hot coffee
cold nights without the edge
comforters and blankets
the bounce in my sneakers.
keeping my balance when the wind blows,
(it wants to knock me down sometimes)
scarves and snot rockets like slingshots on the ground
seeing my breath and wondering how it got there

cold beer
hot, sweaty legs
the state between hunger and panic
when everything is loose and surreal
clenching clammy hands and rubbing them on your face
just to calm yourself down, damp like a glass
chocolate. or the sensation of having
treading water in a warm swimming pool
feeling at home inside a pair of arms
breathing. no matter how much you dirty it up

standing still, imagining you're on pause
then running ahead just to catch up
feeling in place, like you're making sense
then skipping a beat because it felt good
eyes, letting go, feeding someone, staring
the unveiling of something heavy
not being afraid. songs. strange animal noises.
skype. unintentional architecture as you unclasp your fingers
and just reach for something instead of watching someone else do it.
being one step below grace but still in its peripheral,
it's good not to be forgotten.
solo dances, staring at dresses you can't afford but hope one day to make,
mothers. feeling connected. cariño.
knowing more than what you think, doing more than what you should
hugs. frosty mugs. cussing. the way cats purr when they're hungry
then rub against your leg because they know that's what works for you
no matter how many times they walk away. children not crying,
smiling instead because you did a good job
cold water down a dry and empty throat, on a moment's note
and in it contains your life. no matter the heat or the wind or the ice.
settling in, tucking in and dreaming away to ease the missing.
open-eyed kissing, after coming face to face with the uglies turned beautiful.
being thankful, and hearing you're welcome
it never gets old

that itch that needs to be scratched
only itches when you let it tickle the back of your bones
otherwise you can push it in the back of your mind
until it shakes and rattles you
but perhaps now is not a good time

until then, rest in decency
enjoy the things you've wanted and earned
lavish in the fact you've got something worth keeping
and no use wasting in order to form a scab and eventually, a scar.
he's come around and he's sticking around and he's let you in
so now what? do you make him wait like he made you wait
or do you just drop everything and walk inside,
and shut the door behind you?
decisions like these should only be made by your heart
when your mind is in tact and your body feels right
and none is longing for the other
it's good to be cohesive

until then, when that little itch starts irking and jerking at you
like a restless leaf eager to free itself from the tree
think about where it's most likely to land,
in the hands of something new and exciting
or on the ground to rot away in winter

Your hollow leg is just a shell and it may crack at any time. Fault lines lie between lies caused by hungry marches unstable of a cause. I thirst with you yet your water is not safe to drink, as none is clear as crystal. You dual with each other, you dual with your mothers and you dual with the unknown, overestimating your capabilities and diminishing the ones you have. For this, I crave my distance, yet I miss your beauty and your touch in the open air when it is crisp and unscathed with fumes. I miss the easiness of knowing my place with thy neighbors yet I enjoy the mystery of being foreign, of feeling self-expelled because I have exercised my right of choice. Dearest USA, that's the problem, you just don't know what's right anymore. Because right means left when left is up but now it's down so it's a bit mixed up. I just don't understand common judgment. I love who I want yet it's not always a choice. I don't understand why this matters. I seem to enjoy my freedom more when I'm away from you, which is perplexing really, considering that's your national concept. Just a concept, an idea, an experiment monitored and tested then later thrown out because it just doesn't work. Tell me, Lady America, what works for you? Think about it and write me back. Or perhaps write another anthem to be sung when the world plummets down in a tub full of ice, just slow enough to hear the echos of "i told you so" past the point of no return. I'll try and leave space on my couch, for you and your hollow leg.
Yours truly,
Antarctica

my mind is constantly changing.
about you. about him. about us. about them.
sometimes my heart feels muted.
while other times i just ignore it.

like right now.