The Poetry Marathon

“Tomorrow I might be enough.” Idorenym

Today I stand before you

in hopes you’ll accept me.

Acknowledge my words upon my lips.

I bleed out my love to see.

My dreams inspire you to believe, the real me.

The one ticket in the crowd, proud 

to have found you

like a sand dollar in the sea.

All these cliches and rhymes are ways

I express my feelings towards you.

Every phrase and epigraph, or quotes

left in lined spiral notebooks.

I dreamt these words would be heard,

place them upon these pages I touch,

how I never needed someone this much.

My hope now is the world will see,

you mean everything to me.

I hope I am enough.

Pen Names, Ode to Our Quills

“Most people don’t name their Quills.” Dylan Ferrara

“Pens captivate the mind.”

BIC, Pentel RSVP, Sharpie, Pilot, Crayola, 

Dry Erase, Papermate, Metallic Gel Roller,

Montblanc, Cirrus, Stylus, Uni-Ball, Britebrand,

Quill it’s a brand., Executive Cirrus, Grafton Mini,

Caran d’ Ache, U Brands…

We name our muses

so should we call out to our swords.

The writing instruments 

that connect us to each other,

to the world.

Not only our verses in poetry,

but our letters handwritten 

to one another.

Our first drafts

revisions journeys and entries 

to our final completions.

We need to name all pens,

odes to our dried out friends

of the past.

My editor calls her muse Harry.

This pen’s now called George.

There once was a Boob

There once was a boob

created at pubescence.

There once was a boob

sore in certain places .

There once was a boob

measured to cup sizes

strapless, wired, and all.

There once was a boob

compressed, examined, and torn.

There once was a boob

with a lump, my left

not favored anymore.

There once was a boob 

Chemo, radiation, BRCA gene negative 

still scorned.

There once was a boob

surgically removed that cancer caused.

There once was a boob

my life more important for sure.

There once was a boob 

please respect my living wish.

There once was a boob 

now men must resist.

There once was a boob

I never replaced.

There once was a boob

now you settle for…

my pretty little  face.

Stationary Speaks without writing on it

We trade sheets of stationary 

like trading cards inside our envelopes.

I receive a piece crisp white with a lavender silhouette 

of a woman’s body within kelly green vines.

At the bottom of this page

two hands cup together

begging for food 

for money 

for mercy.

A dropped cigarette burned

a perfect hole like a hole puncher

inside this woman’s right palm.

I’m left to think,

should I tell her?

I think it’s time

my pen pal quits smoking.

Faithful Friend, Puff

Leap across my lap,

climb inside my heart.

Kiss love affections to my face.

Chase like a wild tiger

hunting birds from inside our home.

Scratching furniture will never break us,

explore life with your curious whiskers.

Make mischievous choices my furry friend.

Pounce about our lives, but know you are

my crazy feline companion.

EmoGirl vs. EmeGirl

“ I saw mountains, how high?” Imani Ruz 

EmoGirl shy in the corner 

not easy to make friends with at first.

Until you see her true potential 

hear her words speak honesty.

EmoGirl doesn’t sit at home

in front of screens,

get fat on bon bons.

She’s busy writing, reading, living

to feel sorry for herself.

EmoGirl isn’t a #1 fan, doesn’t have to say she is.

Won’t stalk him, lie about him with other’s opinions,

fake herself friends, steal pictures from someone else’s 

social media.

EmoGirl won’t have more handles than she can count.

She has one and a handle on her own life,

lives it inside her own pictures.

Emogirl doesn’t ask for self pity,

her mom died too.

She celebrates her mom.

Knows her mom didn’t want a wake

or funeral.

Wanted the people who loved her 

to do so when she’s alive not dead.

EmoGirl wants this too for herself.

EmoGirl knows mental illnesses 

Emotional breakdowns

Anxieties 

PTSD

Anger

Hurt 

Depression 

What’s wrong in the world,

but never once does she pull down someone else’s success 

to burn them.

