my eardrums won’t stop vibrating.

I must make a confession:

I smoke my cigarette while I fill my gas tank and pray for the best.

Puff, puff.

Then I drive to forget.

I still miss you anyway.

I only said goodbyes I didn’t mean.

I’m a runaway,

swerving through lanes and lovers,

trying to taste free will.

How could I waste my pain?

My beautiful scars and torturous words make my mother cry.

My father suspects possession.

My religion in the rearview mirror.

I drove too fast into adulthood.

Every time my auntie said it would get better,

the traffic of reality followed.

If you are comfortable with death, you’ll take more risks, I was reckless.

Slamming on my breaks. I’ve had an epiphany..

I’m not a passenger, I’m driving myself mad.

I have no direction, on the wrong side of the road.

I just collided with karma.

Towed my Mazda and replaced it with a Honda.

My poor bumper car, she was once home to me.

My brand new whip is a hybrid.

I feel as though I’m in a spaceship.

I wish to launch it to the heavens.

My tires are damned to gravity.

My morality is a stop sign.

Jesus Christ was my first heartbreak.

Now He’s my headlights.

The devil drives a Tesla.

He never lets me over so I miss every exit.

I’ve been on this destructed freeway for twenty-three years now.

Meet me at the pit stop.

I used the payphone to call my pastor, he didn’t pick up.

I’m alone without sanctuary.

My angel was a faulty battery. Only God Himself could jump-start. My devil was the radio. I was singing along and I swear I didn’t know I was affirming the inevitable.

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I want to be in a room with pillows for walls.

the carpet is made of lamb’s wool, cushioned enough to lie down upon.

the ceiling is a skylight.

I’ll be forced to follow the circadian rhythm.

In the morning, I will rise.

food will be brought to my room. a well-balanced, colorful meal with a sustainable amount of protein.

then I will do Bikram yoga, stretching out my limbs.

release my fascia. Find attunement in my nervous system.

strengthen my skeleton with balance.

build my lean muscle mass to perfection.

afterward, I’ll be complemented by a healthy dose of dopamine.

I’ll lie in savasana, meditating in the prime hours of the sunlight. Release serotonin naturally. I need no SSRI.

this is in the name of holistic health.

a kitty will come to eat lunch with me three hours later.

I’ll pet her fur and be rewarded with oxytocin as she purrs.

a salad with leafy greens, a range of vegetables, and salmon.

then I will get lost in philosophy books to help me find purpose and fulfillment.

when my brain starts to feel tired, I’ll play music.

dance freely, expressively, for the sake of creativity.

I will be flooded with endorphins.

darkness will creep in as the sun sets.

I will then do my yin flow.

holding the postures until I release the trauma stored within me for years.

I don’t eat supper. My digestive tract will sleep as I do.

I fall asleep in a posture that releases the tension in my hips, which have held the stress of my womanhood for far too long.

no lactic acid.

I don’t work to survive.

I live only to heal.

this is my dream life.

grant it to reality.

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While other players are spawn into survival.

We all want to hack into the hardware,

make living fair.

Reboot society.

Override poverty.

Decode

the patriarchy.

Provide equal opportunity,

at least at the starting match.

Maybe we all could

be champions.

Free will unlocked

for any social class.

If we all followed the framework

of human decency,

could humanity function

indefinitely?

Returning to reality,

nature, and spirituality.

Unfortunately

too many

avatars

are terminal.

They play to corrupt.

What must be

encrypted

into their

character?

Maxed out evil,

critically hitting

everyone they

deem problematic

just to level up.

In this generation

we’ve replaced

decency with

rules I cannot

comprehend.

A communication

rollback.

Ghosting

has overwritten

honest conversations.

So many options

people are

simply recast.

No wiki to

explain why,

only

blocked

from the match.

The evolution

of the digital

era has

begun

its media-driven

campaign.

How many bodies
until you win?

How many followers
until you’re loved?

