― una carta para dios,

(verás un muñeco cuando miras en el espejo, una día, espero. una día no te turnarás cuando tú mirás en el espejo. espero espero espero.)

When can you finally grow up? When are you an adult? When you can look at yourself in the mirror and stop being disgusted or when you wake despite the rot you feel under your skin? I wake up before my mother and go to school and try to be so far ahead so that even when I get sidetrack I might still keep up; i want to sleep in the bed you made this morning i am sick in the head, in body, in mind; sometimes when things are too fuzzy i jump at the sight of my own shadow. It creeps up on me. A ghost. Or perhaps a reminder that I am still alive.

(viviré, viviré, viviré!)

I do not know which is worse; maybe that is adulthood. Picking an option despite fear. Maybe it's looking in the mirror, at the blood-light head that lays flat on a body you cannot stand and running every night.

I told my mother I was scared to die alone; my most inherent fear is being unlovable ― I cannot give half a heart to someone who is unwilling to take the entire burden that is ME!

I WOULD LOOK AT THE REFLECTION IN THE LATE HOURS OF THE NIGHT AND MOURN THE PICTURE WE'D HAVE HUNG IN THE LIVING ROOM; why can't i be happy like the kid in the picture? why why why?

Snot-nosed and bloody I wanted so badly to be you―

(me and you are two people in one room, too small for both of us but still, we take up so much space.)

You pour blood over my mami's carpet and I wipe it all off, for you, for you. I think I oughta stop dreaming of Marigold and Sunshine when that kinda shit just makes me sneeze and burn. You hate when I whine about the little things― my shoelaces keep untying when I want them to stay put, and yet, and yet―

            (i made myself coffee and your cup went cold well into the afternoon and you came home; work drunk and bone-tired and drank it in one shot― "thanks," you say, like you barely meant it. i wonder how tired you must have been because you hate cold coffee.)

WE ARE (a comprehensive list) ;

Golden,
bleeding,
and reckless.

or maybe were something less cut; something more SCREAMING AND BROKEN BOTTLES AND FINGERS SCRATCHING MARKS INTO IVORY WALLS― the ones your little sister said reminded her of a beach ―MAYBE WERE BROKEN DIAMOND ON SANDY BEACHES, BLEACHED TEETH AND HEARTACHE SPILLED SO UNGRATEFULLY INTO THE HANDS OF DIVINITY THAT WE WAIL!

(i miss you)
(i miss you)

You are barbed words and snarky comebacks but you are
mine
mine
mine

i sold my soul for your immortality but you did the same; HOW CAN I WIN IF YOU LOSE? and baby i don't mean to cause a scene would you just―

"When you look at me," you ask, the dim light of the night spilling from the window, "what color do you see?"

  (and you told me once how you were never bleached enough for them.)

"The sun," I laughed, do you remember how I laughed? "I can't look too long, you know how my eyes get."

(tú beberás tu café frío y yo no beberé mi té caliente)