Tag: writer

all flowers are dying flowers

I wanted to complain to you about Werner Herzog,

you’re the only one who would understand

but I’ll settle for picking up my phone

and pretending I’m not hoping

the algorithm will work to populate your name on my screen

I actually really hate your name

I also “loved” a dude in Germany by the same name

he’s also a heartbreaking cunt

I’m sorry, that’s actually just the hurt

lashing out

It’s been days and the change of heart that’s been keeping me sane

has not happened.

I’m starting to believe I invented this tragedy

like I do, all my tragedies

fuck it, I’m floundering, right now

BUT

In 3 weeks, I’ll move faster

I’ll have new limbs

and they’ll be so fucking dope

you won’t be able to look away

I mean that sounds pathetic but it’s not

I just want you to know that

i’m not pathetic

– sheila c.

untitled 08.01.19

i don’t have the words

i only have a blue so wide

and alive

that it breathes on its own

this is the part i don’t like

where Bonnie sits on repeat

where day dreams are nightmares

and memories are knives

digging deeper every time i forget

to forget

I can feel the depths of estrangement pooling

in my guts

it seems

i would be the mass

and you would be the gravity

after all.

– sheila c

in another life

in another life,

many lives from now,

i will move you.

i will shatter the earth

beneath your feet

and you will fall so deeply

the steam will sear your lashes.

you will hope, in dismay,

for a glance

in a crowded room.

the smell of my skin

will stay trapped in your hair,

in your hands

and you will not be able to look away.

I will flood you

until you are choking with grief.

you will hurt for me,

one day,

I know.

but in this life,

it seems it is

my turn.

– sheila c.

Miami 5.3.19

the sour falls slowly

dredging the past

as they pass

like an alchemist

making something out of everything

this feeling never let go of me

because I never let go of it

and I try to stand on parquet floors

swaying my hips and lifting the space

inside me

digging my toenails into the wood

finding a place for sutures to drip

I know this face

is levied against tides

that live to swallow

but my gulps

resist as hollow

no,

there is nothing left to take

– sheila c.

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

sunflower

i am longing for the warmth

of your light

yellow and gathered and black in the center

i veer closer every morning

arching closer to your beams

i am longing for the sting

of your heat

i know the odds are slim

that you have noticed

me

in this sea of golden creams

softly grounded

while you soar above me

pulsating at the edges

at the very brim

i am cast into your seasons

like the summer

and the spring

winter born and thick

i drink you in

can you feel me

from here in the earth

where i have been?

– sheila c.

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.