Pain Revisited

I'm back where I never wanted to be.
I let u back in and you hurt me.
Took for granted all i gave.
Lost myself because you i tried to save.
How could i have meant so little all this time?
How could my heart have been so blind?
Now this pain exorcises my very soul.
From a body that has gone so cold.
You hurt me more than i can ever bear.
You hurt me by not being there.
You're not not the only one lost in despair.
You're not the only one who suffers pain.
I just want you to understand that u killed me.
And i never want to live again.

The Day My Heart Broke

You left me

I ran out for find you and you were gone

I waited so long for you

and just when I thought I finally would find you

You were gone.

Just like that.

No goodbye

No chance to give you the flowers of joy and laughter

I had spent a lifetime picking for you

I saw you.

You never knew me you but I saw you

And though you never knew I even existed

You saw me too

YOU CHANGED ME

I NEEDED THE CHANCE TO TELL YOU

But when I ran outside in childish excitement

They told me you had gone away

You had gone before I got there and I was too late

And the flowers dropped from my hands

And I was a little girl again

And my little heart broke

And my mind went dark

And my whole world turned to gray

Drained away by the pain in my heart

And the loss in my soul

I was too late and you had already gone

And all I can do now is cry

All I can do is stare at the spot

Where i knew we were surely going to meet

And you weren’t there

And suddenly I wasn’t there anymore

And my world lost its music

And my world lost its color

And I waited there, alone and cold

Waiting for the day you would be back

Even though I knew you would never be back

That is the day my heart broke

And I lost my best friend

You broke my heart
Simply.
You broke it and it hurts.
So much.
And I have been chained to my feelings for you.
Helpless.
And I let another part of me die again.
Not caring.
And I have become this.
Sad.
And I hate this.
Me.

How Come?

It happened just how I always imagined it would.

So why do I feel this way?

How can something that's supposed to make you feel so complete end up leaving you so empty?

Top Twenty Things I Always Wanted To Say To You

1. I liked you at first, and then I began to really fall for you and it scared me.

2. You have hurt me more than any other man I have known.

3. I always pushed you away because I couldn't afford to let my heart fall in love with you.

4. I still wish you wanted me the way I want you.

5. There were times I thought you could really like me, and I believed them.

6. I'm still not over you.

7. It breaks my heart that you have so easily and quickly replaced me in your life.

8. I have cried more than I have ever cried in my life since I met you.

9. I would forgive you everything if only you loved me.

10. I shut you out because you shut me out.

11. Sometimes I wonder if maybe you're hiding too, just like me.

12. I am sorry if I ever hurt you. I was trying to protect me.

13. I care for you enough not to be selfish with you, so I hide my feelings.

14. I wish I were prettier and what you want me to be.

15. I pray for you a lot.

16. I want you to be Christian.

17. I want you to love me.

18. I still have hope that you will come back to me. But I am not holding my breath.

19. I miss you more than you can imagine.

20. I'm just not over you yet. You may have been my first love, or something really close to it.

But I will never have the chance to tell you any of this. Because my heart is broken and you seem to have forgotten me and how you used to make me feel.

I wish we could go back to the beginning. But maybe it was just not meant to be.

And I am not okay with that.

Unspoken Words.

There is no need to worry or tell me..........I already know.........I won't get too close.......... I promise..........I just don't want to have to talk about it with you.......I might just fall to pieces if I do..........So I pretend and smile a lot so you won't feel bad...........But it is ok..........I'm ok...........So don't worry about me.

Five

There is this girl. Lost. Too lost for her own good. She started adulthood with a foolproof plan to get it right. She observed those around her and knew better than to repeat their mistakes. She had an insight into the way things should be done. She had a maturity she did not understand. But inevitably the world tricked her out of her foolproof plan. Experiences and desperation led her astray and she lost her way. Now she is lost and afraid. The life she so desperately wanted to lead is long gone. And she is trapped in a merciless forest filled with the harsh realities of mistakes made in youthful curiosity. Her soul feels like a graveyard of broken dreams and all she can do is draw her knees up to her chest at night and grieve for her foolproof plan.

