mangowriting

[mangowriting]

it's that age, isn't it?

some of your friends are freshly graduating.

emerging into the world, new sprouts -- ever growing.

someone from your graduating class just had a baby, a baby?

she brought a child into this world and you can't drive. you can't even bother.

you're half in between worlds,

highschool and college,

teenage years and adult years,

sleeping and waking --

and frankly it kind of scares you.

people are starting their own businesses --

you're a college dropout, promising, promising

but do you really know what to do with your life?

these people are influencers, aspiring actors, fiances and moms, hourlys and salaries.

you want to define yourself based on your generation-- you always have.

to stay on par with your peers but even your friends --

18, 19, 20, 21, 22- drinking, smoking, working giving birth, burying their parents, losing themselves, getting married, losing their jobs, buying houses.

you have just been diagnosed with adhd -

maybe this is why work is hard.

the loudest voices are the least important and you are trying to just restock a shelf, to markdown a product, to ask your boss a question. everyone's yelling. the important people only whisper.

you learn it. you memorize it like the scratches on the back of your hand. rather, song lyrics are maybe a better explanation. your mind checks off tasks because you are the greater evaluator. markdowns, cut stems, clean buckets, sweep, wipe down, etcetera. this is second to breathing. this is simple, this is easy and these flowers deserve care. you can understand this part. and on the greater half of your shift, if you're lucky, you can take to the vase. this makes more sense. these flowers are asymmetrical, color theory, dimensions, pairing, cutting, arranging to the directions of your mind. you do not have to think about this. it comes natural. secondhand to breathing.

maybe this is why school is hard.

you couldn't bother to study. who would want to go to ceramics when you could read, write, sleep -- all in the comfort of your own room? out there, you're naked. out there, everyone's asking questions. where have you been?

someone died, you say. someone important.

when you try and read the quiz her face flashes in your mind -- she was always so thin, like a baby bird, so close to falling from the nest. so close to passing but so close to flying.

she ended up snapping her own wings.

and you can't read french because in those words only materialize her name.

crumple up the quiz paper. you don't know this language. even in other classes, your hands cannot form the clay or shape the plaster, the professor is speaking but it drifts past your ears. air waves. in your skin you only see her. you are both paleing and tanning, thick and thin in muscle and fat. you only drink juices now, waters, lemonade. iced coffee. food is a substance beyond recognition.

maybe this is why driving is hard.

tires screech, your mom yells. metal to pavement, pavement to tire, metal to metal. pavement to skin, bones to pavement. cracking sounds pursue.

you are trying so, so hard. staying within the lanes is hard enough. you have nightmares about crashing because the car is out of your control. you always have, even before your hands touched the leather of the steering wheel.

street signs are hard enough when you are trying not to hit the cars in front of you. toyota, honda. your brain assumes the position of your young self driving down to the city. your grandmother drives. she tells you to make words of the license plates, only adding one letter.

you still do this. it becomes second habit, like breathing. this is more important than fifty miles per hour. have you reached your destination? you just want to go home. this place is so fast, temporary and endless. you cannot see anything, the sun reflects on metal. you are temporarily blinded. your brain does not notice.

this is not gothic, this is not fiction. this is real life. you try to stay within the lines.

maybe this is why no one could love you.

you scare people away. you are a forest fire and when the warmth consumes you, you are a blaze of love, even so simple as platonically-- you jiggle your leg a little, tap your foot, snap your fingers. you are excited for this. this type of love is most important, it comes after every breath. you need to show it.

no one understands you. you are fast and hot, like car races, like hot blazes, soldering metal together in permanent bond. your brain works like this. it is too hard, for you to love.

pick it all up, try again. no one could love you because you are too much. this is another problem. the adderall cannot fix this. try and fix this, re evaluate it, take apart the pieces. it is as necessary as breathing to understand why this failed. you know this. do better, won't you? why can't you figure out how to do this right.

there's a point to all this. somehow, deep down you always knew. no one writes like that but for people like you. but this label was only stapled to your forehead so recently. most people do this young. you are taking new meds. so much of it, there are 7 pills every night. it is too much. these people that are giving birth and getting married -- this isn't your life.

you are so close to twenty. can't you get over the plushies, the boy bands, the cartoons? can't you grow up into yourself? you really thought you were. this comes as a surprise. you wanted to grow up by now.

there is no answer yet to this question. people tell you you're not falling behind, but it's near impossible to believe so. you can only try and live when the world runs past, so that one day maybe you can run fast enough to catch up. you envision that everyone is waiting for you, but it's unlikely anyone is. it's a race to the finish, even if the finish is demise. but to everyone, this comes second most important after breathing-- to keep pace. but for you... you don't know. keep trying, I guess.

