Do it For You

You decided
to break my heart 
before we met. 
I decided
to love you still
with the pieces left. 

You said
you needed to do things
for you, 
for your happiness. 
I agreed. 
I too, 
needed confirmation 
that your smile wasn’t residual
to the afterthoughts of him. 

You made it clear
that a friendship
was what you needed,
one where trust
wouldn’t be ceded. 
I obliged
to hold your heart
til it hop scotched 
into a notch of love
it could be itself around. 

You, 
sounded more
bothered than okay, 
more flustered than
nothing’s wrong, 
more agitated than
you’re fine
but maybe, 
maybe I shouldn’t 
want to talk about it either. 

I’m not a knight
but a bleeder,
not a hero
but a seeker of
what more could I do
to help you forget him? 

What enchantments can I use
short of black magic
to pry your thoughts loose
from leeching on to him? 
How often must I remind you
that your soul
is far too beautiful
to keep cracking
over his faults?
How long
will you remain victim
to his vault 
of emotional assault? 

Please,
come back to me. 
I need you to remember
who you are,
need you to remember
that love is a promise
you made to yourself first,
need you to remember 
your worth 
will always be more valuable
than his barcodes
of depreciation. 

I beg of you, 
before he shackles 
the rest of your existence
to the rust of things you once were, 
to picture frames
of smiles you once knew;
I implore you 
to find yourself
in your scars, 
heal yourself
past the wounds, 
and love yourself
for you. 

Fall in Love

She
made me promise
to hold true to my word
five minutes to one a.m,
four hours to the end
of my circadian rhythm,
three parted heart emojis later
on a night her mind seeks to savor 
something to salvage
from watching her team lose.

I was told:
“Every time you don’t win, 
a part of you loses.”
Loses fight, 
lose grit. 
Loses heart, 
lose grip
on hoping against the odds,
that she’s someone
worth
loving. 

She’s hoping 
that someone will put
a check in the win column
next to her name;
that her heart
won’t be the last pick
in the rough draft
to better relationships;
that her soul
will stop feeling caught
between encounters with third base
when she desperately
just wants
to make
it
home.  

Check if you like me,
leave blank if you don’t. 
She slid this note to her crush;
his mouth said that he can’t, 
his eyes said that they won’t. 
She is so done
with rejection, 
so done
with losing. 

Fast forward
to her last relationship
and she’s not taking an L
for no one. 

This beautiful, 
mermaid princess 
would rather swim alone
then drown in complacency, 
uncertainty
and a shipwreck
of good intentions.

She now lives
in the ocean
of self-acceptance, 
basks in waves
of self love. 

My dear, 
you need not these hands 
to make you whole, 
need not a poem 
to reconstruct your confidence, 
need not a man
to help you heal. 

If “I love you” 
no longer sounds holy
from his lips,
if “you’re beautiful” 
seems laced 
with insincerity, 
then fall in love
with the way
you whisper them to yourself.
Fall in love
with your insecurities, 
fall in love
with all the reasons
they said you weren’t enough, 
fall in love
with you. 

You Owe it to Yourself

Let’s go. 

Doesn’t matter the place. 
We can wrestle over details later. 
For right now, 
do yourself a favor and 
ride out on out of here, 
to your favorite hide out
miles south of fear
or northbound
to a little town
to disappear
so I could repeat 
our meet and greet. 

I’ll reintroduce myself
as your cowboy, 
your eyes
will blink themselves
into my sunrise
so you’ll always know that home
is a faceful of sunset
and a smile full of my pride. 

I’ll lick the postage 
you stamp the seal of approval. 
Let’s work
on the removal of you
from the mundane. 

We’ll saddle
your imagination, 
book inspiration
into your now to take flight
upon planes of existence
that knows no resistance
to your determination. 

You, 
you need to know 
that you’re free;
that the weight of your obligations
are proportionate 
to how much you tip your scale;
that your excuses
only feel like handcuffs
til you decide
you’ve had enough. 

I need you to know
that you don’t have to go
anywhere life may lead; 
your heart
doesn’t have to kiss the floor 
every time it trips 
over something handsome;
that your dreams
don’t need to learn French
to consult more ceilings. 

I need you to know, 
you owe no soul apologies, 
reasons for being:
late, 
early, 
on time
on your days off. 

Off days
will feel like
they’re on time
to being early;
your being
will always be late
for no reason
but when your soul, 
throws a manhunt for apologies
to betray itself,
I need you to know
you owe it to yourself
to never let go
of you. 

Blessed 

Bless the day
that birthed her into existence,
unearthed her soul into being
and heart into feeling.

Bless, her mother’s labor,
her father’s patience
that delivered her into the present.

Bless the past she’s endured
to furnish a brighter future;
the detours in paths
that made her relish the finish.

Bless the trials,
the setbacks,
the drawbridge
the jetlag from flight of thought
to decisive action.

