Her Make-Believe

Coral smiles

deep as sea

Eyes that grow

in worlds unseen.

Cacti roots and

butterfly wings

She’s most beloved

in her make-believe.

Advertisements

Affection Like A Cat

It’s like petting a cat…

He moves over swiftly to be groomed

But only stays for two pats and maybe a purr.

He leaves satisfied and you…

You feel betrayed –

for a moment,

but maybe that brief encounter was all you needed.

Meditation

I stare among the women in crossed-legged seated postures and wonder if I’ll ever get there. Smiles strung along their faces. They’ve made it. They have found some place to call home. They pull love and compassion from places I’ve never heard of; from some chakra of the month. I still pull my tears back. The only colorful line up are my excel spreadsheets during fundraising campaigns and no one seems to care how long I haven’t been smiling. Breathe. Count to three. Allow the inner critic to wash away. I need more inner goddess, that’s for sure. Do you get that from kombucha? Taking pictures in a yoga pose? Can you see me now? Calling for help. Breathe. Maybe I’m just jealous of all the love they seem to receive. An internal healing from tailbone to sun salutations. I wish there was a bandaid big enough to cover the wounds I have. The sands of time have only stung like salt ripe on my flesh. “Moving forward” was silly advice. I now exhale my problems onto the next person. Deep, cursed excerpts of my ode to humanity and love and family and relationships and him and… breathe. I guess maybe I am jealous of those smiles stretched across their faces. And maybe… just maybe, I’ll find my own love in my crossed-legged meditation too.

Days like These

Days like these

We worship.

We worship it,

Not for its perfection,

But for all the moments we wish we could have taken back.

For all the words we should have inhaled instead of spewed.

Days like these

We sit on our thrones alone

Because power comes at a mighty lonely price.

We practice our goodness but never quite get to genuine.

It’s days like these that remind us where we are.

Who has come before us

And how we will pave the way for the others.

Days that are long,
Hard,

And slow.

But worth every hustling minute.

We will remember the glory of these days

Not for its perfection

But for its purity.

Mornings with You

Collect my love puddles and recycle them back to me

Puddles from the sweat behind my knees, praying you and I will be.

Clutch the emerald rosary

between our fangs.

Pain lingers 

And that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Sink them deep, my crimson cabernet is yours to keep

Slackline on the silverlining to the highest star

Bring me back to my body

Only you,

The keeper of my puddles, my crimson, my heart.

-Words by Jasmine Duran and Luiz Castro

Virgo

Roots thick as blood

Tied to the vows of the womb we shared

A woman’s bond coiled in cold intentions.

Suffocate a moon-time flow of a new direction.

Heartbeat in the background Tells us of the time we do not have.

Regressed by a memory. 

Drowned by a dream.

Is my psyche playing tricks on me? 

Blood and memory  – 

The foundation of the altercation.

You. My legacy’s contention.