kc.c

[mangowriting]

its a weird experience, really

distance without words and words spoken to no one in particular

but i grew an attachment to you

and it's special, isn't it?

it's strange and not something many understand but it's good and happy and beautiful in so many ways

and i miss you now,

i miss you in this weird heart ache

and i don't know how else to express it,

because you've always felt like a good friend.

a good friend whose too far away to be really real and it's unrealistic to declare you anything else,

but you mean a lot to me, really.

you remind me of sunshine falling and thunderstorms and blackberry stained skin and the click of the record as it turns on, fans pouring cold air over tangled limbs,

and you're never mine, because this is not something i take as possessiveness,

but i dream about it, sometimes.

it's a crush on a boy who is far from aware.

but you went away, you had to,

and everything collapsed in a weird not broken way but tipping just enough to put a lean on everything else.

a mystery house with all the furniture glued to the ceiling, suspended in limbo, waiting for gravity to turn again, to fit all the puzzle pieces back.

and i know that you're strong, you border on over achiever in everything you do in a way that drives me a little crazy,

partially because I'd rather be that than be whatever i am.

and after a short period of time all my 11:11s and all my prayers are asking for any form of luck or spirituality or god or diety to bring you home safely.

my own beliefs be damned, it is enough to take in solace that someone may be listening.

because i love you. i love you in a way that reminds of how the sun travels across the horizon but always dips back under the sea. when i drift, i return back to you, clockwork, safety.

i can't justify this. sometimes i am ashamed of our beautiful thing because it doesn't make sense and i can't say anything to anyone to make them understand. most of the time, I'm okay with it.

no one needs to understand any form of love for it to exist. it persists, without belief. this is universal.

but i can always sit back and fantasize about intertwining our fingers and chasing you through gardens, staring at you over cafe tables as you flip through a new book or your phone. i can imagine you in a million ways, because isn't the foundation of so much love rooted in fantasy? maybe this fantasy cannot be made with you -- that's okay. it is enough for me now and it is enough to hold me firmly. maybe in the future this fantasy will transform into real life, someone else. maybe someone who emanates you, honey voice, liquid gold, molten sweet. eyes curved into half moons, shimmering like golden coins when they light up in the reflection of the sun. when you smile, truly smile, you can see all your gums, your eyes creasing tight, tight, tighter. your energy boundless in small moments but serious enough when needed. you can take the reigns, the wheel, taking charge. you guide, you shoot for the stars and god you are so beautiful when you do it. i am sure in some ways you know it. you deserve to, always.

maybe it doesn't work. we're an experiment in the gods eyes of missing pieces and parts and it doesn't fit quite together right, it chafes here and there and its uncomfortable and odd in places. but isnt it beautiful this way? you are my little ray of light in the darkest thicket of branches. you guide me out to where i can see, to where greenery flourishes.

i do believe your heart is strong enough to change the world. you are good and you are kind, and you give more than you take. you give happiness even to those who seek to take it from you -- i think for everyone you echo what love means, you are perfect even in the places you aren't. you are warmth and kindness.

i say these things because i may never be able to look into your eyes and say them. this is part of our odd ordeal, our arrangement, of sorts? it doesn't make sense and it doesn't look beautiful from the outside. i want everyone to know it is, to know that you have made me better.

you will always be my honey boy, my best love. i think i can treasure these things, and i reassure myself that you are safe. you're the closest thing to an angel walking this earth, and i know you'll come home. it's not long now, my love. I'll be waiting, okay?

m, kc.c

[mangowriting]

im sorry, because my heart is breaking.

im sorry, because im not strong enough.

im sorry, because i thought i would be enough.

im sorry, because i am weak.

you were the staples in my torn and battered skin, the glue holding me together when there was nothing left. you were splints to the bone and stitches on the cut and you were everything i needed when there was nothing else.

is it really all over?

simple as that -- i can't comprehend that. that something that ran deeper than flesh and blood can end faster than what feels like the blink of an eye, fast words -- i did mean it. i won't take my words back, because i meant them, wholly.

all in all, i loved you. does it matter what kind of love? it ran deeper than anything I'd ever known. i truly and honestly defined you as my soulmate, as my other half, as the last puzzle piece to everything I'm missing.

and that's that? that you never really cared to begin with? that i was just scrap metal to fill in the pieces to get you back working.

here's what i can't get over: consider this an open letter. it doesn't matter if you'll read it. if i can tell it to your face. you broke my fucking heart.

when i navigate through the depths of myself you are the majority of my memories -- you are my beating heart. you're anything, everything; can we just go over it?

