love letters.

and as for me and mine
we can only be together
in misplaced time

independent

i am alone.
but ive forgotten what it is to feel lonely.
the difference: longing.
and i do not.
sounds are louder now. and i prefer them to repeat once theyve caught my attention.
words echo and reverberate in my mind longer than usual.
longer than usual...
there's more to look at, and i look longer.
chairs are more comfortable, and i take up more space in my bed.
food is more succulent, so i savor my food as it travels through my mouth, down my throat, and into my stomach.
the season's change teases me, and i like that. i wait for its turbulence, as i have none of my own to ride.
dreams are the only thing to haunt me. and it's the only place i choose to visit you. but i wish i didnt.
id rather be awake and alone because in my wake i am not lonely.

i feel a terrifying softness within me coming to surface. a softness coerced by a gentle acceptance and remorse.
then a resilient bitterness harks, you know better.
oh but this soft forgiveness reminds me this is who you are. the fire always a'glow, the sun no longer casts its shadow,

the softness murmurs a gentle hint, with which bitterness agrees.
if you cannot erase, i say replace.
create a new memory to yield its place.

walk the line

as of late ive noticed myself walking fine lines.

where are these lines? (they sneak up out of no where.)


are they boundaries? or meant for guidance?

am i supposed to walk the line?
can i cross it? (would you mind?)
do these lines intersect? (can we?)
do they run parallel? (will we never touch?)

and most of all do they have an end?
these lines are tangled. and so am i.

father's day

you are never easy. you sneak up on me when i am alone to remind me why i am alone...while everyone else is celebrating father's day and i am not.

my dad passed away eighteen years ago. i dont talk about it a lot, because i'm not sure what to say. i still hate having that initial conversation when someone finally acknowledges that i never mention my dad. i preface my explanation with: i was four, almost five years old, so it was a long time ago. i say that to assure the person, and myself for the thousandth time, that it doesnt hurt anymore. then the next inevitable and painful question comes, "how did he die?" i've never learned the right delivery for this answer. do i pause before i tell this person the truth? do i just rapidly spew it out? i dont know. i dont know! but then i answer: a drug overdose. i feel small and helpless immediately after. i want to explain to them that i understand his choices, or at least the explanation of those choices. i want them to unconditionally love my dad just like i do, even though he made a mistake.

a brave or curious person will ask me if i remember him very much. and i do, i so do. "it's a blessing and a curse," i add always feeling shamefully cliche. i shouldnt reduce my dad's memories to a cliche. but i do remember him, and it makes it hard.

father's day and the anniversary of his death sneak up on me like a sickness. at first it's a subtle tickle in my throat and i wonder what is wrong with me? i grow increasingly sad for what i think is no good reason. then one night it haunts me in my dreams. i see my dad, dream the same haunting dream i had after his death for years. as i grew older, the dream frequented me less, but it never left my subconscious. then the tickle in my throat becomes a fever, then chills, then i cant get out of bed and im down for the count.

the illness traps me and i am a four-year-old girl again. i am hiding tears from my mom alone in my room. she cant know it hurts this much. i am calling to the moon because that's where heaven is, right? and just because he died of a drug overdose doesnt mean he didnt go to heaven, right? and even if he is gone, i can still be the proverbial apple of his eye, right?

i was a daddy's girl. and i still claim that title.

these days dont come at me with grace. rather they shake and shock me to remind me i am just a daddy's-girl who lost her dad. and while im convinced i am a strong woman -- sometimes, these times, this time i am a delicate little girl and i miss my dad.

honesty, you beauty.

honesty is so much more beautiful than hiding behind silent lies.
i do not want to hide from what i want anymore.
if i want to talk to a person, they should know, and i will tell them.
if i miss a person. i will tell them with the sincerest eyes.
if i feel negative toward a person, i will let them know with my heart on my sleeve.

this is beauty and intimacy. even if it's not reciprocated, the honesty that is, it's still a rare form of beauty. though honesty unrequited is another sadness.

a vulnerability expressed should not go ignored. it should be relished. understood. held in your arms and rocked to sleep. why dont we all do this? we should take extra moments to validate a worried heart, a tormented soul, a wounded spirit, a mind going a thousand miles an hour, feeling empowered or discarded...yes, you too, should be validated.