How many friends
will comment
and tag?

With infinite

possibilities,

comes

endless

challenges.

To make

something

of yourself

in this economy

is a rare drop.

To find true love

has become

legendary.

Stability,

home purchase,

power-crept.

Upgrading

your platform-

a necessity

to thrive in

a community.

Achievements

displayed like

trophies,

showcasing

our skill trees.

Who can be

trusted as

allies

when ever

man plays for himself?

Adventures

even the

most shameful

quests,

saved forever

inside the

database.

Meta-intelligence

testing our

metacognition.

We post

to signal

we are

still alive.

Connected to the matrix.

Disconnected from presence.

Couldn’t

we

merge together?

Beat

the final boss.

A government

that data-farms.

We’re terrified

of

robots,

while stepping

over users

dying on

the sidewalks.

Well they made

their choice right?

As if they

simply clicked

the path

of destruction.

Their backstory?

None of our concern.

We have our

own missions

to complete.

You can’t

save everybody.

Our ego

always the

protagonist.

Vengeance

for anyone

cast

as the

opposition.

Spectators

stalking

socials

making sure

they’re still

winning

even after

their friendship

or romantic

relationship

ended.

Everyone does it.

It’s normal now.

Judging

from behind

a blue screen.

How do I opt out?

I’ve tried many times.

Life is a video game,

I wanted my

account

deactivated.

Instead,

I’ve been

respawned

as

an observer.

Watching

the chaos

of this era.

I deem it

an empathy error.

mind running

laps

of

thought.

Should I?

Should I not?

Rewind.

Wow,

it once felt

so much simpler.

I was awfully happy.

Flashback.

Wait.

I had secrets.

Not as blissful

as I seemed.

I guess time

really does

soften memories.

Fast forward.

Will I lose

it all again?

Am I doing

enough today

to make

better days ahead?

Will I be married?

A mother?

An artist?

Die young.

Drugs.

Self-destruction.

Who am I

to know?

A human

with ego,

I let it all

go.

What day

is it today?

Already

late June.

Where have

I gone all

this time

flying

by?

Already

my birthday

soon?

The worst year

I’ve ever had,

twenty two.

Double the fun,

doubled the consequence.

Began with the

best birthday week,

of my life.

The most friends

I had ever

had.

About 4-5

celebrations.

A movie premiere where

I spoke with the director

of the film,

Together.

The Weeknd concert

where I did

MDMA in

his honor.

A brunch date.

With my ex.

The day we

became

more

than

friends.

An afters party

with a pole,

the first time

I tried to strip.

Giggling,

doing blow,

spinning

like a

monkey

on a bar.

To the next day,

the fair with family.

Hiding news

of my secret

new older boyfriend.

Laughing with

my baby brother

in a photobooth.

To

working

myself

to the grave.

Stress is

the only

killer anyway.

Now I come

back to present.

Release the

whirlwind I

chose to be

in.

Miraculously survived.

I must move on.

Laying down

on my mat.

Reading the

newspaper

while I

stretch

to

distract

my own

life

events

annoying

my head.

It has become

a familiar

ritual

of mine.

Fetal pose.

Knees to chest.

Rocking gently.

Peter Pans.

Holding my foot,

pulling it straight,

falling to one side,

knee bent,

back to center.

The other side.

Looking up

through

the window.

Breathing

the simple

breeze

through

the screen.

Meditation.

Close my eyes.

Still,

I visualize

an angel

caught

in digital wires,

not the cow

munching

grass

on that surreal,

oversaturated farm

my subconscious

used

to retreat to.

What could it mean?

Too much time

on screens?

My obsession

with religion

and cyberpunk films?

I change

the scenery

to a hidden beach,

a place

I’ve been

only once,

dancing

in a drum circle.

Completely free

to be strange,

to move

my body

in sensual ways,

to the beat

of live music,

a busted guitar

and handmade drums.

Then

I doze off.

Our first kiss, transcendent.

