Author: poetryfest

I have spoken far and wide.
In fact, I never shut up.
Disrespect is not of the sins I can tolerate.

I may overlook gluttony and greed
But on the account of maltreatment towards me,
That is not something my ears can hear or
Eyes can see.

Hypocrisy. What a funny word.
I had been told my whole life no one could ever scorn me.
I became content in playing that villainous role
I was so greatly bestowed.
And then came you.

To clarify,
This is directed at a certain you
And not all of you,

Your hypocrisy will not be judged today,
Aas for tomorrow I cannot say.
Better to pray for your sins
Before you’re swept up in the wind
Of the unforgiven.

I should have listened.
Can’t believe I didn’t listen.
So glad I could heed and warn those
Who knew nothing though.
So fortunate these brunette beauties
Could see my truth and believe me so.

We all have a similar critique.
We all said, “Good riddance
I’m glad you are no longer attached to me.”

A pathetic disgusting
Lying liar who lies
And takes no accountability.

Perhaps they aren’t my disciples
But I could make anyone follow me.
Pharisees and their hypocrisy.
That funny word.

Concerned with outward appearance
And approval of anyone near.
Desperate to spread more hypocrisy for anyone to hear.

pity, pity, pity.
You are pitiful.
It is a pity
You are now no longer useful.

I am not worried,
In fact I am washed clean.
He has His hands around me.

I’ve been nothing short of showered in love.
Every person my skin has touched– adores me…
With you, there is no such luck.

I tell her, and her, maybe her… what I tell me.
You will not be coated in worry.
For you have love.
You have beauty—my dominant trait haired cuties.

Your life will soar and fly
From this same five-digit zip code
To a European sky.

You were never at the advantage or disposal,
To be a worthless creature’s betrothal.

I give you no inclusion.
There is no rationale to be given.
I will not ask why me?
I will not prod on why I was deceived.
For the problem is you and not me.

And maybe Jesus would let you wash his feet.
You are of the same demeanor as she.
But of any illness or disease…
Stay away, for I now know you are impure– unclean.

It is not my problem what you choose to accept.
Not my job to interject or direct.
Maybe everything I knew was a lie,
Maybe I never knew who was by my side.

But that is not something that coats me in shame.
And when I hear your name,
I am nauseous.

My stomach flips and my blood curdles.
You are nothing. Less than nothing.
You have no light.
Whatever was left has been snuffed out
And only evil is in sight.

Alas, you could keep it hidden if you tried,
Since all you know how to do is beg and lie.

Maybe I am not always holy.
Perhaps I have dipped my toe in something you could deem worthy of…
Such a dark and disdained act of wickedness.

You are trying to be just like me it would seem.
However this callousness does not become you,
Your bones are brittle and your heart lacks.
And of what it lacks I am not sure,
But it is why you will never be adored.

You will leave every soul unsatisfied
More unfinished than how you feel inside.
You will grow old and lonely,
If it were of His will it will be alone that you die,

He speaks to me in the morning
And I respond in the eve.
Like I said, His hands are wrapped around me.

It is ironic, isn’t it so?
For I proclaim that I never lie, just like Lucifer,
And yet you become a shadow.

The dark cloud of which is the only caliber
You can achieve
Tension
Much tension to be seen.

You will never hear from me.
The clouds will turn
And the moon will cease
Before a word from my mouth leaves.

Directed to whom?
Who of this exposure is the worthless loser?

You held my heart and He let me go.
Placed each and every answer in my path
For me to know.

You will never be protected
Nor sworn to anyone’s love.
You are empty and bereft of being enough.

And me?
I am the envied.
The pinnacle of predilections.
I won’t reminisce
Or miss

The loss is yours.
Was never hers, hers, not even hers.
Surely not mine
And the absence of you
Can only be from the most Divine.

I am hit with a wave
Slammed hard arresting my breath
I come up for air
Only getting a mouthful before I’m hit again
I reach for something to grasp
But I’m caught in an unrelenting torrent
I manage to touch bottom and try to stand
A riptide tears my feet from under me
I am swirling – angry
Turning – grieved
Suffocating – surrendering
Then all is still and quiet for the moment
Till I open my eyes and see our picture on the mantle
Before I am hit again.

We’d been sailing for months when the isle sprang to view,
grassy it was, and forlorn for sure.
Charts said nothing
of its being here.

We moored near the isle
where I set forth a search,
myself in the lead
of course.

Now I must tell you:

As we crossed from the ship
in our dinghy so frail
I and the crew felt as the first
to do it.

Once to the isle
we spanned its grey length,
uneasiness began to gnaw.

