Red Wine Confessions

I've never been a drinker,
but too often I find myself crying at the end of a bottle.
Wine is the worst best friend I have.

And don't get me started on Saturday nights with nowhere to go.

Twenty-six doesn't feel any different from twenty-five,
and yet... I can't help but see every day gone by in my face.
Fuck.

My mother would think I curse too much,
or at least I imagine she would.
I'm starting to forget the little things about her
and truth be told, 
It scares the living shit out of me.
Because if I forget her,
than I forget every reason I had for believing in anything.

Faith is hard to have sometimes.
Especially, when you're me.

And I've decided to tell people that my tattoos mean nothing,
It's easier than admitting that they're only in places that I long to be touched the most.

Loneliness man...
Fuck.

7 Train

When You Were Young,
was the song that she professed as her favorite,
yet couldn't remember for the life of her.

"Take your time", he said.
He couldn't have cared less for the answer that she so desperately tried to recall,
but he could've stared at the smile that stretched across her heart shaped face forever.

Her purple worn boots,
those are what caught his eyes on the crowded 7 train.

Her voice; unexpectedly mesmerizing,
but her smile... her smile is what made his soul stand still.

She said, she only orders her coffee black because...why bother?
And she no longer wears make-up so that when people look her square in the eyes,
they really see her.
She had spent more years than she'd like to admit,
dressing up her face for people who never even looked at her.

She was beautiful,
But even he knew that she had given up on that notion, long before their fated collision.

He had only ever met broken women.
And she had only ever met men who liked to break things.
Life was funny like that.

"Filler," she professed. "Some people are born to be filler in other peoples backgrounds."
She shrugged her shoulders in acceptance.
And he smiled,
wishing the 7 train had been a local instead.

                                                   -Shelby

Fuck

I can't say that this time was any different.
I knew deep down and even in the hollow parts of my skin, that this time
... It would be the same.
Because guys like him,
they don't date girls like me.
The lows of my esteem always give me away.
Theres something  about my heart that seems to only like resting on my sleeve.
Mom,
I'm tired of only being good for lying with my back against wrinkled sheets,
And half the time Im not even given that luxury.
Fuck.
But my puesdo-confidence isn't strong enough to cover the scent of my bullshit.
Mom,
You told me I was worth more than this.
Were you only being a mother or were there truths in your wisdoms?
Jesus Christ!
Its not supposed to be this hard.
Not to be loved.
Not when I'm standing in the middle of the field with my palms facing forward,
and my pockets empty.
Maybe thats the problem.
Fuck.

Untitled

And she couldn’t find a word to describe it.

The pain.

She was hurting.

She could feel her heartstrings snapping at the seams from the pulling.

...And she couldn’t find one simple word to describe it.

Her pain.

The aching.

She could hear him,

Laughing louder than necessary

Fucking her harder than necessary

and being more,

…More than necessary with some other girl who wasn’t any better than her,

Or prettier

Yet who she instantly felt less than.

He knew he was breaking her down.

And she couldn’t describe it.

The missing of someone who had treated her like an unwanted toy,

Her pain.

Her never ceasing to exist pain.

Was this what drowning felt like?

She wondered if this was her karma for something she had done once upon a time in her life.

Before she moved to the city that seemed to never sleep,

And before she knew aaroz con gandules was a dish and not a word.

Fuck.

She never had a chance.

This was heartbreak.

Undeniable, and unrelenting

Heartbreak.

                                   -Shelby

Fuck

And honestly, finding a sugar daddy on Craigslist has crossed my mind quite a few times.

I’m tired of being broke,

And having someone else to foot the bill would be nice.

I’m tired.

There’s no lower feeling than having every single card you swipe decline.

I wasn’t being reckless.

Shit just kept coming up.

And now it seems that the only option I have left is to sell my life’s greatest possessions.

Fuck.

This hurts like a bitch.

My favorite things will soon belong to someone else and there is no other option for me.

I need a sugar daddy.

What’s a little something strange for some change?

When all I have to do is pretend that the worst isn’t happening.

…Pretend that my mother isn’t rolling over in her grave.

Fuck.

And there isn’t anyone to call.

There never is.

My brothers all have lives and we don’t even speak.

So many regrets happen when shit hits the fan.

I have sooo entirely much on my plate and no solution in sight.

And all I can think of is when all the boys told me I had a pretty mouth.

Maybe some man will want pay me to use it.

I never dreamed of being like this.

My mother will roll over in her grave.

Fuck.

How It Affects You.

