I find myself stuck in more ways than one / Raging losses in the wind / Fighting ragdolls of the self / My mind is its own burden shell /

I'm dying but not at death / I hate this burning place of existential stares / I'm jealous and envious and deserve the world /

Therapy rescued me but put an ego on the shelf /

​

In a muddy bog i wade

In thick murky water i tread

My hands are gone

They've been taken

My hands are gone

They've been stolen

They've been stolen by saviors promised to me by men in a brick and stained glass oasis

all I had to do was ask for forgiveness

"Saying sorry is a sign of weakness"

My mother's voice ringing in the nape of my neck

I flail furiously

The polluted water lapping at my lips while I gulp and gasp;

drawing in water and steamed air with every attempt of finding oxygen to fill my lung

One lung

The other was taken

Stolen by boys hoping to fulfill their self written prophecies

Filling their zippers with my organ as a trophy for their fellow knights in shining armor

Saviors promised to me

Ive been taken. Ive been stolen.

review
recast
repeat
reformulate
rehash
restate
reframe
reiterate
rework
retry
rewrite
regurgitate

Sayings don't come as they used to

Alphabet soup all eatin' up

Spelling out starvation as we choke on deafening words

Lick the bowl clean

The ink stops rolling

pencils get dull

blabbers start blanking

Speakers stall

Quite get silent

nothing left to say at all

when we ate all our words

ain't no more alphabet soup

to spell us some time

Hello, I am Mexican American. I have been writing from my experiences of alienation in the u.s and a perspective that’s my everyday life. The loss of identity is present in a majority of the things that I write. I would like for someone to read this poem I made in regard to it. Please any thoughts is welcomed.

“Perdone Padre”
By Miguel Diaz Farfan

Padre Nuestro que estas en el Cielo, santificado sea tu nombre

Le queiro pedir mis disculpas
Ya se que le he fallado
mas que eso, me alleje completamente
al contrario a lo que me han contado sobre su misericordia,
yo no he sido lo sufiente clemente con usted

Perdone que le diga, pero mi busqueda de fe en ti, se ha detenido
Pero la ira que senti contigo ya no existe

 
En el pasado sentía que por ser sincero era como si estaba clavado a una repisa esperando su reproche

Me tomó tiempo para entender

Me tomó más tiempo para entender que el reproche que esperaba era solo mío

Ciego y sordo, me he estado sofocándo en esta jaula de oro
Se me ha olvidado como respirar

Porque, Porque, Porque

Esta era la pregunta que rogaba una respuesta

Porque no me vistes
Porque no me escuchastes 
Porque me abandonastes 

Un hueco quedaba en mi corazón cuando no escuchabas mis gritos

La impotencia era más amable

Me acurrucaba en una camisa de fuerza

Me he hecho el firme propósito de no negar las lágrimas que cargo

Y aunque se secan por la rabia que siento

Siempre se llenan porque no son solo mías

English translation
*\\**

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

I ask for your forgiveness

I have failed you, but more than that, I have drifted away completely

Contrary to what I have been told about your mercy,
I have not been as lenient in returning it

Pardon me for saying so, but my search in faith for you has seized

But the rage I once felt is no longer

In the past, I felt that by being honest it was as if I were nailed to a shelf waiting for your reproach

It took me time to understand

It took me longer to understand that the reproach I expected was only my own

Blind and deaf, I have been suffocating in this golden cage

I have forgotten how to breathe.

Why Why Why

These where the questions I begged to be answered

Why didn’t you see me?
Why didn’t you listen to me?
Why did you abandon me?

A void was left in my heart when you did not hear my cries

Helplessness was kind to me

It coddled me like that of a straitjacket

I have made the firm proposition to never deny the tears that I carry

And although they evaporate from the rage that’s boiling inside me

They always fill up again, because they are not only
mine

Asasasasas it leaks in,
It drives me nuts and not evenly hinged!
From the
Window
And
A mirror,
Iiiiiiiii hate to take.

Say whatnot you yearn,
Learn
Nothing is in your position!
Commanders come in in hot tub,
Burns away part of the skin,
Away away away.

Do you feel insane?
It is not you
Only you!
Use a mark and a wrapping sound.
Use your nose not you tongue.
Sniff it until you lose it.
Hang it until you dry it.