Over a knoll, we found a shanty
(a shack if you will),
aged and weathered and empty.

We entered the structure, and did hope to find
a trace of the makers long past.

When nothing upturned, we checked ’neath the floor
and there we found our prize:

For lying untouched was a jewel so strange,
pea-sized, fine cut, ancient.

Actual stars
of nighttime skies
were easily visible in depths.

Icy winds
blew from its blackness, and a rainbow
wrapped it ’round.

However…

Upon all this,
we returned to the ship
and sailed ever on.

At times I regret our leaving the gem,
but considering the unearthly inhuman design
I was fearful of wrath from Gods or others:

surely such creatures
may have owned it.

It will be there for them when they swiftly return,
if ever they do.

I wonder.

Signed 1242, bleak midwinter
at the pole.

I turned off the key,
for there I could see.
Not the bright light,
but the dark night.
As far as i could see,
the stars twinkled happily.
I opened the spout,
the water began guzzling out. I slouched down and began to think.
But when i think,
it spreads a little too deep.
Like how come no one wants me around?
Nobody sees me,
not even in a crowd.
I take a breath,
while the cold, fresh air fills my lungs.
I cross my arms and stair,
cuss i felt free that no one was there.
Just the stars and I.
My face began to chill,
but my hoodie kept me from getting ill.
I thought again,
I got bikes,
i got cows,
but still no one keeps me around.
It’s happened before
and probably happen again.
But i keep trying
again and again.
The water begin to drissile,
which meant it was time,
to go home,
until tomorrow,
until next time

Her heart was so pure
she even loved the devil
As a little girl
she was a fucking rebel
Stab after stab
She was served injustice and belittled
Little did they know
She was protected by the cosmos
Karma is a real thing
It’s something like a figure-8
You see, what energy you give out
Is what energy you will get back
So many wonder how she’s still standing
How she’s still managing
Why didn’t she fall?
That’s because she’s built like a mother-fucking brick wall
She will never fall
She only knows how to stand up tall
Who knew somebody so small could be so strong
Her heart was so pure
That after all the bullshit
She still wished the best life for y’all
All y’all were doing was praying on her downfall

my country was stolen
and so was I
so many times
I don’t even know how to talk
what’s the use of my mother tongue
if the colonizers won’t know how to read
me screaming
what’s the use of being a mother
if the men won’t know how
to pay heed
Tupi is the voice of the original people
of my land
there were trees and tales and gods
thriving here way before
you baptized us for death
with your holy name
Tupinambá is who I should
have been taught
to be at school
Tupi is the word that the european caravel
burnt down with sickness
Tupi is the red color of the fruit urucum
that painted our faces when they arrived
armed with greed
Tupi is the blood that was left
after they raped
our spiritual path
they say we were discovered
but they were the ones lost at water
my country was executed in a
morphological slaughter
with false mirrors, the white man erased
the beauty of our faces
with false promises, the white man whipped away
our ways to survive
I use the invader’s letters
out of despite
to take back our divinity
my country was stolen
so they tried to do the same with my soul
and yet
I stand here
still Tupi
even in silence

You faded the other day,
like light in Eire’s west,
retiring from beating time,
sun and sweat, closing in shutters
making a mess of bed clothes.

These were the bookshelves we left
unorganized, the tattooed skin I
couldn’t interpret, absent-minded that
I was back then.

I was innocent of it, nursing
grief wounds that came
unhealed, scabrous in time,
that you had helped sew up
lick clean, dress in
silk covering.

And how playful we were, naked,
unashamed, frolicking through
meadows, melodious, without care
for cuts a branch bramble
would give to those not
heeding.

I fell too easily then, coarse
feet against night air and
grass stain; that the trick
mirror had revealed all
was worsened from wear.

As your form turned void,
shapeless then unholy, I wept:

thinking of how we would never
again be so close to our
Garden, always so distant
from Grace, in glass highways

endless stone arches.

One lit before the other—
Ashes spread through the wind
And on concrete
Two lovers
Two cigarettes
Two months—come and gone
Quickly left with the season change
As he finished his
She finished hers
He finished with her
They both washed away
With the gusty winter winds

Forgotten and left on the balcony
Along with their memory—
Only the remains of
The cigarettes

March 4th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,
From the moment I met your eyes, on the fourth of March, I felt mine shine a little brighter. We’ve
known each other for a decade. We’ve been enemies, we’ve had angry love, and you’ve forced me into
impossible corners. In the end, I knew we would fall in love, again. I knew I would come to my senses,
my self.

