Friday, August 7, 2015

Cigarette Thoughts

He could've been saying anything.
It's the price one paid for not knowing another language.
It was never supposed to be more than a hook up,
And it wasn't.
His wanting her to stay a while,
Was just his nature.
He walked in circles while she lay there.
It was her third time being there,
In his bed,
She had only ever heard Spanish,
But found herself entranced in his language.
"Arabic" he said, "is just as beautiful you know. Maybe even more."
She smiled as he took another drag off his cigarette.
The park bench revealed his truth.
Egyptian men, married woman who spoke their language,
Understood their culture,
...and who didn't wear their sexuality in tank tops and short skirts.
He never called again.
And she cried.
The thought of his exotic brown skin
Caressing another's,
was the worst part.
And all she could see when she closed her eyes
...were his.
She took a final drag off her cigarette
And vowed to never return a smile at two in the morning.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Open Mic

He said,
he could tell I was easy
by the way I wrote my love poems.
There was always something about my father not loving me.
And so,
he knew that the sadness in me ,
would find solace in his smile.
He was right.
But its hard to smile,
when the men who I only seem to end up in the company of,
only like breaking things.
Sad girls,
we can be so fragile.
And yet,
God never seems to intervene.
After all,
there has to be someone sending these serial users our way.
You'll never know heartache,
until the one person you want to touch and feel,
decides you're no longer what they want.
... I don't think ill ever know what makes the pretty girls
the type of girls worth marrying.
I have yet to be the girl who is worth more than one night.
Maybe I should stop returning smiles from boys,
who hear my poetry,
who know my father didn't love me.
...Or maybe,
I should simply change the shade of my lipstick.
I guess both are too tragic.

Sunday, February 15, 2015


She couldn't explain it,
so, she stopped trying to.
She wanted to be touched,
but no longer by hands that didn't think to caress her face first.
This wasn't like all her other nights alone,
when the clock struck 10pm,
and her text message read "hey".
Instead of a reply,
she sighed heavy.
The movies had to be based off of reality,
she thought.
There had to be a man out there
who thought of her smile,
instead of the thickness of her thighs,
and the curve of her bottom lip.
The light from her phone, revealed another message
with nothing but a question mark across the screen.
He was hot and ready.
And she was sitting,
staring at the New york skyline from her 11th floor apartment,
Phone in hand,
with Jhene aiko rushing through her headphones.
She wondered,
if there was someone else out there
who could see the lights.
If there was someone else out there who could see how beautiful they shined.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Red Wine Confessions

I've never been a drinker,
but too often I find myself crying at the end of a bottle.
Wine is the worst best friend I have.

And don't get me started on Saturday nights with nowhere to go.

Twenty-six doesn't feel any different from twenty-five,
and yet... I can't help but see every day gone by in my face.

My mother would think I curse too much,
or at least I imagine she would.
I'm starting to forget the little things about her
and truth be told, 
It scares the living shit out of me.
Because if I forget her,
than I forget every reason I had for believing in anything.

Faith is hard to have sometimes.
Especially, when you're me.

And I've decided to tell people that my tattoos mean nothing,
It's easier than admitting that they're only in places that I long to be touched the most.

Loneliness man...

Sunday, January 11, 2015

7 Train

When You Were Young,
was the song that she professed as her favorite,
yet couldn't remember for the life of her.

"Take your time", he said.
He couldn't have cared less for the answer that she so desperately tried to recall,
but he could've stared at the smile that stretched across her heart shaped face forever.

Her purple worn boots,
those are what caught his eyes on the crowded 7 train.

Her voice; unexpectedly mesmerizing,
but her smile... her smile is what made his soul stand still.

She said, she only orders her coffee black because...why bother?
And she no longer wears make-up so that when people look her square in the eyes,
they really see her.
She had spent more years than she'd like to admit,
dressing up her face for people who never even looked at her.

She was beautiful,
But even he knew that she had given up on that notion, long before their fated collision.

He had only ever met broken women.
And she had only ever met men who liked to break things.
Life was funny like that.

"Filler," she professed. "Some people are born to be filler in other peoples backgrounds."
She shrugged her shoulders in acceptance.
And he smiled,
wishing the 7 train had been a local instead.