A saving grace.

You were once reverent.

I, your angel.

Slow, graceful.

I alighted your sorrow.

Until I became so weak,

all the blood I bled to keep my heart beating for you alone, drained away.

Each beat I’d take in the name of redemption.

Pleasing, pleading, worship,

praying we’d be reborn by Sunday.

The sanctuary of us would burst into flames.

Love bites bruising my skin, so you could show the world

I was yours.

Marking your claim upon my neck.

Fighting for our benediction till my ears rang with cherub screams.

You don’t want me anymore?

But how could you survive without your seraph?

Were the times I tried to leave,

and you begged me not to, a lie?

Could I have fled, and you’d have been fine all along?

Before my wings grew weary from holding your godhead high.

Halo-crowned,

all devotion.

I made you my religion,

trusted your prophecy.

Father figure,

my gossamer,

until I saw the devil in your eyes.

Hissing, enchanting tongues,

a seduction that possessed my soul each time we entwined.

Obeying

your every

command.

Only for

you,

untouched,

new.

Even at my dirtiest,

I’ve soaked myself

in bubbles,

scrubbing away

every trace

of being human,

just to be

perfect,

the way

you prefer

your

possessions.

Tight figure,

youthful,

bite-sized,

innocent.

No hair,

no scars,

baby soft.

Your angel

to conquer.

I’ve fallen

from Heaven

to be at your will,

for your

devilish wishes

and all.

Holy serenity

wrapped in

silken skin.

Possess me

with your

chivalrous desire.

Boy,

aren’t you

masculine?

My daddy told me

I should wait,

so I’ve locked

myself away,

waiting

for a strong

lad like you.

Raw.

Animalistic.

Programmed

to arch.

Turn off

my smarts.

Take your love,

hard-wired,

running through

my circuitry,

feminine instinct,

coded obedience.

I was

designed

to please.

Tell me,

does my purity

make you feel

powerful?

Or do you simply

love the thought

of ruining it?

Fantasies

of me

in your sheets?

Waking

to thoughts

of me,

lost somewhere

between desire

and dreaming.

Pictures

you’ve seen

only through

a screen,

of me

existing solely

in your mind,

for you

to project

your sexual

needs onto,

mistaking

a woman

for the ruin

of your own

making.

Sex is

power.

Control.

War,

dare I say.

A negotiation

between longing

and leverage.

Patriarchy

calls it romance.

Masochists

call it love.

Submission

feels safest

when the sadists

always win.

My heart swells after every failed lover

who left me to bleed.

Alone and so torn.

Where to go?

My femininity collapsed.

I became as masculine as needs be

to survive a man’s world,

as a little lady.

I had to wake up.

From girlhood to womanhood.

There is no Prince who’d fight a

dragon to save me

from all the lust I collect.

With a tiny frame and young face,

I’ve been told I’m so blessed.

Yet,

all I’ve found is unfaithful boys

posing as lovers.

Foolish am I to fall for their games.

I thought a fellow player couldn’t be played.

Yet behind my tough demeanor

is a hopeless romantic

who loves to daydream bad guys

into good.

I’ll be the man of the house now.

Protect my dignity and rights.

Left alone to pay

bills when I had fallen

malnourished,

not the fun party girl

so I was abandoned

to my own demise.

At the loneliness of times

I was forced to befriend

my own self destructive monster inside.

All the tears I cried

washed away my vanity.

The shame of my wrongs

kept me up at night.

I had to find purpose to keep on with my life

by committing to something greater than self.

A womanist under God.

Alexis, to defend

the broken little girls

who were left to fend for themselves.

Poetry book coming out soon!

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I’ve walked among the rich.

I wandered around the high fashion mall.

I watched them pass broke in disgust

to pay fortunes for manufactured ruin.

I’ve seen the pre-torn fabric disguised as edge.

Safety-pinned rebellion, tailored for the obedient.

The models are so thin, but they aren’t starving.