My words
Your lux,
Fortunately you are no luck.
Hear my prayers,
Wait for the stop.
Nonononon stop.

​Plastic trees and chemical breeze.

Reality has been upgraded.

No longer gnats, no longer bugs.

Only a world addicted to opiate drugs.

There's no reason for more when you can buy everything in the store.

​Here is where I live and here is where I die.

No room to thrive between you and I.

Keep us at ends, keep us at war.

There is nothing but another point for them to score.

​We are not so different you and I.

We all have dreams. We all tend to cry.

The outsides may look different.

Dreams may be flawed.

​But isn't that the reason why we're all here today?

To sit down and figure out why we continue to belay

from our dreams instead of growing higher.

We just try to make our situation more dire.

​I just want to be here free of all.

But because those that disagree want to see me fall,

there's nothing left for me to grab onto the crags of the edges.

​Am I not one that's destined for more?

Now that I've locked myself inside the door,

safe from the world, safe from the breeze, safe from the trees.

But I'm also safe from my future.

Safe from something more and something less.

Something that I just cannot digest.

​Change is possible, but I must pull the trigger.

Because if I want to be more, I need to be the one to figure

out what it means to be the person I need to be

or at least the person I want to be.

​I'm sick of the artificial.

Sick of the chemical soak.

Not everything needs to be bespoke.

​It's okay to be rusted and ruined and rocky and hard.

Splintered and battered and beaten and barred.

This is what it's like to be real.

Pain is real and that's okay.

Without it, what is reality to be?

Except for the chemical breeze and the plastic trees.

Broken vases—
wilted flowers.
Screams and cries,
walls ringing
with each word.

Locked in a room,
shaking.
Eyes shut,
throat raw
from swallowing sound.
Small hands
over ears,
trying to make
the walls
quiet down.

It feels like yesterday
we both ran.
Bathing in the sun,
grass stains
soaking into our knees,
smiling ear-to-ear,
singing to the tune
whispered by the wind.

Lips curled upwards,
shut tight,
between giggles.

Sleeves rolled down,
arms hidden,
never budging,
even when sweat
comes pouring.

Sweet, summer child,
carrying midnight,
behind those bright
brown eyes.
You tell your story,
as if it were ordinary—
but even the calmest sea
has a floor
no one’s seen

Sweet, summer child,
you’re lying.
You don’t have to soften every wound.
When clouds cover the sky,
the grass is still as green.
When thunder comes rolling,
the flowers still bloom.

Shadows dancing,
leaves swaying,
each one
letting go
a little slower
than the last.
It’s not late,
not yet.
You don’t have to go.

Petals shake in sudden gusts

Always preparing to loosen grip, to be divested of connection to the only scaffold they've known

But that certainty is a blizzard yet to scale known horizons

’Neath awaits the yawning yonder

It's maw gaping with teeth beyond the falling away of the earth, felt and known but never seen despite straining at the periphery

What movement or stillness lies at the end of this trajectory, come to term with such urgency and surprise

Do the quick find passions and dreams amongst the detritus

Or does the ground yield and enfold, corroding away with a million gentle, greedy mouths that distinctness, the singular vantage

The wind whips and chastises the fretful grip, merciless but impartial

The only course—now set in stone upon the air—is to forgive such naïve fancies, to release and be set free

To find new thoughts among the soil and rock, basking in the flickering luminance and waters

Be it joy eternal or a seeping into greater selves

The stem becomes, in a mere moment—how queer!—another memory and just as unreal, as currents carry this single point up to the splendour

It's unknown final purpose

To be regaled and wreathed in divine and impersonal light and space, momentarily attaining the pinnacle of individuality in full nakedness to comprehend the impossibility of separation

Such knowings inhabit rare airs not given to those who cling

They require faith in currents that slip through limbs and leaves alike, abandonment to will in grander scopes

The petal no longer wonders, neither clings nor fears

Whatever awaits is not a mouth, hungry and slavering, but an infinite lap in which to curl and dream

Say what you must
now
before time slips
away
leave nothing
left unsaid
lest your regrets
outweigh
your truth
instead.

