Messages from your Mom

Hey, your moms messaged me asking how everything’s going. Inquiring if I’m up for grabs or taken, if I got kids on the way or ones that are almost speaking. A lot can happen with time and distance once a relationship has been broken to pieces.

Talks with your moms brewed emotions, stronger than Cuban coffee with a dash of Columbian powdered lactose that’s cut with coke. Those three dots erupted a commotion of emotions within my flesh-n-muscle soul-powered locomotive and the gears of my heart grinded thinking of what message is attached to her keystroking. I choke on my own spit as I read what she says. “I miss you everyday and hope we can remain as close friends.” I begin typing away a brief, amicable n sincere rejoinder and before I could reply to her, my cellscreen switches to an incoming call from your mother. I hesitate but answer and quickly initiate to conversate. She did nothing wrong to me and to be honest I miss her loving sympathy. A genuine compassion, unconditional. But it’s making my heart feel trivial…

I hold back my tears and hear her every word, as she tangents off and began to spew of her life and yours. How she feels sorry for what occurred, she hoped my focal-point’s sores are recovered and have not given up on love anymore. I’m torn to bits and burst into an internal fit as I do not admit to her, that my heart is scorned from what her offspring did. I simply tell her, “Everything’s going. It is, what it is.” I keep my talk short and sweet. I’m cordial and respectful but a sensation of a vocal tension arose, after my closing statement “What can we do? You live and you learn.” Your mom said goodbye with tone of rejoice and said, “We’ve missed the sound of your voice…”

I replied in a likewise manner wishing her and what’s hers a bright future.

I now feel like I have closure. I still wish you all nothing but the best.

But it’s time to free my mind and take care of me and mine.

To finally let

my f*cking heart rest.

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Trusting Trust

Quietly bumbled and buzzed into sight, a finely tuned specimen possessing endless light. Swiped in the direction of the mind’s eye and happy it coincided on the other side. Restaurants, bars, tango classes and biology practice. She’s a Kataract, cascading with style, Technical and exact, making every experience worthwhile. Her jive is to be the architect of her hive and this bee’s honey comes in the form of sweet music. I’m digging her vibe and Cc:’ed those surrounding a compilation of beats produced by this infamous killah bee. Cheddar cheesing when we’re buzzing together, however allergic is one to be stung, fatal effects occur, yet stuck to her like gum. This serenading sorcerer is flavourful, sweet and knows exactly how to make a heartbeat weep. I’m asking myself, “Could this be the one bee incapable of killing me?”

Buzzing together and it feels like we’re flying, but I’m slowly dying from another’s sharp stings to my heart. Not holding back the truth I say to you, “She broke me in two. So ‘trust’ is something ‘new.’” We promised to only speak the truth, because we’ve both been victims of lies’ abuse. Your wounds and words assure me of your understanding and if it wasn’t for you, I’d probably never go to therapy and/or share my writings. I admire your maturity and ability to respond and not react. Though you get me, I’m still struggling with the damage I’ve been ignoring to start repairing. We talk about mental health and you recommend seeking psychiatric assistance. “I’m not here to give answers or tell what to do, but I wan’t to help you. I’ll just be at your side during this painful ride.” Were your words to me, that I took gladly, but I was hoping you’d fix me. I really wish I met you before I got so f*cked up. “This isn’t fair, I don’t wan’t to keep you waiting” are my words to communicate my heart’s uncertainties. It’s becoming clear to me that I must singularly face my daemons.

Talks with my therapist end with dripping eye sockets and I’m glad you acknowledge what must happen. With a smile you say, “It’s ok, maybe we’ll see each other again someday.” I sigh in relief and smile back. Then you quietly threw, “But there’s one thing, I know it’s not me so I’m questioning you, have you been romantic with anyone else?” Not shocked because we both have issues with trust, but I am pissed because I’ve never hidden anything from you. I respected and valued you enough to not mix in another’s chemicals. I say, “No. Plus we promised another that we trusted to tell the other if we would ever.” Your skeptical look and shake of your head say you doubt what I said. My words can only say so much and you’re not letting my actions talk. I’m speaking truth but it isn’t enough and you left with mouthful of sour tastebuds. Though you may still think ill of me, I only have nice things to say about thee. I’m glad you came into my life and I’ve learned a lot from our time together. We tried this experiment and tested the hypothesis of trust. But scientists test theories and may comeback with different lab results, you came back positive and ready to debate. As I’m staring at my negative results wondering if it’s really me who’s made the mistake.

Gonorrhea

You Remind Me…

The similarities in our distinct histories are scary. The script conducting our lives seems plagiarized and this doesn’t feel like our first time. Though we reside in different continents our life experiences are of the same content. Mixed genetics label us ethnically ambiguous, we’re a pair of cultured artists with hearts of revolutionary activists. Identical backstab wounds explain our trust issues and I shake when we both say, “he/she was the same way.” We met at Cilandak for endless talks, sisha that we never got, drinks and planed to visit Kota Tua. Laughing and sipping whisky, i’m delighted by her presence genuinely and frightened at our similar life stories. We made good use of our time together, train tours and sight seeing, enjoying another’s company. Alcohol takes over and impairs what I see, my blurry vision is raising insecurities ‘cause the posture of the silhouette across from me is aggressively familiar. I’m loving but questioning her mannerisms and particular gestures. She’s able to finish each other’s sentences and I’m feeling connected in all senses. But its too familiar. It doesn’t help that her face and smile are similar even her posture and behavior. I’m pacing in my head, because I’m being reminded of who’m I dread. Usher’s tune “You remind me of a girl I once knew” talks truth he says, “It’s unfair to relate her ignorance to you, wish I knew how to separate the two.” He knows how I’m feeling. Because I hate that I’m looking at you but seeing her. Being reminded of the pain she put me through, I cover with a smile through our feast of food. Laughs are spewed and a few brews are had. We’re talking story and sipping glad. Through the jokes you say “You’re just like my dad.” Not sure what you meant by it I sit perplexed. Though I’m proud of my restraint for not saying, “you’re just like my ex.”

