
Depression takes a bite every time my eyes look away
My mind is a whore
It is always lost, wandering outside
I don’t know what it feels like, not tasting bitterness in my saliva
I hope you never wonder how it happened
I gave you all the signs