They’re dolled up broken, in their perfect skin.

Right outside the automatic sliding doors,

a man who’s only skin and bones wears oversized clothes.

He begs for nothing more than a dollar,

but they scoff,

“He’ll only waste it on crack!”

as they leave to go party and do blow.

Their designer fashion shielding fragile egos.

Superiority stitched neatly beside the price tag.

How can they romanticize street?

These people wouldn’t survive even the sidewalks.

Spoiled with rotten hearts.

Only the greedy that doesn’t know how to give.

Those who claim broke with a roof over their heads.

Community is attuned,

we let our own die on the streets,

then mock them with clothes,

then wonder why we’re all miserable at times.

You cannot buy joy,

you can serve and find it.

Nothing superficial could make you worthy,

but charity could save lives.

Humanity is divine,

in these artificial times.

Another excuse.

Wake up, girl,

if he really wants you you wouldn’t be confused.

On the other side of the hot tub,

“Did you hear so and so..”

I forgot my headphones.

I’m utterly miserable

hearing everyone talk about what

they think and now what is known to be true.

Not like I’m innocent in this,

I’m mad at my own dreaming tendencies.

Facts are brutal,

accept the harsh truth.

I’m chronically misunderstood,

today I gave up,

I hope I don’t change my ground again.

I must move on and stop attempting

to explain my heart.

Eavesdropping I hear,

“She really thinks she’s something.

She posts herself so much.”

So what,

I think looking at this girl

hugging and kissing her

boyfriend while he seems

tuned out on his phone.

Can we talk about how media is hurting the children?

How woman are still so hyper-sexualized

they think sex work is the only option?

How California is nearly impossible to

survive for starving artists with complex backgrounds?

Or chronic health with labor jobs, like myself?

God forgives us,

we’re reborn.

The world does not.

Usually the worst get away with their crimes.

While people who try to stay kind die before their time.

Why don’t we talk about near death experiences more?

How morality might just save us all in these trying times?

Life disappointed me fine,

I pray God mercies me in the afterlife.

I almost died this February,

I’m not seeking attention,

I was privately longing to die

to drugs.

I lost faith in humanity,

in the world that we know,

my body, my right.

Somehow,

someway

I survived.

Just to hear,

“How dare I?”

Do this to everyone I felt had abandoned me?

Who later on when I sought help my therapist

agreed were dysfunctional?

Why and how do I still try?

I don’t know.

I just have no choice.

I already tried to go,

I was at total peace,

dare I say excited.

I woke up anyway,

like a dead man walking.

I lost patience.

I lost ego.

I’m sick of California drama.

First world problems.

Nails, hair, makeup,

blow

it out

my butt.

What has looks ever

gotten me

but fucked rough?

If I had it my way,

I’d sew my self shut.

Take my breasts,

my abs,

total Barbie,

I don’t care.

Not plastic,

but used to feeling like a object anyway.

A toy in a dollhouse,

how dare I finally speak?

So strange.

Must be haunted,

throw me away!

I thought my lovers

we’re Teddy Scares,

it was me.

My life has suffered,

but it was poetry.

There is joy

still a little a day.

Like earlier when a

child called me pretty so

I gave her my new notebook

and scrapes to put in it.

“I love art!”

Jumping with thanks.

My health.

Charity.

Community.

Until my days are finally done.

Good riddance,

God bless me, please.

any more?

Sending letters

of prayer

to the heavens.

Mend my

bittersweet soul.

Purify my

poisoned heart.

Relieve my

weary skin,

and tired bones.

Life won’t always be
as sour as I have known.

In the darkness,
I lit a candle,
and used the
light to
guide me home.

in era of digital romance.

Late night,

“wyd, come to me if you’re free”

but,

I’m trapped in the game.

Queues of boys

just like you started.

They’re all speaking

the same hopeless

slang.

So easily computed,

player or be played.

Glitch and

you are

replaced.

