February 22nd 

I’ve been thinking of you since last Tuesday. I thought of picking my pen and writing something. I couldn’t. It would’ve been so definite and I still feel you around. 

I feel your precense when I light a cigarette, thinking how stupid I am. 

I think of you when I’m longing the beach, wanting the escape the hassle of this mad city. 

I think of you when you ran off to the shore, weeks before you were gone. 

The beach. We used to love the beach. I’d be playing in the sand and you’d be tanning your already leathery skin. 

I would moan for us to get in the water and you would stretch it until you felt the sun piercing your back.

I miss those days you know. Those days where the sand and salt embraced our bodies. Those days where the wind blew softly upon our skins. 

The city. I remember, when we were back in the city; you were so frail. Your skin no longer tanned. Your skin, stained by the air. 

Your eyes so scared, so anxious to quit, as they faded to the blue of that hospital chair. 

The beach.

I miss the beach, where the fear of drowning was not as big. 

I miss the beach. 

I miss you. 

Marisa 

Monday’s are my day of grief 
I remember, you coming trough my kitchen door 

I, under the table hiding, praying for you to go

You, searching for me as if you didn’t know 
Monday’s are my day of grief. 

You used to come over 

Park your white ancient car 

Flood me with knowledge, I wouldn’t have been able to grasp
You taught me since I was six

Now Monday’s are my day of grief 

We used to scream at each other, I remember,

I used to be the most annoying kid
When I was twelve, politics was all we did 

I would bring up a topic 

Just for us to stop practicing our grammar 

Full stop, coma; I wish it could still be 
You used to talk me through my disease 

Unlike others who just forced me to eat 

You were accepting, you just listened unconditionally 

Now Monday’s are my day of grief
You consoled my sobbing 

When boys just treated me like shit 

You used to tell me I was still young and free

That no man or lover could rule my destiny 
How was I so blind, not to see 

You were haunted by la muerte, 

tearing you up from head to feet

You were so bright so full of glee.

Now my bedroom feels weird ,

Like its haunted by your cheer 

And my mind cannot accept, that those tears you spared,

Weren’t of happiness but of death
When we stopped seeing each other, I was sixteen 

You told me,” your language is good enough,

Don’t waste more of your talent on me,”

And now Monday’s are, my day of grief.

 

Don’t lose contact, 

“Everyone’s leaving, 

and I’m scared of staying by myself”

Now all that I have left is regret 
For I, an obnoxious teenager couldn’t see,

How much you needed company 

I would always leave you till the next day 

Because getting drunk was, my priority 
One day, I phoned your husband;

 You weren’t picking up your phone, 

As I heard his crackled voice

I new something had gone wrong 
He told me, I’m afraid you won’t be able to talked to her no more

Why I asked innocently 

She’s lying on the floor. She’s gone.

As he articulated the words
I could feel the blood, 

Rushing out of your veins

I could hear your cheering fading away 
An eighth floor with a beautiful balcony,

From which, you flee

Like a wood-swallow, 

Setting yourself free from misery. 
But now, every Monday is my day of grief,

And  you had so much left to live. 

Ps. Sorry for being an uptight teenager and not phoning you as much as I should have. 

P.S2: sorry for the awkward format and structure WordPress is being annoying.