Guilty Pleasure

Sitting up in the middle of the night listening to sexy Brazilian guitar music by the light of the string of fairly lights draped over my bed in a canopy. The breeze from the fan creates the aura of a sexy island if i close my eyes and block everything else out. That is my fantasy. Not the island bit, the sexy romantic bit. It really doesn't matter where. It can be on a tall rooftop in the city overlooking the lit skyline. It can be a sexy night on an island by the water with a fire on the beach and a cool breeze in the open, starry sky. It can be a steamy cottage in the rainforest with summer rain through the sunlight where the drops on the trees are crystalized diamonds. Or, it can be in the bedroom with all the lights off, a thunderstorm raging outside my windows and the soultry sounds of those Spanish guitars slowly seducing my senses.

You cannot have it without the guitars. The slow plucking of the cords raising a goosebump with every strum. And the wind. There is something sexy about a breeze to me. That is all i need. Peace, spainish guitars and a breeze. Tapping into my inherent sexuality not yet fully explored but very much fully inquisitive, i realize that that is on my mind a lot. It is what i do to bring a amile to my face. It is what a man must do in order to touch the core of me. To unleashed the animal inside.

It is my guilty pleasure.

Naked

the green is my sexy one
low-cut to reveal the soft, small bashful me
slit to the navel to dare anyone to say anything to me

the red is my confident one
not too ambitious in its lines
but bright enough to attract, to keep my head pointing skyward

the white is my humble one
modestly putting at ease all who come across it
making me the girl next door to everyone

the black is my power one
seductively showing my sleek independance
mysteriously shrouding my vulnerability

the blue is my melancholy one
subdued and wanting to be alone
brooding and deep in thought

to the unobservant outsider, they are just clothes
just material covering the top half of me
but to me it is the showcase of my sex, humility, confidence, power, melancholy

i'm telling you my sexuality is a raw and fierce green jungle, yet still not fully ripe.
i'm telling you my confidence is a passionate, penetrating red ruby, yet still unassuming.
i'm telling you my humility is a disarming, virgin-white dove, yet still familiar.
i'm telling you my power is a bold, rich coal mine, yet still mysterious.
i'm telling you my introspection is the calming, deep blue sea, yet still full of surprises.

These are the colors of me
And i wear them everyday
secretly telling you about me
without them i am left naked.

Afraid

Just watched a display that made me think. That made me think of the color black, But much deeper than just a mere shadow. I thought of the people black. Most times reduced to only a shadow. I am not going to cry the song black people, we have all heard it enough times to be able to recite it word for word and not really listen to said words.

Africa is my poison tonight. Not the continent. Africa the people. Africa the soul. It seems not to have been enough for them to hate us before even knowing us. But to add insult to injury they have made them hate us. The progeny of Africa’s lost. African Americans. Proud to be black? More like proud not to be African. Our own, ashamed and relieved not to have been born us. They walk around crying over the injustice. Falsely tsk tsk-ing the crime on humanity. But deep down can they really know? Can the really feel what I feel? Black pride. They quote and revere and emulate Nelson Mandela and Shaka Zulu. They postulate to the history of the Egyptians and clap fervently at any mention of their “heritage.” And who am I to ridicule that? But do they not see that their lack of sincerity only serves to tarnish the ever deceitful façade of concern and understanding? They throw their money at us and their rehearsed and meaningless platitudes. They make excuses and hide behind ignorance as if we are so foolish as not to be able to see through their façade.

I am not so foolish. I can see that you pity me simply for being who I am. Even without having to find out who that really is. They have hoodwinked you. They’ve turned you against me. Through your smiles I see the truth shining in your eyes. You loath me. You pity me and deride me. I embody everything you hate about yourself. From your lofty heights you look upon me with resentment and disdain. In your mind I am unclean and uncouth. Diseased and despairing. Poor and pathetic.

You laugh and jeer at me with your friends, yet when you see my children suffering and crying out, your heart softens for the moment. You feel good about yourself for feeding and clothing me, because God-forbid I continue to shame you with my hungry nakedness. But I wonder to myself, are we so different? Have we lost so much of each other that we now speak two different languages? Where is the link that connects me to you? I am black just as you are. My hair is coarse just as yours is. My skin is black gold and my eyes dark diamonds. My nose is a monument, strong and proud in the center of it all. My lips, forces to be reckoned with. I am just like you and you are just like me. But still they have made you hate me.

