It’s not pretty When I cry People get almost as embarrassed as I
Mis manchas de Bambi Manchas blancas Cubren mi cuerpo La gente se queda mirando Pero no les da asco
The teenage rebels All fall in line Be they hippies Goths, rockers or skaters Moving from one mould
Most women are cooks But a man who cooks Is a chef She cooks over and over To feed the masses
I told everyone About you The ugly beast Inside of me You can’t hide
A healthy pancreas Is like a transmission Seamlessly shifting gears In type 2 diabetics Wear and tear
Desperate for his attention Knowing it will drive him away Jealous of a game - how lame Choking self-esteem where I lay Desperate for his affection
No hay nada más sincero Que un regalo Inesperado Una carta Un chocolate
Why can’t I choose to be somewhere in the middle? Surrounded by extremes Measure everything With a grain of salt
Have you ever felt A hole inside of you Something dead inside Where your heart Is supposed to be?
A fresh faced country girl Who pioneers on her bicycle Catches the eye Of a transplant from Houston Love begins through letters
To be a true artist Must they be recluses Crazy mad or sick Or even better dead Show me a healthy artist
If food is poetry The flavors The smells Singing in harmony Is poetry food?
My poems are short Written at night In my head I wake at dawn Shake my memory
By nature high-strung But I thought I was strong If not physically, emotionally For things to roll off my back Be mature and take the high road