Jaded Empire

Disclaimer: This one gets a little dark.

So jaded and hated as you break down into all the junk of life creating excess trash and depression with a road paved with bad intentions. Nothing you do is enough for anything and that’s because you’re less than a person in society’s eyes. The worst is what belongs to you for that is all that you are given in this putrid and debasing world. Who knew you could become so dark in a matter of seconds, but hey, no one is enough anymore so it makes sense that you decompose into fragments of dust littering the walls, surfaces, and polluting the water. You are now less than human in a world that bred you for consumption. As for me, I hope they enjoy their meal, for the secret ingredient is to DIE for.

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Half-Baked Innocence

Today I smiled at the thought of deserts consuming entire cities.

It’s not up to you to fix what you did not break. It’s not up to you to chase what does not want to be followed nor to lose your peace for those with no peace in their hearts.

What you’re meant to do is to live well and freely without shackles imposed on you by others. You are meant to cut the threads connecting their words to your head so that you may think truly without their hidden agendas influencing your actions.

You don’t deserve a half-baked innocence.

Anxiety

Limits superimposed like the eerie look of clock hands one below the other. Each heavy breath taken is a large wave pushing you under and weren’t breaths supposed to mean that you were living? You know that feeling you get when you’re in a meadow, but can’t remember the way you came in and now you fear trying to exit because you ran out of food and water and you’re also injured. It feels like I’m fanning myself with a broken fan on a hot day, its accordion-like paper frayed.

Sometimes you feel trapped and telling others doesn’t do much for you because they are also trapped in their own glass jars like spoiling jam left on an abandoned counter in an abandoned house. Perhaps in order to rise you need to burn down your home so you are left with no choice, no comfort, only the will to survive. Do you understand self-destruction now?

You Knew It Was A Snake When You Picked It Up.

I too was naïve in the way that girls are, feeding into romance novels thinking that things called love could be unconditional. There are always conditions and those that say otherwise are lying. It is based on your genetics, your fundamental beliefs, or your culture. If “love” were truly unconditional then you wouldn’t have endings to beginnings. Terminating great love is never easy, yet compromises cannot be reached always. Some things will “break the camel’s back” as some say, yet I believe that orgullo is behind that saying and many more. It was naïve of me to think that the things I loved someone else would love the same. My little moon, staring out the window. I don’t know if animals are capable of unconditional love, but I know that I will not give reason to doubt. Perhaps my error is in my honesty, it is so blatant that if you don’t peel back the layers you’ll never get to understanding.

 

Bitterness is in my garden for blood and sweat were not enough to make roses grow out of this dirt. I cut myself wide open and let my waters flow through the rivers of within me, yet dams blocked seeds from saturating and the sun just beat down too damn hard. The leaves in the trees rustled lies, lies, lies and I heard from miles away without ever having to have been in the room. My energy took me to the ocean once again, where I could dip my toes into the salt so that I could build up my reservoir of tears for later on when Cubans cross the ocean in bathtubs in the downpour of the deep dark sky. To me came Mother Mary and she spoke to me to let it be, but my ship has never capsized without a fight and I fought, first myself and then you.

 

Like Warsan Shire, I dimmed my light and crawled into myself so that I would take up less space, but my mouth couldn’t stay shut and what little space I tried to not occupy, my body rebelled and grew big and full. I hoped that I was enough when I was picked up like the serpent that I am, sharp, poisonous, and headstrong. I was never welcoming to meek mice, for I needed to feed and lick my fangs every time someone uttered hate in my direction. My paralyzing toxins are those that you cannot see and now I am angry because I protected the pack during my time as a wolf, but the vipers still snuck into my snake nest as I transformed.

 

Have you lost track of time? In moments I will only be a figment of your imagination and you will ask, was she real? The dust particles in the air will hint that I was, as the volcano within my soul erupts one last time to clear the path. I will forget one day: you, me, him, her. See how I put myself second there? That will be the only time.

Crashing Chandeliers

The sky is so spacious, open, and elegant. Brightly lit nights are chandeliers in the shape of water droplets. When I close my eyes I see those skies more frequently than not. Sometimes, eyelids shut and instead there are flashes and pulses of red and white lights dimming out and fading within my head. There are nights that make me seek anything to drug my mind to keep me calm because too often my skies will quiver and I’ll run towards the gates of Hades so that he may hold me close with his fiery arms.

“Got nobody on my mind, go and search my thoughts
Only you on my riverbanks.” –Made in Heights

The contents of my body wish to leak out, but major cleanses are too recent and instead my stubborn body holds on.

I felt:
Like every chance re-given was a mistake waiting to happen yet I sought to hug your waves of kindness and I had to die with your waves of sadness. A tree giving fruit before reaching maturity symbolized…

How did we get stuck with this pessimistic view of our loved ones that we kindled hatred in our hearts from frustration and anger mixed with moments of pure joy? How did I become so cynical that I could ever combine parts of me with another? I am afraid to become an empty vase open to the elements of nature, ready to be filled with anything. I fear the opening of my body that is there by the design of an artist that decided I could never be whole.

Sometimes you create the perfect conditions for lightning reverberating in my night skies as I lose my head once again. Atoms crash onto one another violently and scatter randomly as the clouds of my hands try to keep the bands of light apart but only incentivize the production of deadly fireworks. You make perfect conditions for inclement weather.

Panic

The sky rumbles and she’s ready to go down underneath the flooded streets and the sun is setting the world in darkness. Hands tremble and freeze, clench, and cramp up—it’s an Arctic blast. Fever strikes as the lightning occurs within her body. We dig our graves without knowing and we burn others at the stake. Cloth rips as the flowers fall off the tree to rot. They pollute fragile minds ready to rip apart in an instant. Heads split as if a blade were cutting from top to bottom. Crawling into a ball, she hides like a bird embryo in an egg.