They know. They know my secret. They stripped me bare and have been doing all they can to keep me helpless because they know given the potential, I could be greater than they ever hoped or imagined to be. I am an African. Broken down and kept in despair and without hope. Almost unaware of how great I can truly be. But my soul is limitless. It is the soul of the African people. The soul whose ears are bleeding from the cries of the blood of those they stole away from me.

I am so tired of feeling lonely
so tired of these depressing, sad songs
I am so desperate for you to hold me
the man i have been waiting for for so long
I have kept myself pure for you, cuz u're worth it
I hope you also waited for me
I hope you are everything i have dreamt you to be
I hope you have been dreaming of me too.

I want to fall into your eyes
and never have to get up again
I want to drown in your embrace
and never come up for air
I want to float away with your kiss
and never have to come down
I want to crumble under the weight of your love
and stay down
I want to stay down for you.

A little girl remembers

Slipping through my fingers

like the sands of time

memories still linger

in this aching heart of mine

I wish I could have told you

just what i felt at heart

I guess i never really thought

someday we'd have to part.

Rest in Peace

watch over us and know that you were loved

Rest in Peace

and keep on sending love from above

Rest in Peace

and may you live eternally

Rest in Peace and watch over me

But now you're gone

you've left me here

to think of you and weep

i know that's not what

you'd want from me

but these tears i cannot keep

A husband, father, child and man

an uncle and a friend

you brought so much into our lives

a love that'll never end

Rest in Peace.

In Your Kiss

You don't even have to say the words
I've already seen it in your eyes
Your smile tells chapters of the truth
In clear opposition to your one page lies

Wasn't the look of deception gleaming in your eyes
Or all the times we used to share that i missed
Wasn't the way your touch felt so distant but I
Knew it was gone, when I felt it in your kiss

You could've told a million lies
and I would've believed each one
You could've have broken my heart a thousand times
but back in your arms i would've run
you could have had anything you wanted, anything you wished
if it wasn't for the unspoken secrets
the pain of your bitter-sweet kiss

You'll never know the hurt i feel
or how i'm dying inside
excuses won't unbreak my heart
or wipe away the tears i've cried

Wasn't the way your "I love you's" became so hard to say
or how being around you was no longer pure bliss
wasn't how the trust faded away, day by day
it was the message that you sent me through your kiss.

Drifting. I'm drifting away from you
And it's all your fault 'cause you won't hold onto me
You make it so hard for me to cling to you
So now I'm drifting, drifting away from you

I'm scared because i'm drifting into the unknown
I'm scared because i feel so alone
I thought you said you would always stay with me
But now, even though you're here, you're drifting away from me.

