I write for you,

The scribbles from my pen delight your eyes,

Hope begins to swell in me,

Joy drips from my veins.

I write for you,

Like an attention starved child,

The ink fresh with excitement,

The longer you read the wider I smile.

I write for you,

Addicted to the encouragement,

Pushing you to continue on,

I need this more than I ever had known; its a feeling that I’ve never missed, it has found itself a home in my chest.

I write for you,

You’re reading too fast,

You’re not understanding the spaces in between the nonsense,

I need this, please, my work demands more than a momentary lapse.

I write for you,

The font is bolder so you see it’s deep,

The meaning is louder so you don’t have to think,

Desperate becomes my own pens’ ink,

I WRITE FOR YOU,

YOUR NODS DON’T FEED ME AND NEITHER DOES YOUR LAUGHTER,

YOU’RE NOT READING IT RIGHT,

I NEED YOU TO BE THE HAPPY I AM AFTER!

I WRITE FOR YOU,

THE LIGHT FONT REPLACED WITH RED,

COMPLACENT YOU PUTS ME BACK IN MY HEAD,

I CAN’T BE IN THAT PLACE ALONE, NOT AGAIN!

I WRITE FOR YOU,

THE LINES ARE BLURRY AND UNREAD,

MY SKINS LIE WADDED UP IN A PILE UNDER YOUR BED,

I AM LOST WITHOUT YOU, PLEASE READ THEM! PLEASE READ THEM! PLEASE!

Hey sis,

I don’t want you to look at me. Close your eyes. Close the door. And walk away. But remember the time I made you laugh so hard you peed. Remember when you pushed me down the stairs and I broke my ankle, but it was okay because you reminded me of the time I locked you in the basement on Halloween. I want you to stand back when they pick my lifeless body up, put me in a bag, and carry me away. Stand back and wrap your arms around yourself, remembering how I hugged you too tight and kissed you sloppily on the cheek with the insides of my lips because it annoyed you. No, don’t remember any of that. You’ll be sad. You’ll want to cry. I’m sorry, I was selfish. I still am. I’ve always been. But you knew that, and you also know you’ve never been able to accept my apologies. So, instead, you can look at me. You can hate my dead body. You can cry. It’s okay, you were never selfish and I despised you for that. But now I love you for it, because you won’t be selfish. You won’t hate me. Maybe you’ll forgive me. You’ll listen to me, you’ll remember me, and you’ll cry for me.

@dream

When I opened my eyes there was no sun warming the left side of my face, No hungry cat pawing at my shoulder. The air conditioner wasn’t humming quietly in the corner of the room, and when I wiggled my toes the sheet was not carefully tucked under them. My eyes flickered into my eyelids as I cringed at the peeling paint of the cieling with words like "Pendejo" and "Chulay Cinco" scrawled across it. A sickening dread began to fill the pit of my stomach like gasoline to an empty tank. Sitting up too quickly, I whimpered at the nasusea that rushed through my limbs and desperately tried to recall the events of the previous night. My lungs scraped in chunks of spiced air, there was a bitterly acidic taste on my tongue that brougt the bile to my throat. To my left there was a lamp with a ripped shade, 4 mini bottles of Tequila, a ticket stub for a night club called La Reina and my passport.