dia del padre

I remember the way it

felt when I had my first

girlfriend.

I didn’t have the courage to

tell you that I loved another

woman and so I let mami

tell you instead.

I remember the way I

climbed into the car and

squirmed into the seat beside

you.

I remember the way I

didn’t know what sounds would

drape the silence between

us.

I remember the way you

held my hand.

I remember the way you

healed me then.

I remember all the times

you’ve healed me,

papi.

When I asked you to

drive with me forever,

forever meaning only hours,

and you did.

When I told you I

was crumbling and you

taught me to handle

the weight.

When you told me I could

call you, always.

When you loved me.

When you always loved me,

no matter what.

You have healed me,

papi.

You have always

healed me.

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the vines in my veins

Sometimes I swear I

wrote myself into

oblivion, pen

twisting onto paper and

becoming resounding

screams of

insufficiency.

Sometimes I swear I

wrote myself out

of oblivion, words

becoming threads of

self love and

healing, growing

vines in my veins and

telling me to

climb them.

Perhaps there were

treasures buried in the

dark,

perhaps I wrote myself

there

just to write myself

back.