I’m burnt out

from all the updates.

Insecure from

the pressure to

glow up.

To compete

with all the

other accounts

of beautiful

women

looking for love.

Learning new buttons,

different lips,

trendy ways to make

myself double-clicked.

Is my soulmate

just a tap away?

How many

clicks does it

take to find

true love

in these modern

days?

perhaps.

Anything to erase the

complexity of my thoughts.

Anything to simplify

this world we rot on.

Anyone smart enough

would escape.

Only if you’re dumb

enough to be brave.

The devil called me pretty,

and I accepted my fate.

All I am is what I did today.

Self acceptance is a cliché.

A quick assessment

and we’d see

who we are shouldn’t be.

Even hatred had his points.

What he says

wouldn’t disappoint.

You are what you consume.

Let that sit, and humble you.

You do, as others do.

I lost flow.

Oh woe is me.

I’m leeching off your empathy.

I love my pleasure with a side of yours

and with what pain I endure.

I’ll put it on you so I have no more.

The mourning hit when the sunrise rose.

I cried out after realizing the death of my control.

I hurt someone I love,

to feed the monster I’ve drawn.

How could our promises

replace the lies,

when our suffering

has become entwined

would we hurt more,

if we let it die?

I believed I had.

I prayed

and I begged God to lead me wisely.

I feared my Lord, tremendously.

A good little girl,

too blind to see.

She never even swore,

cute as a bee.

A boy swept me up,

how silly of me.

I never knew how easy I was to taint,

and with my innocence went my faith.

Try to see,

we were both kids,

just a little younger than me.

It’s nearly impossible to catch the victim when it’s two hurt people hurting each other.

It’s hard to feel special

when you’ve watched it

happen to others.

I was a tease, still am actually.

But suddenly I wasn’t ready.

He was excited,

and impulse is rarely steady.

It went too fast.

Vocalizing disapproval would only collapse.

He never knew,

I froze in time

and never felt pure after May 29th

in that blanket fort that drastically aged my mind.

My vision has started to blur because of my tears.

“The devil’s in the details” I always hear.

Suddenly I’m all too aware.

The complexity of my own anatomy is too much to bear.

Inhale-exhale-again-again like a box.

When will my chest rest if my heart skips every beat?

How did I once live so naturally?

Floating in the sky.

Only seen at night.

Easily forgotten with the sunrise.

I’d prefer to be a cloud,

blown away at times,

adaptable to new shapes and sizes.

Sometimes teary and dark,

tiny and shady,

pleasantly blocking the harsh,

bright light.

Constantly moving

with the slow breeze.

Never attached,

while people playfully guess

what I appear to be.

I’d like to build us higher

than who we were

alone.

Let’s change the game,

from competition

to growth.

We both can win,

stacking it taller.

I’ll play with grace,

you with strategy.

We’ll make it last.

Slowly.

We recognize

the fragility,

how easily

everything shakes

under pressure.

So we steady

our hands.

Take our time.

Stay careful

with what we’re building.

Committed

to raising

something

that won’t fall.

To raise

each other up.

Helping guide

each other’s

next moves,

for the sake

of both hearts.

Love is not secure,

but patience

is its purity.

Sacred are the lovers

who work in support

of one another,

rather than

in control.

Loyal,

even when crisis arises.

Should it crack,

or rupture,

they build again

upon the strong foundation

of respect.

For something

greater

than ego.

Foolish Lolita,

how lucky is she?

The girls envy her,

because all the boys

want to chew her up,

spit her out,

collect her heart

to brag about.

“How’d you

get her,

man?”

“Oh, you know,

the good old

tell her lies,

tease her

with love.”

Every walk alone,

men love

to catcall.

“Yummy baby,

wanna get swooped up

and fucked rough?”

She declines.

How dare she?

“Go to hell then,

bitch,”

they bark.

Where does

a young girl

retreat?

Into her own mind,

where boys’ lust

imitates love,

and girls’ teases

are for good reasons.