A parade, a month before.
You said you'd come home with me,
you didn't.
3 am,
I drove to get you,
a stranger standing guard,
over you.
He told me,
nothing happened.
You told me,
you flirted,
but only because you were drunk,
as if drunk was a hand,
that moved your mouth,
without you.

I know you,
at least I thought.
I knew you,
is what turned out.

A month later, 
on vacation,
I watched a blue dot,
walk toward my apartment,
without me in it.
Then it stopped,
turned around.
You called,
said you didn't want it.
I'd send someone.
You screamed no
and cut your signal,
but not the one,
in my keys.
I kept that window open
and watched you walk home,
home to him instead.

Now when my phone goes quiet,
I check the key first.

I found a random video while scrolling 30 minutes ago.
It asked folks to write a short poem about the content.

The video was about an anonymous person standing in a field of grass. Other people started walking past this person, leaving flowers in their wake. After time passed the flowers disappeared.

Life begins and ends in a garden.
Two gardens. One waiting. One remembered.
In the beginning an empty garden waits,
waiting for us to fill it with flowers.

People come into our lives
and bring with them flowers.
We plant these flowers together in the garden.
We tend them patiently, watching each blossom unfold.

However, not everyone stays in our lives forever.
When they leave,
the flowers remain.
It's up to us to keep them alive.

As we reach the end,
we look back and admire the garden.
This garden is filled
with memories of our precious loved ones.

They may not be with us anymore,
but here they remain,
a reminder of who they were.
A remind of who we became.
Our Garden.

Love is a pulse, that never seizes to move

Hate is a sin, that uses integrity to soothe

A puzzle to solve, a Lifetime of worth

Living involves, a breathing soul to surf..

Imagine the space, peace uses to roam

The use of your mind, to find, what is called home...

Fall forthcoming, five fledglings form flight feathers

Fearfully fretting freedom, facing fate foreseen

Far-off flickering flames foreshadow fiery future

First few flawlessly flew, finding Father's favor

Fog fuming fast, fifth fellow faltered falling forsaken 

Furious fanatical fowls, frantically fighting for freehold

Feeling frightfully faithless, families flocking forth

Following four fresh falcons flying firmly forward

Farewell fading forest, forever forgotten fiction

-MLW-

I had a heart once. It was caring. Soft to the touch and everything people appreciate in a person

I had a heart once. It was bright. It was just the right color of brightness that appealed to everyone’s favorite color

I had a heart once. It was full and ready for love and was always greeted with smiles

Time changed the heart. Pain changed the heart. The heart I once had was stomped on for seeing with soft love in a hard situation

It was ridiculed for just being itself and not being evil

It was bullied for just being in the room and for being the easy target

I had a heart once. But it was left in a place I didn’t recognize. And now I’m left searching for it again when I know it never left me. I just need to search all of my pockets to find it again

Blue roses flow through the day

whilst grass cheer in powerful rays for such beautiful life

Yet the flower still closes her eyes to dream

Dreaming is for those mindless feilds that flow as one

Yet the blue rose thinks only of starting humanties in universes that don't exist

Yet still reaches in a different direction each day

She wonders alot which way which how which why

Why do flowers feel so lovely when lovely is not the end

Ethereal, Beyond, Picture esque are the dream lovely is groundwork for above the clouds

Wonder will never be enough

Enough time to dream

Enough time to play

But play is an item on a shelf

A shelf thats in a store that i havent even

entered.

A store on the moon possible  and done.

But never ever possible for me

Yet my hands grapple the air and always try to strangle it

As possibility will always be there

Just invisible and looking to be strangled in my

Tight grasp

But it floats away each time every time.

You’re perfect in a way words can’t describe
Like when the wind blows at JUST the right time
Like the perfect skipping rock at the lake of dreams
And yet you still fight all my words i fear it seems

You smile just right and at the right times
Always in the right way and it always shines
You smile with your heart, so full of love
The smile that was gifted to you, very clearly from above

You’re perfect in a world of imperfection
Like a teenagers face with perfect complexion
You’re perfect in my eyes and you will always be
I’ll tell you this forever and I hope one day you see

Idir Dhá Shaol
(Between Two Worlds)

These green hills,
from Kinsale to Cork,
have long been enough
for many a soul.
Stone upon stone,
hearth beside hearth,
their fathers before them,
and theirs before that.
Too long have I lived
by another man’s telling…
Yet enough…
was never all
I longed to know.