i am a new woman.
an honest[er] woman.
and you are the same. you are not new and not changed, not quite yet. youve yet to see the beauty that honesty radiates.
so my love, i simply feel sorrow. so much sorrow for a person's inability to know honesty on a first name basis.

one day your hands will be rid of all the dishonesty youve felt, built, and hidden behind. dishonesty's tales will be untold. and honesty will piece together the true story of a dishonest life lived by a conflicted soul.
youll desire to share your honesty, in all its newness. and my dishonest friend, i will be here to validate all the secrets honesty revealed to you about yourself and everything else.

with a God-given softness i will repeat the honesty you never heard in your years of dishonesty. and you will hear it and ask for more; never to shy away from the pain that comes with honesty.

honesty will come out the beautiful victor. and every person sharing theirs will be heard and validated. how honest, you healed soul, they'll say.

intimate infatuation.

i am infatuated with intimacy.

my infatuation with this is specific to a disconnection connected.
such as eye contact eye held too long with a stranger.
we want to feel, and be felt.
connecting.
people look forward to it, it makes a girl's day, and gives a boy just a bit more confidence.

i know we just met but i want to put my hand on the small of your back.
the connection, the surprise, and the discomfort of a line crossed forms the brief and intimate bond.

allowing yourself to be fed by another. you are vulnerable for those two seconds.
i am crossing that line. and you just let me.

a question that sincerely asks "but why?" sincerity in a head cocked to your comfort.
a face that reads through your longer pause.

can you feel it?
i know we just met. but this is all so beautiful.
and you just let me cross your lines. so here are mine.

erika's letter.

dear erika.

you are leaving. and it feels like it is time.
this time it feels right. you leaving.

i owe you this. i owe you this much.
you deserve to read what i feel.
how much i feel for you.

in my wakened weak.
there is you. i look for you.
to hear my weak.
for every word i do share.
you know there must be more.
and though you so care.
because you do care.
you do not beg for more behind latent words.
you let them be.
you let me be.
your ears are the pathway to your soul.
inside you compartmentalize all that you hear.
all you that feel but do not understand.
you set this there and that here.
to help you understand.
you tell happiness to stand next to emptiness.
next to desire you file passion.
so that one day.
you will understand.
and so will they.
how they belong hand-in-hand.

you dream in color.
and have seen many shades of my pain.
because if you dream in color.
you know the bold red that reveals my cruelest desire.
and still you show me no shame.

you see through my masks and say.
honey, today you are beautiful.
tomorrow you will be too.
just like yesterday.

you are an unconditional lover.
and you are my best friend.

Love.
alicia.

hibernating heart.

i am a heart in hibernation.
please. just let me sleep.

"do you want to go to the seaside?"

at night, when the cars pass by the road nearest my window, i listen and pretend they sound like waves brushing against the sand.

in the morning when the birds chirp, i close my eyes and pretend i am six years old again. when i go outside there will be a big green hill that i can roll down for hours.
when you roll down a hill, it's hard to control your direction. i like that. the only goal is the bottom of the hill. and if youre brave enough youll make sure your speed is so quick that you lose your sense of up and down.

when i drive to wherever, on whichever freeway, i debate throwing all responsibilities to the wind and heading for the coast.
every day i do this.
i blame the sun and its rays. in all its glory, it beckons me.

this sun has been such a tease. im not asking for heat, just more sun and the ocean. my desire was sparked and is now a rising flame. i want to leave and not tell you or you and especially not you.
not for very long.
just long enough to see a new day.

guilted.

i differ but do not beg.
and with that there is no counter.
the verdict is in.
the jig is up.
the suspect as expected.
breathes bleeds and wreaks of guilt.
but knows no shame.
the victim's soul.
once blue and black.
stood self convicted.
the Guilty pled her insanity.
she did concede.
took his fall.
and did believe.
she did inflict.

detox

there is a control
so calm
this cruelty
i dont need to yell
i state
the outdated
pass-due revelation

afterward
i feel clean

my blood is not boiling
no you cant even get it to simmer

so must we deem this honesty cruelty?
for the intent does say otherwise
these words shared may be years belated
but never is not an option
thus i inform

so foul a creature
so sneaky a scoundrel
the sorriest of soul

i do not pity

rather slumber
on the whitest bed-sheets
because i feel so cleansed