Baggage

I started packing today. I know it was late, but then again procrastination is a way of life for me. I had a maximum of three hours to pack nineteen years of my life. It was that time again, the time that has come upon my family every four years for the last fifteen years. I was only allowed one suitcase. One. How do I pack away my whole life, the important things anyway, in one suitcase?
I packed the essentials, you know things like toiletries, jeans and shirts, shoes and combs. Things I can't live without. Things that could be replaced, but are still essential to my well being. I could not decide what to leave and what to pack, so I just packed everything. I packed seven sweaters. Seven. What does one need with seven sweaters when they have limited packing space? I suppose if read into, it could be my subconscious telling me I am paranoid and afraid of discomfort. Or it could mean I get cold easily. I also packed my keepsakes, you know things like CD's, pictures, momentos, books and jewelry. I had two hundred and sixty three CD's, and I couldn't live without any one of them. I had about a thousand pairs of earrings, hats, bandanas, scarves and belts. I wouldn't live without them. I had about a million random photographs. I shouldn't have to live without them.
I packed things I n=didn't even need. I packed my old notebooks from high school. You know, just in case. I packed the little rubber doll I got from our old maid in Romania when I was a little girl. I packed old address and phonebooks filled with names I didn't even remember. I packed my old journals that went back to fifth grade that I never even read anymore. I packed purses even though I never wore them. I packed old jeans and t-shirts I had sworn never to be caught dead in again. I packed stuff that wasn't even mine. I packed my brother's jacket that I always borrowed. I packed my sister's drawings that I had always just stuffed into my desk drawer. I packed my mother's perfume, she wouldn't know until it was too late. I packed my dad's baseball cap though I never wore caps. I unpacked and repacked, rearranging and stuffing, rolling and folding to make space to fit it all in that one little suitcase. And when I was finally satisfied that it was all done, I looked at my bulging suitcase filled with things I did not need but could not bear to leave behind.
And then it hit me. I had forgotten my baby blanket. I always took that blanket everywhere I went. I took it to Romania when I was four. I took it to Germany when I was seven, to Kenya when I was nine, Washington D.C. when I was eleven. I took it to Turkey, Bulgaria, Cyprus, Zimbabwe and South Africa. That blanket had seen the world with me. And now I was off again. But this time I was off to college and I was going by myself, far, far away for a really long time. And I had forgotten to pack it. My life was threatening to burst through the seams of my suitcase and there was no space to pack my baby blanket. So I stood there and cried. I cried because I was leaving my youth behind. I cried because the things I thought could sum up my life, could not. I could not pack away nineteen years of laughter, tears anger fear, frustration, pity, joy, excitement and love in just one suitcase. I could not carry it all with me. It was too heavy, and yet leaving it behind was unthinkable.
It is now twenty minutes before my flight leaves. My bag has been checked in, goodbyes have been said, tears shed have dried and good luck has been wished. And here I sit in the window seat of the plane destined to the rest of my life. I never did reopen my suitcase, it would have fallen apart. But I am sitting here with my coke and bag of peanuts, unopened in one hand. And my baby blanket in the other. The things I packed may not have any practical uses, but I am going to carry them with me anyway. I have never mastered the art of packing lightly, so I guess I will have to carry this baggage with me.

Gone

My reflection tells me that

you're gone, not coming back

I see it in my bloodshot eyes

Like broken windows

To an abandoned soul

I see it in my lips

Cracked and barren

Like a desert

Yearning, pleading, aching

For your rejuvenating kiss

I see it in my arms

Hanging limp and lifeless at my sides

Like the leaves of a weeping willow

Out of practice from not holding you

I see it in the heaving of my bosom blossom

Heavy and burdened

My heartbeat thudding through

My skin as if diseased

Ready to Die

Because there is nothing left to live for

You're gone

And my reflection won't let me forget it.

Never Again

Never Again
Never Again will i let myself fall
Fall into those eyes that
Pierce through me and draw out
A trust, a submission
That is blind to reason
And bright scarlet as quiet, trickling
Blood, so silent yet so deadly

Never Again
Never again will i give in to that charm
The charm that seems
To bind my heart in shackles
And leaves me with no reason
To believe that i can break free
That i am free to say no when
I please and not to stand defenseless

I promise not to do it again
Not to run to you with open arms
In hopes of getting that love returned to me
When in reality rejection slaps me across the face
Leaving nothing but the sting of confusion
For i was so certain you would catch me in your arms
But instead i hit a cold stone wall
Which stood as my only refuge, my only comfort
Against the wracking of a lonely, broken heart