Going, going, gone.
Pots and pans banging inside my head,
has been the only music that seems to put me to sleep.
Babies only cry when you've taught them to fear the sound.
And so that pure, soft sound of sweet serenity,
scares the living shit out of me.
Thanks dad.
Yo can never become too comfortable.
So never tell me you love me dear lover,
because I will be gone in the morning.
And if were too satisfied,
Than I will slip out before dawn.
Pots and pans banging inside my head,
has been the only music that has been able to put me to sleep
for the longest of times now.
Going,
Going,
Backwards footsteps race inside my head.
Dear dad,
I'd forgive you,
but these thoughts remind me that you're the one who cursed me to this chaotic lullaby.
You said no one would love me.
So far you're right.
Asshole.
Gone,
Each guy that has known me for more time than necessary.
Pots and pans banging.
Yelling, screaming,
Don't console me dear lover,
I've been broken for longer than I care to admit,
And stuck here for longer than I would like to be.
Thirteen sucks when you're twenty-four,
And Twenty-four sucks when no one seems to love you.
Pots and pans banging.
Yelling, screaming.
Dear lover,
I promise to leave a lipstick stained kiss to remember me by.

Harlem Nights & The Days After

My sheets still smell like you,
And that night I let my senses fall by the wayside.
Even now, I still feel like an idiot.
It took all of five minutes for me to become all wide eyes and smiles.
You must've  known then that I would be easy.
All I want to do is cry.
Cry that I let you.
Cry that I enjoyed it.
Cry that you stopped talking to me not two days after.
Does it make me a fool that even now,  at this very moment,
all I want is a call from you?
I would still welcome you with open arms.
My father was right; I am pathetic.
My self-esteem needs a hug.
I need someone to love what you and everyone before you seem not to be able to.
I hate you soo much.
I miss you soo much.
Harlem boy,
you broke my broken heart.
And now, I have to buy new sheets for my bed.

After thoughts

All this caffeine cannot be good for me.
All these sad love songs are forming a dark cloud over my head.
I need to revamp my playlists.
Nothing sucks more than remembering how many nights I stayed up past 3a.m just to talk to you.
...Just to hear your voice.
I promise my twenty-four year old self,
that I will delete my love sick sixteen year old ways from my heart.
Growing older does nothing but make us feel taller.
I wish I was sixteen again,
So that my idiocy could be explained away with youth.
Ill tell my daughter someday,
that it should take more than a month to fall in love.
Otherwise,
you'll just end up writing poems about boys who don't know your last name.

The Last Poem Regarding You

I wish you were a bad B movie that I could’ve just turned off.

Truth be told, even if you were, I would’ve still stuck around

For a while longer.

Everyone waits for the ending.

There are no truths when we are in love

Trust me I’ve searched.

Tell me,

What were your plans Oh dear lover?

Be honest.

I promise you I won’t cry,

I promise.

I won’t be mad that you didn’t love me,

I won’t be mad that I allowed myself to feel for you,

It’s my fault really.

I let my guard down and boy was there a stampede waiting to run me over.

I promised you I wouldn’t cry,

I promise you that I will try not to.

You should know,

I never completely discarded the pieces of my heart you broke.

Pitiful I know,

They lead a path somewhere,

Hopefully somewhere that has solace waiting for the broken hearted.

For people like me.

I promised you I wouldn’t cry.

.. I guess that makes us both liars.

The Power of Insecurity

My first day living in New York

Boxes are barely unpacked and I am standing

Center floor and wide eyed in love

With the cable man.

He’s no celebrity like I’ve seen strutting down the streets of the Upper East Side

But I am miles away from my boring southern state

And boy is he handsome.

After the pleasantries of my origin story, he looks at me with his left brow lifted in disbelief

And with a thick urban accent asks, “And you left there for Brooklyn?”

I smile my awkward, sheltered suburban girl smile,

And mentally regret jumping on the first apartment listing for New york on craigslist.

He smiles at me and after finishing the job asks for my number.

I can barely hold in my excitement, and race around my apartment hugging myself harder than one probably should.

I wonder if this is the how all the pretty girls feel when they are asked out.

But even I don’t have time to daydream

Because just as my being fills with joy,

 The dark cloud of my insecurities hover over me.

This time, they skip the formalities and get straight to the point.

“He’s not going to call you.”

“You’re  just a joke.”

And like the last time,

And every time before the last,

I listen.

I agree.

I doubt.

And the negativity I feel begins seeping through my pores the moment I receive my long awaited call

For every compliment he gives, I have a reason he’s clearly blind.

And soon our pleasant and promising conversation turns into the one reason he won’t be calling me again.

He likes girls with confidence,

And sadly I have too many daddy issues unresolved.

He could’ve been the one.

Just like all the rest.