Three Poems Written in Brooklyn by Carmen Guzman


This energy from my ink.

If I write,
and write,
and write,
who reads?

If I beg,
and beg,
and beg,
will you please,

take a moment with my plea.
Shed the light,
the energy within.

Can’t you see?
People getting killed without ease.
Yet, here we are learning someone else’s’
ABCs,
Crying over things that don’t really mean
anything,
or maybe everything,
to just some fiend.

All these things,
things,
things
that don’t have any significant
mean,
mean,
meaning.

corrupt our being,
and beings;
they are material,
stagnant compilations,
of what we think is a realization,
of backward thinking at it’s peak.

I bet you probably think I’m lying,
but this is just one of the many
cruel realities
encompassed within my stream
of lies,
lies,
am I lying?

I wish I was.
But truth be told,
you’re just as valuable
as the next facebook status
that gets likes galore.

So do me a favor.
Forget all these gadgets,
and focus on the energy
that flows

among you. around you. inside you.

and let it show.

A Change Of Season

the cold gets into the bones
of the weak minded,
excited, for the night dwellers
that roam the streets of new york city.

i see your breath,
signaling the fall of temperature,
the shattering denture reminds you
that it is all a game.
weather. nature. it’s all the same.
we are part of their domain.

we destroy what we think is indispensable,
yet forget that we are passengers
in a vessel of bad vices, habits that will soon dwindle our existance,
in this instant, i bet you are eating your life away.

inside these weak bones, the cold enters and roars.
signaling a change of season, a treason of some sort,
from my body to yours.
the cold tells me that you’re gone.

no matter the harm thats been done
my body seeks warmth.

I was thinking of what to say…

and then I said it

“I don’t want to do this anymore”

Pupils Dilate.
Blood thickens,
freezes, releases,
leaving you in pieces
as I pack my bag and
walk away.

Your voice trembles.
“I don’t understand”
you say.
I look at you straight
in the face,
the typhonic rush
of tears that remain
make me say:

“I can’t lie
like you lie
to yourself.”
“Please don’t walk away
I can explain”
I leave you there
bare.

and from the window
i feel your stare
watching me go.
piercing the back of my head
as i move ahead.

a life without you
is a life i can bear.
no more heart of mine
to tear.

no heart, no heart
what heart?
it’s gone.
puf.

Carmen Guzm├ín is a Puerto Rican writer living in Brooklyn. She is considered to be good with her words but bad with her actions. Currently she’s working production gigs in the city but who knows really what she does. You can follow some aspect of her life on the @SALT_Money blog. Read more of Carmen’s work on In Parentheses: Serious Question (If I Had a Heart)

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