Home On Time

Ironically the day had been going really well up until this point. School had been uncharacteristically fun today and the driver was actually on time for a change when he came to pick me up. I smiled to myself as i held firmly to my math folder which held the first A i had recieved on a test in the hated subject for the last two years. As if that was not reason enough to celebrate, Enrique had actually spoken to me today and i was prancing around in seventh heaven. I could not wait to get home and call Tabia and gloat over things actually going my way for a change. I should have known better. Thing were going a little too well all at once. It should have been a premonition that something bad was going to happen, but i was too far in my fantasy world to notice.
I walked in the house as usual, slamming the door behind me. The moment i stepped through the threshold, something felt different. I was frozen in time for a plit second, half knowing that something was amiss, but it was only for a split second. I walked into the kitchen as usual, and there was Teresa making dinner.
"Change your clothes," she said without even looking up. We constantly had a battle over getting me out of my school uniform before i got it dirty, and as always i pretended she was a figment of my imagination and went on to the fridge and got a soda and a piece of cake.
" It will ruin your dinner Claudia," we both said simultaneously, with me rolling my eyes dramatically. With my book bag still hung over one shoulder, i walked to the family room to find my obnoxious little brother catapulting himself from sofa to sofa while my baby sister sat her plump frame three inches from the television screen with a mass of melted chocolate on a apertowel between her tiny legs, mesmerised by some inane predicament the Rugrats had gotten themselves into. Her little face broke into a huge grin when she saw me walk in and she raised both hands and cluthced at me with her sticky fingers screaming "Puppy," her pet name for me. I crouched down long enough to kiss her chubby cheek and avoid her grubby fingers. I was in such a good mood that i reached over and patted my brother's head, to which he recoiled in horror.
"Relax, i was only going to pet you, you little rodent." His expression became one of defiance and he fixed his hair, stuck out his bottom lip and gave me the evil eye before he resumed his campaign against leather furniture. I walked down the hall to the stairs and bounded up, two steps at a time, to my room. I threw my bag on my bed, kicked off my shoes, switched on my CD player to blast Janet Jackson's latest, closed the door and plopped onto my bed. I was staring up at the poster of Will Smith and daydreaming when i suddenly remembered Enrique. I swtiched off the music and grabbed the phone in my room, ready to hit the speed dial button and fill my best friend in on my amazing luck. Before i could press the button though, i heard voices and put the receiver to my ear to see who was on the phone.
"So they all knew and were sitting there laughing at me. Everytime i went to that damn office, they all knew!" The agonized voice sounded vaguely familiar but i could not quite place it. I knew better than to listen in on a private conversation but there was something about that voice that held me transixed. I recognized the second voice as belonging to my Aunt J.
"Suze, how could they have told you? How do you tell someone something like that?" I knew that my Aunt J called my mom Suze for short but i could not believe that the wounded voice i had heard earlier belonged to my strong, assertive, happy mom, I listened in for a few more minutes until my mother broke down and began to cry. I had seen my mother cry only once before in my thirteen years of existance and that had been over a death in the family. But this wasn't a death, i had picked that much up. I did not know why she was crying but i did know that it made me very uncomfortable. I could not listen to it so i put the phone down, forgetting to lay it softly in it's cradle so they would not know i was listening in. Immediately i was scared. I knew they must have heard it and now mom was going to come into my room. I did not want to see her. I could not face her right now, not the way she was. I knew something bad had happened but i also knew i did not want to know. I did not want anything ruining my day, not now. Please.
I turned my music on even louder and lay down on my bed pretending to be asleep and trying to block everything out. After the third song ended, there was a knock on my door. I ignored it but she came in anyway. My heart began beating really fast and i felt smothered. She closed the door and i opened my eyes and sat up. She didn't have to speak, and neither did i. We both knew that i knew that something had happened that woudl affect me as much as it did her.
"Claude we have to talk." And she did. She told me why she was home earlier than usual. She told me why her eyes were swollen and red. She told me how alone she felt, how she was so angry. And then she began crying. Her tears weren't tears of loss as one would shed when a loved one died. They were not tears of superficial pain shed when one's fingers got smashed in the door. They were not the tears of fear like those i had shed when i was being wheeled into surgery last year. Young as I was, I recognized that these were tears of anguish and disillusionment. These were the tears of someone who had hit rock bottom. Someone whose world was not only violently turned upside down but also wrenched inside out. No, not just someone, but a woman. These were the tears of a woman's pain. The fact that my mother, my happy mother whose sole purpose it seemed was making everything ok, was shedding these tears caused something to snap inside me. I was torn between two people i loved more than life itself, to whom my loyalty was equal and complete. Yet, sitting there on my Lion King duvet with my mother looking so defeated and broken changed something within me. It was at that moment that i can truly say i felt i became a woman. It had nothing to do with physical changes, nor did it have to do with mentality. It was the connection to my mother's pain that transformed me into a thriteen year old woman. I identified with her hurt, her confusion and her fear. I felt what she felt. Her tears had cut deep within me and somewhere the floodgates had splashed open and given birth to that indescribable capacity of a woman to feel pain in its most extreme, and still survive it.
I wrapped my arms around my mother's shaking frame and held on tight. I was afraid, so very afraid of what would happen next. I was afraid for my mom and my tears told her that. She held onto me tight, with my head pressed against he violent heartbeat. She kissed my head and said she felt like i was her best friend in the world.
I would have never guessed that my perfect day could have become one of the worst in my life as i walked through the door that afternoon. Early for a change. Thoughts of Enrique had vanished and my math folder lay abandoned on the floor beside my bag. My CD player was still on and Janet was screaming the words, 'What about the times you lied to me? What about the times you said no one would want me? What about all the sh*t you done to me? What about that? What about that? What about the times you yelled at me? What about the times i cried, you wouldn't even hold me. What about those things? What about that? What about that?" The door was shut and we were both silent. I sat there in my mother's arms, feeling both like a lost child, and an enlightened woman and my heart bled for her. We sat there, listening to the venomous lyrics. And we cried.