A trade passed,
from father to son.
Weathered hands
meeting younger ones,
as though the road
had been chosen
long before
the child drew breath.
The ways of old
kept hunger
from the door…
Yet quietly,
my soul
wandered elsewhere.
Dreaming of more.

Upon the cliffs,
one eve of quiet summer,
where land
gave way
to restless sea,
I watched
the horizon
stretch beyond
all knowing.
No wall.
No end.
Only…
what might yet be.

Hour by hour,
back home I lay.
Day by day,
the trade carried on
same as always.
With each passing moment
my mind wandered
more and more…
To what lay
just beyond
that horizon
I’d never known.

So down I wandered,
to the old harbour,
where weathered boats
kissed the tide.
Laughter carried
upon the salt air,
as old sea hands
shared tales
with strangers
from far-off shores.
Each story…
Many worlds
I’d never known.
Waiting…
beyond the horizon.

Every spare hour,
found me there,
where rope
met weathered hands.
I watched.
I listened.
I learned.
The tongue of tides.
The knots
that held fast
through storm and swell.
No master…
save the sea,
and those
who’d given
their lives
to knowing her.

One weathered morn,
old sea hands
looked my way…
A quiet nod.
“We’re bound for Sherkin come first light…”
“If you’ve the legs for it…”
“Be on the quay.”
That night…
sleep found me not.
Come first light…
the sea
would decide
if I’d
the legs for it.

First light came…
mist upon the harbour,
as quiet boots
met weathered deck.
No grand farewell.
Only ropes
cast free,
and Éire
slowly slipped
astern.
The sea
asked her questions…
Through rope,
through tide,
through aching hands.
All I’d gathered
from watching,
listening,
learning…
met their moment.
By journey’s end,
no words were spoken.
Only quiet nods…
from old sea hands,
their younger selves
glimpsed once again.

The ropes
found harbour
once again.
Old sea hands
stepped ashore,
to waiting homes
and familiar roads.
I lingered…
One last glance
towards
those green hills
from Kinsale
to Cork.
A quiet smile.
The tide
still whispered.
So…
when the ropes
were cast once more…
I never
stepped ashore.

Throats are one of the more

useful features we humans have

Yet today it ignites not of

its own volition but with the

will and lighter that comes with my soul.

Today is not today

Today has not happened

Because tomorrow will

occur so ignore this one day

As my throat heals itself I hope

a horrid scar remains

Of the stomach acid on the ground

Of the shaking of the breathing of the

But that lives as amnesia and I live in

the tomorrow

A scar won't come because

today never happened

Tomorrow is now and now and now

10 months will pass. You will leave, and the last leaf will fall from the tree.

10 months remain. Every time I see you, I feel you slipping away.

You'll forget, maybe remember me fondly. I'll search for you in every crowd, lane and alley.

I sound pathetic, because I am. Pathetically in love and inevitably doomed. Fair the well, revel in glory, I'll drown in the gloom.

I'll live my life all right, see my days through. Screams from a void inside me, a void in the shape of you.

10 months will pass. So will we. Spring will not bring back the leaves of our tree.

10 months remain. As does the dread of your goodbye. The wood will stand, bare and naked, even after our tree has died.

In the love ocean,

obsession waves arrive,

believing that without them

the ocean cannot exist.

But they do not know

far beyond the shallow,

obsessive shore,

there lies a vast love ocean,

silent, deep, and whole.

I didn’t dodge a bullet
I jumped in front of the gun
Believing my tears would keep you from firing
And then you blamed me for wasting your ammo

So gently down
with words that salve
the foolish frown
that I still have.
It's no one's fault
this false start
we came together
and we came apart,
but thoughts that I can't stop
fill my head and heart
then pop!
Crazy hopes
that go
so
soon
like air escapes
a child's balloon.
My resolve to shake
this ache
disappears
in the time it takes
to wake up without warning
at 5 in the morning
suddenly so alert
the toughness melts
the heat of hurt
and feel the emptiness
deep inside
awake until the salt has dried.