m.a.m.ji.marchthe wind had eaten through myflyaway bones. i think i had started killingmy own heart to pass thetime.ii.aprilit was the warmth that i always seem to fall in lovewith. sun. and the grass undermy hands. i started tobreathe again.iii.maywith unopened books in myheart, i found myselflost in the homeof an almond eyed boywith a pocket-knifeheart. he pushed me intoa bed of roses. i now havetwice the scars.iiii.junei sit, now, withtypewriter keys between my teeth. while searching my ribcagefor a spare battery, i found, insteada fresh set of lungs (and i really am beginning toneed them).
i imagine she would taste like misery and spring.nothing makes me heavier than the thought ofher, and nothing makes mehigher, either. they say thatto love is to fly,but i think thatit's more like dro wni ng. your lungs collapse--salt cascades down your cheeks andall you can dois realize thatyour best is not enoughfor them. i know how hard it isto love someonewho's broken. i know this becausei had to learnto love myself,and i am a fucking mess. but time heals all wounds--and all i wantis a few secondswith her;i will wrap the monthsaround her scarsthe same wayi know she would do forme. and when we areboth okay, almost, maybe, i thinkthat i would kiss her.
hello hello.she asks meto be careful, to be safe;but i am sixteen and restless, caught upin the past lovefor a boy 4 years older than me and choking on my could-be-lovefor a girl that i metonce. let's face it: iam a fucking mess. see, but there's somethingthat nobody ever realizesabout that: it's okay. i'm almost seventeen now,and i have come to theconclusionthat we live to learn. we are not bornspitting out symphonies orcatching birds in ouryouthful palms;we are born crying,bloody and unable to comprehend why we're here; we remain that way for decades. we do not grow upwhen we're eighteen. we grow upwhen we see our parents fight andwhen we watch our best friendsslowly spiral into depression and drugdependance. and we grow up when we realizethat we do not love someonebecause they exist; we love themfor how they exist,and i realized that when i almost fell in love withher
ouijai tried to contact thespirits in myhouse, tried to pull them from myspine,but they didn't even sayhello– turns outyou were the only ghosti ever knew.
,i used to part my hair down the middle,but then i stoppedwhen i was twelvebecause innocencewas heavy,or something likethat.besides,we all have to grow up,don't we?
to make love is to make hate.he used to touch me in the dark.it was always in the dark;and now i rememberthe way he cringedwhen he felt my scars.(is a little painreally that ugly,dear?)
.how to comfort someonewith an anxiety disorder: tell them to grow up.god knowsthat they only panic because they're just not old enoughto handle themselves. say that it's notthat bad.because, hey,since it's not bad for you,it can't be for them. that's just how it works,right?"calm down".this oneis my personal favorite.because the one thingthat i want to hearwhen i'm choking on my own sweatand heartis that i need to calm down.
the price to pay for breaking a heart.this is a fact: it hurts to bebroken. but what hurts evenmore isbeing one one whodoes thebreaking.to be the personwho stands over the otherand watchthem choke on theirtears and thenhand them their ownheart- rip someone apart and thennot be able toput them back togetheragain.and when you close youreyes, all you can seeare the ribbons coming undonefrom their wrists. you crumble from your owndisgrace.
8:15i.silently, with hushingeyes, he watches the atmosphere-he treads it around hishair and his fingers and heart, breaths it in; ii.when he is done dancingwith devils and dead friends, he reaches into me andpulls out a flower- he puts it behind myear, and he loves while he burns.iii.i take his ashes andi put them on thepetals (he said not to forgetthe beauty indeath, and i'm tryingwith all the heart inside me).
Inordinate-she's petrifiedof being fixedbecause being brokenis all she's ever known-
on being savedi am sorry youhave never known salvationfrom another's touch
A stranger walked up to me today...A man walked up to me and asked me for a cigarette… I told him I didn't smoke anymore, and he asked me why? ––I answered "because the person I used to smoke with, isn't around anymore", and he replied…"that's why I smoke."A woman walked up to me and asked me for drugs, I replied "I have several in store…his eyes, his smile, his hands"…she whispered, "that's not a drug"…and I laughed as I said.. "if only you knew."A child walked up to me today and asked me to play a game, I told them I was too tired to play games, i'd been playing for years, they replied…"then you must be a pro!", to which I said "yes…a pro at losing."An old woman stared at me today, and I asked her…"is something wrong?" she answered "I was about to ask you the same question."© Rocio Belinda Mendez
BrokenCan't fixwhat's never been whole.
.love grewand died repeatedly;she tore it out atthe root
Work of art.Don't wince at my scars, instead use them to find where I am broken, and put your body against the cracks.Don't let me fall out of myself again, the parts might fit together, but the breaks are never clean.Sometimes I feel like glass in the middle of a war zone, just the sound of goodbye may destroy me.I've picked up the pieces before, cut myself with shards of who I was, carefully pasted them together with who I am, hoping no one would notice.The trouble is the masking tape I used, doesn't seem to mask anymore.The trouble is I leave tiny bits of myself behind me, just so I can be found.The trouble is my heart is made of clay and it might just break with one more fall.Maybe that's the wonder of me, even once i've broken…I can break again.© Rocio Belinda Mendez
Sticks and StonesThey say words can never hurt you.Silence does a better job.
MemoryI Remember Her With A Storm on Her Eyes.
Alcohol, smoke and your perfumeI was standing and watching, among others,not on the front,as I learned my lesson from you; I'm weak.There a was a girl, challenging...Not for a moment I hesitated, just a few stepsand I took her dress off.She didn't get angry, but surprised...and maybe a little sad.You see I destroyed her magic in just a few seconds.After a few minutes, dressed, she was staring at me.She knew I was in love with a girl like her,but not her.Back to my four walls, alone in my bedroom,I close my eyes, a deep breathand I smell those nights,alcohol, smoke and your perfume.
you can't have the world.i never meant to make youhate me; i only wantedyou not tolove me.