Monday, December 8, 2014


I can't say that this time was any different.
I knew deep down and even in the hollow parts of my skin, that this time
... It would be the same.
Because guys like him,
they don't date girls like me.
The lows of my esteem always give me away.
Theres something  about my heart that seems to only like resting on my sleeve.
I'm tired of only being good for lying with my back against wrinkled sheets,
And half the time Im not even given that luxury.
But my puesdo-confidence isn't strong enough to cover the scent of my bullshit.
You told me I was worth more than this.
Were you only being a mother or were there truths in your wisdoms?
Jesus Christ!
Its not supposed to be this hard.
Not to be loved.
Not when I'm standing in the middle of the field with my palms facing forward,
and my pockets empty.
Maybe thats the problem.


And she couldn’t find a word to describe it.
The pain.
She was hurting.
She could feel her heartstrings snapping at the seams from the pulling.
...And she couldn’t find one simple word to describe it.
Her pain.
The aching.
She could hear him,
Laughing louder than necessary
Fucking her harder than necessary
and being more,
…More than necessary with some other girl who wasn’t any better than her,
Or prettier
Yet who she instantly felt less than.
He knew he was breaking her down.
And she couldn’t describe it.
The missing of someone who had treated her like an unwanted toy,
Her pain.
Her never ceasing to exist pain.
Was this what drowning felt like?
She wondered if this was her karma for something she had done once upon a time in her life.
Before she moved to the city that seemed to never sleep,
And before she knew aaroz con gandules was a dish and not a word.
She never had a chance.
This was heartbreak.
Undeniable, and unrelenting

Saturday, October 4, 2014


And honestly, finding a sugar daddy on Craigslist has crossed my mind quite a few times.
I’m tired of being broke,
And having someone else to foot the bill would be nice.
I’m tired.
There’s no lower feeling than having every single card you swipe decline.
I wasn’t being reckless.
Shit just kept coming up.
And now it seems that the only option I have left is to sell my life’s greatest possessions.
This hurts like a bitch.
My favorite things will soon belong to someone else and there is no other option for me.
I need a sugar daddy.
What’s a little something strange for some change?
When all I have to do is pretend that the worst isn’t happening.
…Pretend that my mother isn’t rolling over in her grave.
And there isn’t anyone to call.
There never is.
My brothers all have lives and we don’t even speak.
So many regrets happen when shit hits the fan.
I have sooo entirely much on my plate and no solution in sight.
And all I can think of is when all the boys told me I had a pretty mouth.
Maybe some man will want pay me to use it.
I never dreamed of being like this.
My mother will roll over in her grave.


Wednesday, September 4, 2013

How It Affects You.

Going, going, gone.
Pots and pans banging inside my head,
has been the only music that seems to put me to sleep.
Babies only cry when you've taught them to fear the sound.
And so that pure, soft sound of sweet serenity,
scares the living shit out of me.
Thanks dad.
Yo can never become too comfortable.
So never tell me you love me dear lover,
because I will be gone in the morning.
And if were too satisfied,
Than I will slip out before dawn.
Pots and pans banging inside my head,
has been the only music that has been able to put me to sleep
for the longest of times now.
Backwards footsteps race inside my head.
Dear dad,
I'd forgive you,
but these thoughts remind me that you're the one who cursed me to this chaotic lullaby.
You said no one would love me.
So far you're right.
Each guy that has known me for more time than necessary.
Pots and pans banging.
Yelling, screaming,
Don't console me dear lover,
I've been broken for longer than I care to admit,
And stuck here for longer than I would like to be.
Thirteen sucks when you're twenty-four,
And Twenty-four sucks when no one seems to love you.
Pots and pans banging.
Yelling, screaming.
Dear lover,
I promise to leave a lipstick stained kiss to remember me by.

Harlem Nights & The Days After

My sheets still smell like you,
And that night I let my senses fall by the wayside.
Even now, I still feel like an idiot.
It took all of five minutes for me to become all wide eyes and smiles.
You must've  known then that I would be easy.
All I want to do is cry.
Cry that I let you.
Cry that I enjoyed it.
Cry that you stopped talking to me not two days after.
Does it make me a fool that even now,  at this very moment,
all I want is a call from you?
I would still welcome you with open arms.
My father was right; I am pathetic.
My self-esteem needs a hug.
I need someone to love what you and everyone before you seem not to be able to.
I hate you soo much.
I miss you soo much.
Harlem boy,
you broke my broken heart.
And now, I have to buy new sheets for my bed.