She celebrates in the company of others.

EmoGirl doesn’t see mountains as obstacles,

she’s far too busy rising from the flames

to set any fires.

EmoGirl pushes record, screenshots the lies 

so tomorrow will see the hidden truth and learn from it.

Girl, Not So Much About Town

for Krista Richards, Girl About Town, On tour with O-Town author

$985.00 is too much for any book.

Yours may or may not be the truth.

Fortunate for YouTube and Boyband Break podcasts

excerpts of your writing heard.

Would have bought it at a Barnes and Noble 

reasonableness price,

in hopes of a poem inspiration.

Won’t become a prisoner to credit card debt

to read Fan Fiction.

Disappointment towards your experiences 

feel your descriptions towards Erik,

not so nice, not so much about Town.

Talk of Trevor’s size to brag,

if truthful embarrasses you more than him.

Surprised to hear Jacob ran into you recent.

Guess he’s grateful for what you did for his back.

Compliments towards Dan and Ashley the only 

kindness expressed in print.

Fan Fictions and tabloids can line my cats litter boxes.

Now a married mom and nurse, 

I wonder your regrets, but

won’t pay to read them.

I’m busy saving money for O-Town.

Garden of Long Island

“Flowers take many forms. Each takes a story, 

each entirely precious and unique. Each is the best, 

each will teach us to love, nurture, and let go.

Not every garden blooms. Tears take place of rain. 

They surface on the air.”  Call the Midwife

Long Island expansive, dense populated, and unique.

From Roses of Roosevelt to the Marigolds of Massapequa 

Long Beach Lillies to the Daffodils of the East Hills

Hempstead Holly hangs towards Oceanside Orchids

Bellmore bushes of Jasmine to the Hyacinth of Hicksville 

Amityville Azaleas to the Plainview Primrose

Quogue’s Dahlias to the Irises of Islandia

Violets of Valley Stream to the Lavender of Locust Valley

Peonies of Patchogue to the Camellias of Carle Place

Zinnias bloom on the way to Floral Park as Lloyd Harbor holds Aster.

Long Island life like the flowers and towns names,

each with history and a story to open.

First-born Tendency

“I’ll barrio as well those in South Bronx.” Ruben Estrada

I wish the two of you held

a closer bond.

Truth is I don’t know your history,

your son may not either.

Why you left him at a young age.

Your family love is beautiful in pictures,

ones I noticed on your timeline.

I wish Erik stepped inside them more.

See the strong support you hold in politics 

and Puerto Rican history.

I learned a lot from your Facebook.

The Hispanic Reconquest of American History,

Helping Hands for Puerto Rico,

Jibaro, the Boricua.

Young Lords to name a few.

Wish I could taste from the Empanada Master,

spend Sofrito Time with you.

Tell you that he’s more than your oldest

and First-born.

Barrio more in his successes over cuisine and drinks.

“Puerto Ricans are a mosaic of the world.”

Your son without any titles,

is proof. 

Xenophile

“There is telepathy between hearts.” @positive women0 on Instagram 

“Your Heart is not a lock, it should be already open.” Her Pen Pal, Hallmark movie 2021

Can’t speak Korean

know a little Italian,

even less Spanish.

Can read a few words 

of Gaelic

none of French or Hebrew.

No attempts on German

or Middle Eastern dialects.

When a song is heard

or a poem is read,

emotions are translated

in any language.

When I hear Salvaje

or Suelta. 

My body moves in Hispanic 

dancing tempos.

When I heard Oxtail Soup

in her Korean tongue,

felt someone loved left her

taking memories with them.

I never knew her Grandfather,

but learned this poet’s love.

We should all embrace the sounds of our differences.

Learn from cultures other than our own.

Together we’ll recognize this world 

is not small and closed by insecurity.

It’s open and it’s wide like a new book, new song.

We can always be a teacher and a learner.