pink silk

is that what it looks like?

underneath the shade

swaying palms fronds in your eyelids

while the melancholy lingers in silence

i can leave the heartache behind

i can grow new limbs

and teach you where to break them

so i can’t run beside you

you can have this present

and I will take the future

you can have these memories

and I will mute yours

rolling pink silk like the sunset

you wandered into something

and it’s my fault

after all

I left a crack wide open

you barely had to pull back flesh

to find the pulsating mass

that made breaths into gasps

and lust into longing

– sheila cordova

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untitled 04.09.19

is there anything worse

than losing your arm

before really learning to use it

right before you pump the blood

to your fingertips

and break the space between them

squeezing time in your grip

i could hold you

I could

I could breathe you in and

let out a gasp so deep

it would rattle your bones

but what good is a gasp

in the likeness of a dying breath

what good is strength

in this weakened mess

I am the cherry blossoms

in the park we’ll never see

I am the summer

you will never know to be

– sheila c.

no,

no, I didn’t want to give you this

so I won’t

instead I’ll let the words fall on the page

as they may

with heights outstretched and unpunctuated

standing still in white space

waiting for a grasp

I’m thinking.. you’ll remember this pause

 
it’s not what you thought,

is it?

 

– sheila c.

train car

there’s a saying that goes

you’re not really from here

until a train car of people

collectively ignores your sobs

    

I am peeking out

from under a vegan fur parka.

I am confirmed.

there is no acknowledgement in sight,

not for two transfers

and a 2 minute walk.

    

I glance down at my hands

tears are a welcome moisture in the winter

    

I was once dead

an overzealous ER

(albeit heroic, sure)

brought me back from an enveloping warmth

I told myself that anything

from that day forward

was a gift

    

the gods have since tested this gift

    

some days, I wake up to a cattle prod

in my lungs

and I am out of breath

and I am terrified

And.. I don’t think I can blame you

or this city

    

– sheila c.

how?

it’s like the sound

of a memory

playing in the background

like you’ve walked

into a room,

10 years ago

and upset the equilibrium

you can’t hear it

if you turn your head

slightly,

but you can feel it in your gut

pulsating from inside of you

ready to burst

I would reach out

if I could

but calls are so far gone

and messages can’t convey

what nervousness

and thought will not

let through,

..come through..

how do I say?

– Sheila C.

top 40 in an uber, November 2018

there is something cathartic

about crying hysterically

in the back of an uber

while the driver glances over

at the rear view and nervously

digs through the top 40

attempting to ignore you

while Mariah Carey tell us

all she wants for christmas

and it’s “you”

John is not a great driver

but he’s a good companion

he knows that I am not okay

and he doesn’t need to ask

he lands on a song

about moving on

and ISNT IT IRONIC

i thought i had emerged

burial shroud

in hand

ready for the WHOLE world

but tonight I am liable to dig

a hole and shove my face

in first

John glances back and says finally

“Hey, I’m sorry to… uh.. interrupt but I just wanted to say.. maybe take a breath??”

that’s very sweet but

breathing in is hard

with a mouth full of

dirt, John.

-Sheila C.