A better version

of life

when the lady’s

dreaming.

Collecting lovers,

watching them leave

faster than

the changing seasons.

Each heartbreak,

the whole world

shifts

and spins.

Then she meets

a man

who wants her

all the time.

He is the sun

to her,

tanning beneath

his light.

He follows her,

places her

in the spotlight.

Until his warmth

starts to burn.

His UV rays

grow harsh.

She is red,

hurt,

and no longer

feels saved.

He loved her

so much,

she suffocated.

She loved him

so much,

she stayed trapped in.

Goodbye innocence.

Welcome womanhood.

Guard your heart.

Your soul.

Wear armor.

Grow wise.

For foolish girls

are trapped

in webs of lies.

But if you notice

the strings,

if you are no longer

fast and reckless

as a fly,

you may save yourself

from the spider

waiting

for your demise.

anything to erase the complexity of my thoughts 

anything to simplify this world we rot on

anyone smart enough would escape

only if you’re dumb enough to be brave.

The devil called me pretty, and I accepted my fate.

All I am is what I did today.

Self acceptance is a cliché

A quick assessment and we’d see

who we are shouldn’t be

even hatred had his points

what he says wouldn’t disappoint

You are what you consume

Let that sit, and humble you

You do, as others do

Oh woe is me

I’m leeching off your empathy

I love my pleasure with a side of yours

and with what pain I endure

I’ll put it on you so I have no more.

The mourning hit when the sunrise rose

I cried out after realizing the death of my control.

I hurt someone I love, to feed the monster I’ve drawn.

How could my promises replace the lies,

when our suffering has become entwined

would we hurt more, if we let it die?

I should be minding my own business, probably.

Instead, I start eavesdropping on the chatter next to me.

“He’s a real nice guy.”

We’ve all heard it,

building men into something they’ve never been.

“He’s just focused on himself, busy, you know how men are.”

She is too.

Independent, handling everything,

still thinking of only him

while other men admire her,

and she ignores them.

“He just can’t commit yet.

We talk every day,

fuck most nights…

maybe one day he’ll call me his wife.”

Grown women know:

When a man wants, he shows it.

We’ve seen flowers, empty promises-

the difference is effort.

Words are hollow. Lovers act.

She tells her best friend, he’s like a brother to her.

He’s looking at her like she’s art.

“Whatever makes you happy.”

They sit in the sun,

saying everything

intimate, but untouched.

How do you appreciate what’s real

distracted with what you’ve only imagined?

Charm is easy

it slips.

Real depth is a silver chain,

not as pretty,

but it holds weight.

I finally looked up through tear-filled eyes

and saw a hummingbird’s nest resting on the cross hanging from my balcony.

Maybe I’m not so dangerous, just to myself.

Not innocent, not guilty.

This is not court, just my twenties.

Learning the hard way.

I lost trust in myself,

twisted up inside, I felt abandoned,

betrayed, unredeemable.

I kept telling myself it’s only growing pains.

I’ve been wounded before.

There’s no potion for loneliness.

I’ll let it humble me.

I let the tears keep coming.

I prayed to be led away from what kept me bound before.

In only my 22 years, I already feel worn thin.

Too old to throw temper tantrums,

but I’m still a crybaby.

Yet, this tiny little bird felt safe enough

to lay her eggs beside me.

I’d sit and watch her for hours,

finally smiling.

purple-pilled intimacy,

passionate fights that smelled like dive bars and menthol camels.

I got so high

I wouldn’t dare look down.

Not even gravity

could make me face the ground.

Any responsibility attempting to weigh me down,

I dropped and let shatter

when it fell to the bottom,

where I was eventually found.

I’d rather kiss.

I won’t tell

whatever happened

when I was lost next to stars,

floating helplessly,

without any care for oxygen.

My body hidden in club crowds,

my consciousness escaping the worldly realm,

my lover just as lost,

space-bound.