that sunday night.

we smoked on a sunday night.
and that is when i felt
with all of my heart
some of the most precious emotions i’ve ever experienced.
you were in my arms as we laid on the couch.
netflix was on in the background
and your kitchen light and a solo lamp in the corner set the mood for all.
our foreheads and noses were touching
as you were falling into my soul,
the way that waves fall back into the ocean after gently grazing the untouched sands and imperfect castles of strangers nearby.
i could tell that you were smiling by the dimple below your left eye.
whole conversations were whispered
like two middle schoolers who were on the phone past curfew.
your eyes never broke away from me but for a blink,
and even so,
you rushed back from your flutter to put your gaze right back on me.
“what is this that we are feeling?” you whispered as our faces still touching, never rupturing our union.
my lips stayed silent in fear of saying a four letter word only meant for lovers.
now as i think back and try to figure out that feeling of intimacy that we felt on that sunday night,
i’m realizing that there isn’t a single word to describe that feeling, darling.
but i can tell you that it was a mixture of love and sadness and passion.

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the kindest one.

an unopened bottle of champagne sits on the floor near my bedroom door.
we lie in bed weak from martinis and whiskey
and he reaches over and says “good morning sweetheart”.
my succulent plants can no longer face the cold temps of my winter new york bedroom
and my once white rug is now a grey blur.
his beard tickles my neck as i listen to my neighbor’s heels clap on the floor above.
for a split second i can see clouds surround our bodies.
gravity is a lost concept and i’ve never felt so high and so sober in one moment.
i am being held by the kindest man known to mankind,
and in this hour i’m not fretting about when i will see him next
or if he likes me back.
rather, my mind is serene and my body is still
and all of me feels pleasant.

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yoga mat.

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she’s gotta be a feminist
the way she lets people up dog on her like she’s
kim k and the other is ray j.
she flaunts it as if she wants people to know that
she bears the “path to jubilation and alleviation”.
but really she is walked on, sweat on, used, and put to the side until she’s ready to be used again.

she a hoe.
she tries to act all “versatile”
and will tell you that she “loves to go camping”.
that bitch know that as soon as you two get in the tent
she is gonna be right up under you, between you and the ground.

she brags about flexibility and vitality.
she’ll tell you she likes it in the morning
and even at night
but she smell like balls
and feels like i need to wash my hands after touching her.

see you next tuesday.

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education and viagra.

 

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here i am. i am about to graduate college with a bachelor of arts in something i won’t be able to get a job in. by the time i walk across the stage with that god-awful unflattering dress, i will be $55,000 in debt knowing that my education may very well be my greatest asset i will ever have in life. i may never own a house and i am certain that the odds of me owning a car that is greater than the price of my education is very slim. so basically, the 4.5 years spent stressing over deadlines, crying over mishap relationships, and drinking until i forget that my diet consists of ramen and burnett’s was all so this very moment could happen. this moment. right here. me writing this damn thing because i have just been slapped by the reality of what my greatest asset has consisted of.

as my life does not resemble that of the hamptons, my point of existence is not technically in shambles. i have a nice comfortable bed that i can count on every night and i have recently said goodbye to burnett’s and hello to whiskey and craft beer. i have kept my oldest plant alive for 14 months and counting, almost longer than any relationship that i have ever had, and i cut off all my hair as a political statement and self liberation and still manage to get hit on my decent looking men at the bar. to add on to that, i have also managed to let go of things that needed to be let go of. people, clothes, bad diet habits, overpowering perfumes, etc., and as i let go of certain things, my world transforms from a drip coffee to a french pressed coffee, from a bieber to a timberlake, from a pbr to an oberon.

throughout the 4.5 years of this hellhole/golden streets of heaven, i have experienced more things than i ever thought possible. i dated interesting people, i met donald trump (not my favorite person in the world, and it wasn’t the most flattering picture of me), i actually enjoy my internship, and i chose the right people to stay in my life. i realized how important family is to me, my brother actually cried the last time i was leaving to return back to school after winter break. i read for pleasure and i write for sparkle. i can also bake a mean jell-o cake that will last for months in the back of your fridge just in case if you happen to forget about it.

college has been a journey of self discovery and redefining passions. my family thinks that i am a lesbian because i am passionate about the rights of humanity, but little do they know i take that as a compliment, because bitch i’m fabulous.

nothing lasts forever, not a diamond, not a tattoo, not even political power. diamonds will someday degrade to graphite and flake away and someday i will die and my ink will become dust in the wind and cuba is ahead of the US in healthcare. however, as mentioned earlier, i will someday die and i can only hope that these words will mean something to somebody. but as for my $55k spent on knowledge, knowledge is capital and education is the viagra of the world, it’s the gift that keeps on giving.

so maybe that’s what college is all about. it’s about viagra and Karl Marx and the gays and craft beer.


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something about a boy.

when i hear your name, i can’t help but to think of palm trees taking a liking to the wind,
swaying drunkenly to the beat of the heat of the sun.

and for some reason i always feel like tickling you.
yes, tickling you.
if i were to tickle you, it would allow me to touch you
while conceiving a combustion of sound waves that could make a prisoner feel free,
a poor man feel rich, the dead feel life.
a smile more perfect than a crescent moon
and a laugh so gentle that your very breath could create a house of cards
and soothe the winds of a hurricane.

if we ever kiss, i would imagine that you would grab my body gently
as if not to assert your masculinity too strongly,
and your virility and my femininity would create a third grade science experiment,
a tornado in a bottle,
a volcano on the table.

there is something about you that i take delight in.
you make me nervous.
really nervous.
and you make me hot.
really hot.

and it was a pleasure to meet you.

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a universal love.

 

love is patient, love is kind. it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. it is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 corinthians 13:4-7

you
wanna pray for
me???

in this topic of what you refer to as toxic love, but i refer to as tender love, i need no prayers.
my heart has never belonged to a woman,
however, if a queen just so happened to steer this ship of mine, let us be called Queen Be
and may we float on land and sea.
from the great lakes to bourbon street.
let the love we share fill our veins
with enough ink to be our own supply of love letters.

save your prayers.

let me be utopian.
residing from the land that labels are not found and love is not limited.
endless love that has it’s own language and dances to its own beat.
utopian.
utopian.

save your prayers.

lover of all things.

love is not capable of acknowledging genitalia.
love has no limits.
it turns the old into young
and the poor to rich.
its beauty is blinding at its purest form.

love fills the air like the smell of roses  in an elevator.
hotel pillows, made of cloud like ingredients, forms a temporary mold of your beauty.
love happens with no regard.
no warning.
no prior experience.

love just happens.

save your prayers.

let love be.

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my ground zero.

i write a lot of letters of love. i write because i’ve experienced. the real kind of Love. the love that becomes an existential crisis that blooms in your soul, bursts through your pores and creates an aurora for all to see. the kind of love that makes reality seem like dreams and dreams like reality. love like crack cocaine.

i write, but as of lately, i don’t have anyone to dedicate words of desire and pure, intricate emotions to. but i continue to write.

i write because when i do meet Him, my Mr. Right, my previously written words will be my ground zero. the starting place of all words. i can only elaborate off of those words. someday, i will be able to take my poem screw galileo and write about how the stars and the moons aligned to create a path from there to here. from His heart to my soul. a perfect path only suitable for us, for there was no key to the perfect path, but the perfect path only has footprints suitable for you and me. stepping stones that shook for other passerby’s but stood strong for you and i.

i think i’ll continue to write. and when He comes along, i will write out of the compulsory urge to tell the world about how galileo was a love genius.

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