Bless the fractions
of times we’ve spent,
the moments we’ve lent
to leisure.

Bless the attempts I make
to please her;
more importantly,
bless the seconds
I’ve seized her laughter,
caught it into glass jars
of memory and remedy,
shattered it loud
in empty house
to feel you fill the voids within.

Bless the now
you morph into beauty,
the odds and ends
contorting us into unity
and I,
am all too blessed to confess
that you,
are the blessing I’ve been gifted,
never taken for granted.

Dedicated to You

I wrote you a love letter,
in the form
of a budding rose
to let you know,
you’re more
than the sum of thorns
in your life;
more than
synonymous with beauty;
that you’re worth
holding onto tight,
when letting go
would take less might,
less courage,
less fight.

I wrote you a love letter
in the form of sunrays
climbing blindly
through your blinds
to remind you that time,
need not be first
on your mind,
need not be
the last of alarms
you set your life to;
that you’ll find me
in the minutest of moments,
the serenity of silence.

I wrote you a novel
in the form of the night
to remind you:
that no shade of darkness
is impenetrable to light;
that you will be and are
all the star
I could ever wish for and upon
and that,
the only reason
the moon disappears
is because you still feel like
the newest reason to blush to.

I wrote you
a love letter
in the form of a lullaby,
for the nights
you want to tuck in your mistakes
while they’re busy throwing tantrums,
when your pillow
has caught enough cases of your tears
and your covers
cocoons you in loneliness.

I wrote you a love letter
in the form
of you.
Fearfully and wonderfully made,
crowned
as my masterpiece on display.
You,
could bring me down
from the highest heavens
with silent prayers.
You,
could layer me with your sins
and I’d still die for you
once again.

You,
are my letter of love
to those who have forgotten how.
I wrote you
into the world with purpose,
framed you
from the dust of the earth
to ground those in upheaval,
carved you
from the ground up
to always be uplifted
when afflicted.

You
are my favorite verse
in this universe
that I memorize daily.
There is no shade
of mediocrity in your makeup,
no failure
in your foundation,
no fault
to blush over for you
are mine.

He Loves You

He loves you,
you know.

Despite the lack of
making it verbal
every time you utter it first he,
loves you.

Despite the fact that
eye contact is nonexistent
when the television
and your concerns
compete to channel his attention.

When
will it start feeling like
you’re relevant
long past a commercial break?

He promises to tune you in now,
although his lips mouth
programmed responses
so dauntlessly as if,
you wouldn’t catch on
to his sincerity
being remotely controlled.

You’re not being trolled.
This isn’t some
innocent joke gone rogue.
He isn’t
ignoring you;
but he has permitted
enough of the cares,
the doctor’s appointments,
life’s shares of disappointments
to disjoint him
from what he really loves and 
he really loves you,
you know.

So forgive him,
if presently
he seems more absent;
if his touch seems
a little unplugged from love;
if his words
no longer inspire you
to feel less of his mistakes
and more of his faith
in making this work.

This isn’t to say
you deserve mediocrity.
This isn’t to say
you deserve to reap
the cheap efforts of a heart
tired of beating itself in vain;
but if you’re staying
just know that he’s trying.

And yes,
it might take a while
to get it right,
but nothing worth building
was built over night.

Genuine

When I first confessed to you
that I wrote poems,
you asked me
to recite one.

My untied,
string of thoughts
tripped over themselves.
My tongue
was just as much of a klutz
with whatever verbiage
it managed to spill over you
as my pulse,
fluttered up
the tunnel of my throat
to convince me
to just wing it.

Self-conscious
and bashful
was the man I grew into
and you –
could you not wait
in such dire suspense?
Can you not stare
with such intent?

You are,
by no means
relieving the pressure
with those eyes.
Those
bold and beautiful irises,
hugging your pupils
like arms do orphans,
framed in frameless lenses
ordained to maim my senses
into shock and awe.

You
are so utterly Kodak friendly,
my brain
keeps my eyelids shutter speed
to non-existent just
to take in your beauty
in every blinking moment.
I can’t help but keep
my aperture open.

I guess,
what I’m trying to say is:
give me something to write about.
I want to paint you
by the number
of childhood memories
and fears you still think
hide in your closet,
your darkest corners,
before the world
ignited your monsters
and revealed them to be
more human than not.

Tell me,
what drives you
and then
what drives you crazy.
I’ll get licensed for both
to help you steer.

Share the ingredients
to your passions
and we’ll have a
seasoned conversation for dinner,
an entree of flavors
I desire to savor with you.

Show me
your insecurities,
your impregnable doubts
and castle of failures
and I promise,
to build you a bridge
over your moat of depression
and discouragement.

When you first asked me
to recite you a poem,
it’s not that I didn’t hear you
the first time,
nothing drowned out your request.
It’s just that,
no poem
could ever reconstruct
the genuine
in your smile.