We can pull each other close,
Feel the warmth of our bodies
Travel from our necks
Like a flash from flesh to flesh.
You can kiss all of my insecurities,
One by one, propped in front of you
Naked—in every sense of the word.
But to hold me in your arms
Even after
That is the closest I have ever felt
To being loved.
Author: mireya pizano
Hi all, I want to give you some background on who I am, in hopes that it will help make sense of what I write. First of all, I am Mexican-American and, especially with the current political climate, I am passionate about social justice and equity. With that being said, I am also an English teacher and, no surprise, I love to write. Thank you all for stopping by to read my thoughts. Your time encourages me to pursue my dreams of being a writer and a poet. As Langston Hughes reminds us:
"Hold fast to dreams for if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams for when dreams go
Life is a barren field frozen with snow."
Your Kind
How does it feel to hate yourself more
than you hate me?
How does it feel to think that the world revolves around you?
If you were the sun, we would all burn
like ants under a magnifying glass.
How does it feel to fake a smile—
to think that you got me figured out?
My mother told me to watch out
for people like you—
the kind that make you feel left out
the kind that are never direct
the kind that hold out their hand
just to say they could.
The Color of Resentment
I yearn for time and confined
Noises coming from my chest.
Buzzing in my ear
That becomes entangled—with
My thoughts.
But all I get are moments
Of guilt and words mixed
With false promises
That fill an empty room
And make it feel absolutely crowded.
Life update
Sometimes I get discouraged to keep this site up, but I have to remember I am doing it for myself and not so much to get followers. I think nowadays that is the main focus and people write BUT they write to please others and to attract certain people. Not everyone is going to like my poems, and that is okay.
Where Does Grief Go?
It comes with the first rains,
And intrusive thoughts
of you drowning—Under
sheets of soaked soil
When I forget you
no longer need to breathe.
Your body is stored away
Fraught from life’s failings
Longing—from the living
Who never learn to live.
Our Hell Is A Good Life 