Poetry

7 Things I Learned From the Universe

1. The earth is not a sphere and nothing is ever as it seems.

2. No one is perfect, even the sun has dark spots.

3. Stars are huge balls of hot gas, too far away to reach and touch. I forgot that when I pinned you up there in the sky, thinking that you would remain permanent like the North Star. But you never looked back and went too far and I can’t reach you anymore.

4. You can come to the point of loving someone so much you burst like a supernova, scattering lights so brilliant one would think of stars being born. But when the lights run out, you’re left with a dead star and a black hole.

5.Heartbreak is like a black hole; it sucks the happiness from you. Its gravitational pull is so strong that you can’t escape from it. It warps your sense of time that you can’t figure out exactly whether you’re somewhere between the past and the present or are you dwelling in the idea of what should have been.

6. The earth cannot revolve backwards and I can never turn back the time. You can hold back your tears but you can’t pull it back once it falls. You can only hope that someone is there to wipe the tear stains from your face and erase the saltiness from your lips.

7. When I was eight years old they told me that Pluto was the last planet in the solar system. But 4 years later, they said that Pluto was no longer a planet, that it does not have the capability to clear away objects from its path, that it was just not good enough.

Loving you felt like that. It felt like waiting for a hundred years just to be a little bit closer to you but I cannot jump over orbits and meteors and fell short that you turned your back on me.

I’m sorry for not being enough, for not loving you the way she did, for not being the answer to your what ifs and what could have been. I’m sorry for being your mistake.

I tried wishing upon stars, hoping to find love at the edge of the galaxy but even heavenly bodies cannot give you something they do not have. And I waited, and am waiting still, for that someone who will stand up and say, “You will always be enough,” the same way that others have fought for Pluto’s planetary status. Someone who will hold my hand and it will mean the world to him. And each time that I say, “I love you,” he will say, “I love you too.”

English, Poetry

Scratch Paper Too

Sometimes, I look back and try to find when it was that I stopped being your muse. Was it during the times we fought because you wanted us to be perfect like the stories you wrote when all I wanted was for us to be real?

When did I lose my color? When did I lose my beauty? The elegance that captivated your heart and made it mine? I often asked myself these questions as I sat on a corner of your desk, running my fingers on the lines of memories you wrote on my skin. I try to read the printed paragraphs that slowly turned to broken lines and missing words because you no longer looked at me.

I remind you too much of mistake and errors you could never correct. I am filled with erasures and inscriptions of your scrawny penmanship that I often could not understand.

I quietly slip between the pages of an old book, waiting patiently for someone better to come along who will correct your mistakes, rewrite my stories and make new but better memories.

girl waiting photo

English, Journaling, Life, Photography, Poetry

Scratch Paper

Why do writers waste so much paper? I asked you that once. You laughed as you pulled me into your lap. You answered me in hushed tones, whispers that spoke of mistakes you must make to come up with something beautiful, of things you must waste to find a jewel.

Am I a scratch paper? I asked. You held my face then kissed my forehead, then my nose, then my lips. No, you aren’t. You are my muse.

edgeofjade - photography 1
(c) Dean Canizo

 

English, Journaling, Poetry, Thoughts

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His memory lingers in my mind,
like bruises I hide
but can’t unfeel.
I touch one and the pain stings –
this is where he used to touch me,
this is where he used to kiss me.

I feel his fingers tug my hair,
his breath on my skin,
his heart pounding and beating,
nervous like mine,
his lips on my lips,
his skin on my skin.

I remember his voice,
his books,
the scent of the coffee he makes
and how our legs
tangled beneath the sheets.

Memories are photographs
scattered on the floor.
I see a smile,
I see a wink,
I see a flower,
I see an old teddy bear.

My eyes close and I feel the pain,
it’s tingling all over my body.
Love is beautiful but it hurts,
like a rose filled with thorns.