Guerrero de Pelo Güero

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Güero

Te fuiste igual como llegaste,

peleando por tu vida.

Sin duda, tu dulzura nunca sera igualada.

Y aunque no puede ser comprada,

uno sigue en búsqueda de esa compañía.

Porque tu energía se siente todavía,

dentro del que antes fue tu guía.

Una sinergia compartida entre hombre y canino, igualada a padre e hijo.

Sigo confundido, pensando,

porque te fuiste sin haber sido despedido.

Y ahora, solamente tengo,

lindos recuerdos, extrañándote y

deseando verte con el eterno.

Watering Dead Plants

{Word Vomit}

            Here goes nothing…

Renaissance by definition rebirth. Is one able to reincarnate into the same molecular vessel and still experience this “renaissance?” Is one able to be born again and not physically die. People tend to just ignore, run away and try to just “keep the eye on the prize.” Religion seems to be the answer to some, to others religion is the “opiate of the masses.” Where does one find the answers to questions one is afraid to solve? Are humans capable of living without fear? Questions flood the mind, as if the brain was drowning and gasping for air in the same fluid it floats on. Life hits fast and hard. When does one know to duck and cover or face it head on and hump it into submission? There are a google of questions and no solid answer in sight. Unable to tangibly possess these responses one is left floundering like a fish out of water in the depth of the world’s oceans.

Placed out of comfort and left to roam alone. Constantly thinking of taking it back, repeatedly conceptualizing if the proper, fair and adequate decision was mutually agreed. UMI said “shine your light on the world.” My light don’t feel that bright.

Plants grow if you water them. Did I drown my plan? Did I not give it the nutrients needed for it to grow and flourish? WHAT DO I NEED TO DO? When does one know when to stop watering that plant? I don’t know how to keep this from withering, and I don’t want this to die. I have the fertilizer in hand. At least I hope I have the right one. Cultivating love and not knowing when to harvest. I feel uprooted; pulled out of the soil which feeds my drive to live. Am I withering away? Laying on dirt, soiled. Maybe the pot was too far from the plant. Perhaps it was the wrong soil to begin with. For all I know, the soil nursing my beautiful flower’s roots is her home. Lemme tell you about this flower.

Puakenikeni scented, blossomed just right. Flowing freely, but always keeping it tight. Carnivorous, trapping my every move. Be looking buttery, silky smooth. Generously distributed in all the right places. A SlimThicc plantae, with volumptious petals. Cross germinated, tracing roots from east to west north and south. There is something special about my flower.

I’d like to say we grew together. Always believing we’d never grow apart. Belief is an interesting word since “believe” means to doubt. Believing isn’t knowing, uncertainty still sits when there is belief instead of fact. My flower and I trusted we’d grow, blossom, wither and die together. A mutual decision from the start. The pit was ready for the seed. Encouraged by my family and the flowers to promise them some seedlings.

The pit grew and filled with hope. Hope that in 1,2,3,5 years there would be an abundance of seeds planted and sprouting. Hope. Fucking Hope. Is all I had. Never anything tangible. Always filled with ominous feelings and half ass responses. Always pushing to get something out of this. Maybe I pushed too hard.

            *THC Break*

My flower can’t grow if I’m holding her back. I want my flower to grow. I need my flower to know that I love and never wish her wrong. I must have my flower understand that I love her and out of love this was agreed upon. I require my flower to flourish. WITH OR WITHOUT ME.

Allah, Oprah, Jesus whoever knows that I will never forget the memories and thoughts of my flower. They’re tremendous. I just wish I could continue to make memories with my flower. I hope my flower feels the same way. I hope my flower could’ve communicated to me, someway.

I sit and think about all those little signs when my flower was trying to tell me something. A fallen petal here. Talk with no response. A cut stem over there. Was I blind or playing blind? I can’t help but think that I’ll never get my flower back. I can’t help but assume that my skewed vision was the reason my flower couldn’t stay with me any longer. Why can’t I be her source of love and nourishment and everlasting company anymore? The more that thought simmers in my heart the more real the pain feels. Though it could be my heel. Thrown in Judo landed on that heel. My heel will heal and my heart currently envies the healing heel.

This self is never selfish, but selfishly I’d like to be when it comes between my flower and me. Selfish in the sense that I don’t want her to receive the love I give her from anyone else. Maybe my love is what’s causing her to wither from me. I never once disagreed with my flower and always encouraged to pursue more. What have I done to become so unattractive that I can’t be part of my flower’s life anymore?

Fluids running from all frontal orifices. Keeping the keyboard at bay. I sit here trying to slay these words but I’m lacking sources. Afraid to look back deep into my mind’s eye. Scared of the beauty I’ll definitely find. There is no fine for the evidence that lies of my flower and I. Well… maybe my sanity.

            A relationship of almost three years. Almost…

Lost and not as confused because I know that my flower will continue on. With me or without…