Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Presents
Marcos Alvarado

It was like having a show broadcasted only to yourself.
It made me happy
made me complete.
But once you left this place you left me incomplete,
nothing more than a familiar face attached to a box of memories
that sat and mocked me of what was of what could've been.

No,no,no
instead you left me with only hope
an empty shadow of what you once were.

And I'm sorry I didn't visit.
And I'm sorry I never saw you, the “real” you.
And I'm sorry the tears that rolled down my face weren't for you.  

But it ate at my insides.
It continuously grew upon me like some dark,
unrelenting mold,
that gained control over my psyche for the better half of a year.
So I sat on the idea,
and all my unfiltered ideas came pouring out.

and I was free.

You see,
I could feel guilty about all the “love” you had.
you and I both know how that went.
I would never considered them memories,
you just happened to be in the same room when those memories were made.
Now what?
I'm supposed to feel guilty for the loss of connection between us?
For the countless hours of nonsense talking that happened between us?
When I had to continuously remind you of my name? But it was even before the disease
that the expensive vacations were nothing more than a means for my mom to stockpile your house with gifts and presents
that you easily passed on to my uncles
or for the countless hours of hard labor my mother put in to make you life three times more easier but you rode her off as some nuisance.

One million times inside of my head I've reworked this.
And it never was my fault.
All the visits.
All the small talk.
All the stupid times I had to say bye individually as a courtesy.
And for what?
To reconcile some shred of a “relationship”?
But you see,I've learned to fix it.
Endless night I didn't sleep alone, there was something there.

I'm glad to say that now when I go to bed, it's just me.
When I close my eyes, you're gone and my troubles fade.
Better yet when I wake, I am myself.
This void you left,
this golden ribbon
cascaded upon a glorious box you left at my front door is still there.
I just fixed it and sent it back to the shipper,
knowing you won't get the message.         




Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Fall/Winter 2015

Poetry Selections from Club Members

Look for a new posts throughout late November and early December.


The Phone Call
by Diamond Johnson


Saturday night on October 24th, I felt this profound desire for him.
I longed to hear the sound of his voice.
And so I asked if we could talk on the phone, if it wasn't any trouble.
Even if it would only be for a little while.
Though, I secretly knew whenever we said a little while, we'd stay talking for nearly three hours.


And so you called,
And we talked about it all.
Small things.
Random things.
Little, light-hearted stories from the past.
A few quietly uttered I-love-you's, statements implying that we'd last.


And then there were big things.


My usual rants about how
nobody really cares.
How,
to me,
it doesn't matter
that I don't matter
to others.
Because nothing's more scary
than the thought of not being wary
of the fact that calling someone a friend
doesn't guarantee
that they won't be temporary.


And then his silent sorries.
His quiet that
carried a cargo of care
which caressed my hurt
through the cadence of his vocal chords.


Oh, how he depicted his ability to understand it all.
The way that he told me his take on the topic.
He explained that, for him, no matter how close he had been to his best friends,
he always had this fear that when they all went their separate ways in life,
drifting apart would be inevitable.
And I cried.


My eyes welled up with tiny waters
waiting to make their way down my face.
And then they fell.
And moving the phone away from me to block the noise, I sobbed.
I did not mean to.
Nor did I want to.
But he said it in such a way that made it impossible for me not to.


There was no patent presence of pain in his voice,
but I knew a worry was there.
The words were so real, he truly believed them.
And I didn't want him to.
I guess you could say that it hurt, listening to him hurt.
So I stood silent for a seemingly long period of time before he declared that he was okay
and that those were just some 'sad thoughts'.
I tried to collect my voice as I choked out, 'yeah, those are really sad thoughts'.
And he kept asking me
with a tinge of alarm in his tone,
as if he was taken aback, if I were crying.
And I answered ‘no’.
My uneven voice repeatedly recited,
'no,
everything's fine,
I'm okay'.
And it was true, I was okay.
But I had been crying.


I was a bad liar,
I didn't want him to know
because my tears felt invalid.
Why, it barely made sense.
Until that second,
when the ridiculous reaction became rational:
Although being very emotional,
it wasn't because I was
too sensitive.
It was the simple fact that I loved him
with every essence of my existence.
And it shattered my heart to know that he felt this way.
It wasn't an overwhelming sadness that had taken over,
it was just this thing he dreaded.
It was like he knew it was bound to happen
no matter what,
and there was nothing he could do about it.
Like he had lost this hope that was never needed to begin with
because not a doubt in his friendships had even existed.
Not until now.


And it is just insane
how something so small
could have this much control over how I feel.
Because anyone could tell me their sad story.
People that talk to me in school have their own lives outside of what I know about them.
They have problems and things going on that probably hurt a lot.


And sometimes they'll tell me these things.
Sometimes,
they'll pour a fraction of their heart out
to a semi-stranger like me,
and I can only offer a partial amount of hope
from my half-full cup of optimism.
On the worst occurrences, I have witnessed my acquaintances cry.
But the best I can give is a few comforting words,
and a reassuring embrace
that might result in a thanks
that we both know is feigned,
because I can't make the situation okay.
But with my loved ones,
their pain elicits the most extreme, emotional reactions
on my end.


So,
no matter how big or small,
a dejected account from you
will not result in a simple response from me,
it's always going to hit hard.
and that is why I couldn't control the overflowing pools that had taken form.
Because when you love someone,
it pains you when they are hurting.