April 3rd, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Our first month together was not so foreign, we had fucked around before, you had touched my stomach,
and I had eaten your cooking. It wasn’t about learning with you, for we both knew the rules and
regulations. See you three times a day, and don’t throw up after. Loving you after a month is the hardest
part, especially this month, the holiest one, I can’t fast, I can’t excuse my hatred of you on religion. It’s
the part I kept screwing up way back when.

May 12th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

We’ve kept it going, you kept me safe and warm, and I’ve stayed alive on your behalf. I remember
fighting with my mom about you. I had to prove I loved you, because she could see how my hand was
weak in your hold. I remember when I kissed you, to show her that we were serious. It was with pasta,
and I love pasta. I love you a little bit more, even.

July 4th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Four months, where did that come from? When did you become so routine to me? When has it just been
you and me, wake up, kiss, go to school, kiss again, fall asleep in your arms, filled. My life is easier with
you in it, and that makes me so happy, and yet so afraid, because you come with requirements. I require to
love you to be happy, I am required to behave.

August 10th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

We fought, and it was a big one. I was studying, fine, I was up late, fine, but you had to be there too.
You’re exhausting to maintain sometimes, even when you are routine. Sometimes, it’s easier to skip our
dates, easier to pick at my skin. But you know better, somehow. You rub my thighs raw when you see
them, “Perfect” you say, “Smooth” you hum, “Loved” you imply. We had sex after that, and then I passed
my finals the next day.

August 30th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Living with you is odd, we come up with habits without realizing they are habits. Tea is our safety, every
morning we’ve had it. If we love each other, we drink tea. If we hate each other, we drink tea. We go out
only with friends a lot, because my family asks too many questions. They want us to thrive, yet wait to
see us fall. They couldn’t imagine us getting along so well for so long. Yet every morning, my mom
offers us green tea anyway, out of hope for us, out of love, too.

September 18th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

I moved away. You follow me, of course. There’s hills here now, and foreign individuals,
and other people’s cooking. You can’t cook anymore, but you offer suggestions, I take them with grace.
You choose not to buy a scale for the bathroom we share, and that’s probably for the better. Things are
good here, I feel like I can truly love you here without eyes. Nobody knows we’re dating, so for now, let’s
just keep them in the dark. Let’s keep this as ours.

November 4th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Eight months in, I’m finding it hard to keep in touch, because we are only but a secret. Staying low is
hard, people keep saying “Go fuck some rando, you’re young!” but I am in love with you! How do I tell
them that when they force my hand? It’ll only end with that hand in my mouth, in a toilet, in agony, in
divorce. I can’t keep you hidden forever, I can’t keep this distance. I’m too wound up in your arms to let
go. I told my LA friend about us, she told me she likes you vibe.

January 1st, 2024
Dearest Recovery,

We went back to our hometown, You get praised, I get called different. People here know you, know who
I was before you. I’ve tried to reconcile with that, with before I. I don’t love her like I love you, I can’t
love her, but I think I need to, because I love what you love, and you love her, regardless. When people
ask if I am doing well, I tell them about my work first. When they ask about you, I let you speak for
yourself.

March 4th, 2024
Dearest Recovery,

A year ago today, we found each other again. I was in a hospital gown, you, a suit and tie. I do love you
dearly, even when I yell. I do love the way you hold me, the way you fall on my figure. I do love your
cooking, the pasta is the best. I do want to marry you, I never want to leave your side. I do, I do, I do.
We shall cheers with a cup of tea. Congrats, to one year of Me and Recovery!

Sincerely,
our one year

A spoonful of honey and a glass of water
Follows the single gulp of Cyclopam
To put a gag on the gag
“Another month off the life chart”
Strips of bitterness since two thousand-six
Aunt Flo doesn’t give a damn
Just as my OB/GYNs
“You have to live with it”
“Manage with medications”
You aren’t special
This is every woman’s problem
Kindly suffer in silence. Thank you.
Hatred gives purpose
We start all over again, the new gyno & I
First base with speculum and
TVS for the third
“Having a child might probably help”
Emphasis on “probably” here.
“Double Income No Kids?
You deserve this!”,
Society chimes in now and then
My boss is too empowered
“Only the meek ones
seek paid period leaves”, she blasts.
Hormonal pills just pretend
to smooth my frayed nerves
And to boost the will to carry on
“We need more research into this!”,
the Keyboard Warriors fume.
While the laws of the world
are being rewritten
to control a woman’s body,
Inside the bathroom stalls,
tired of combat in
the eternal war that is womanhood,
My helpless self
sobs in silence wondering
Isn’t the present scary?
More than the past or future?