Dinner At My House

Dinnertime at my house was a lot different from this. I don’t know these people. They’re family, but I don’t know them. I don’t know where I am supposed to sit. At my house I always sat to my dad’s immediate left, no matter where we were. My sister sat right next to me to my mother’s right and my brother across from us in the middle, the way it always worked out for him in life. I had to sit next to my sister because my brother and I could not be trusted within two feet of each other, and it was easier to kick each other from across the table. My sister was the baby and sat next to our mother, so she could get away with murder, supervised. My brother sat closer to my mother because she doted on him and made him feel that middle was the best place to be. I sat near my dad because I was daddy’s girl, and we could share jokes just between us. And in my mind I always thought my dad was omniscient, and the closer I got, the more I would know. As I grew older I gained a new respect for my mother and realized she probably knew a whole lot more than my dad, but my seat has never changed.
Dinner at my house was a family affair. Mom and I cooked, the way our culture says it should be. My brother and sister set the table, the way western influence suggested it should be. And my father came to the table, the way we all accepted it. Once dinner was on the table, my dad would praise the cooks, my siblings would whine at the sight of a hated dish, and mom and I would sit in silent modesty. As if on cue, someone would announce, “Let us pray,” and whoever’s turn it was to say grace would lead us in prayer. Mom always said a long impromptu prayer which we all prayed would not fall on a day when we were starving. Dad and I recited the same prayer whenever it was our turn. My sister followed the methods she learned in preschool or whatever grade she happened to be in, and my bother recited the prayer he was taught at school. Eating anything before prayer was sacrilege.
Finally dinner would commence with forks clanging against plates and glasses. In accordance with our culture, the adults always served themselves first before the children were allowed to, but my siblings and I were raised in western lands where we picked up western habits, so my mother had to always remind us to be respectful. My dad, the diabetic, always ate healthy, moderate helpings. My mother, forever dieting, followed the same trend. My bother, the bottomless pit, ate anything within reach, and my skinny sister picked at her food and snacked on air. We talked of the day’s events, religious issues, politics, and my dad would crack endless corny jokes that had me spewing my soda across the table. We would sit at the table for hours after we had finished eating, just talking. It was the only time we spent together as a family without the interference of work, school and TV. It is where all my most precious memories lay, memories I am now forced to call up every night now that I am away at college.
Now I sit here with my extended family, my aunt and uncle and my two cousins. And though the number of people is right, my cousin and I don’t have the love-hate relationship my brother and I had, and now I’m the baby who eats air sandwiches. And though my uncle is very smart, his corny humor barely makes me crack a smile. And my aunt doesn’t need help in the kitchen. I am thousands of miles away from the dinner table I sat at for twenty years and I don’t know where I am supposed to sit. Dinnertime now is just dinner, and can not compare to dinner at my house.

Why I Will Not Get Out Of Bed

Getting out of bed means getting out of my shell
it means facing all the things i am scared to face
another day of trying to figure things out
another day of pretending to be happy when i'm not

i don't want to have to face the world
don't want to have to be the object of anyone's attention
don't want to have them all look at me
and wonder if there is something wrong with me

if i get out of bed i'll have to face myself
figure out who it is i am going to be today
i will not enjoy the safety of my comfort zone
i'll be cast out and expected to be somebody

but how can i be anybody
if i don't know how to be myself?
how can i be confident in myself
when i cling to insecurity like a safety blanket?

i'm scared to get out of bed
because i am scared to face the reality of me
scared that i will be misunderstood
scared that they won't like me

so why can't i just stay in bed
and be whoever i want to be
and not have to work at being accepted
and not have to be afraid of the world?