speeding in your shitty car,

grocery baskets full of cheap tea and tiny shot glasses, red solo cups --

screaming along to our favorite songs,

walking you to class, watching you graduate, watching you grow.

did it all mean nothing? did it ever mean anything at all to you? my stomach twists into this black hole. i cannot fill it.

kc.c

[mangowriting]

i tell you i wanna be your boyfriend

and you tell me maybe someday

i write you poems and i make you mixtapes

and you tell me that when i get better,

when i am not so deeply cracked,

that you might just be able to love me;

maybe.

and i've played this game before.

i had her,

her green eyes like sea glass,

like leaves drifting in a pond,

her freckles like constellations,

like paint splatters.

and she promised that maybe

she could one day love me

and when everyone says it -- they're right

i am a hopeless romantic.

i let her lead me deeper into her world

although her eyes were glassy

and her words were lies

i fell for her,

because when she smiled,

it made my skin feel electric,

brushed with static,

my hair standing up and my heart racing.

i knew better, because my apollo told me so.

he told me to open my eyes and see,

and i saw but i always trust like a blind man.

and you two were so similar;

like loving you was vying for one drop

of attention like an addict --

loving you was like running for prom queen,

when everyone else is prettier, smarter,

way better than me.

i fell for you, and my dear aphrodite let me

and maybe she fell somewhat too,

for your confidence, your half cocked smile

like royalty, like someone who deserved it

and knew that you did,

like your glossy sweet skin and your soft shaped eyes,

your crystal shining heart,

like something heavenly.

like her you were never really unkind

to her i was too loud, too fast, too much

to you i was too lost, too broken, too far gone.

but i can't hate you, as much as i crave to

my hades seethes because i have been hurt

like this before.

you hurt me and i wanted to hate,

but how could i blame you?

you saw me in that week.

my worst week of the year -- forever,

because when he died a part of my soul left

and you saw this as brokenness; as weight

and i failed to explain,

this week is what i sacrifice,

this pain is what i bear,

so that i can love him like i need.

you may not understand because he is gone,

but i will never allow myself to stray too far

so i suffer, sometimes,

but if i suffer one hour for a million years of love-- even if that pain is the worst

i will ever know:

it is worth it, for him.

my dionysus shields me in those days

because my heart tears deeper and deeper.

my dionysus - and me - we failed to tell you

that this is not the person i am.

my suffering, you see -- is pure love.

my love for anyone, for my gods, for him; is so wide and expansive i sometimes break

just to make more room for it,

because it is heavy, love is heavy.

but back to you,

because you need to know that

much like her, you draw from me my worst

but you asked for me to open up and spill out

however please understand dear --

you may see at my worst but my poseidon,

he knows me at my best.

you may see me as something broken, shattered, fixed but not whole,

but water is the most movable substance,

it may shift and spill but it does not split,

neither will i.

i am sealed with glue of ocean brine.

you could not see this in me.

you do not see this in me, even now

and you take no responsibility

you apologize but you know - it's me.

should i have given you a reason to stay?

i know better because there should be no reason to love me.

i do not need to be asked to be loved

because i deserve for it to be given,

not taken, not begged for, not reluctantly overturned, like leftovers or stolen gold.

and i give my love.

i give my love for free and for the sake of it

like a street musician, because i can

but those who don't listen,

i do not mourn over.

i am trying to do that --

to not mourn over you.

because you are not dead and neither am i,

but i am trying to not punish myself,

for being a lover.

i am alright with the fact that you broke my heart

because for now, i see a little bit clearer

as much as i loved you and would've given you my everything,

my hermes taught me it is right and it is okay for me to keep those things for myself.

my dionysus, my aphrodite, my apollon and my hades, my poseidon and my hermes-- it takes a village to heal me, to keep my heart from you, to keep my heart safe.

thank you for breaking my heart, because it was meant to be.

just like when she did, i will not punish myself for my heart or for the unkindness of either of you.

i forgive you and i will live my world with those who have always been, because i am not sealed in gold nor am i a being describable in simple terms. there is no word for me that is not my name. i am broken and my pieces are bound just right.

and they tell me, and i know - that it is none of your business to touch my heart ever again.

-

the gods tell me about you, k.c

[mangowriting]

I promised you a happy ending,

and my tarot cards did too;

the tower hung upside down,

and I smiled knowing maybe this time--

it would be right, like a fairytale.

but maybe you weren't the one for me

although I begged and pleaded for you to be

I wanted to fall for my knees

and interlace our fingers and beg you

please, please do not let go

call me those words again and please,

oh god, please tell me you love me

I need you to love me,

because no one else does

and I feel you patching up my scars

with your delicate fingers

and your warm smile

I promised you a happy ending,

and you promised me that everything would be fine-- maybe not happy,

but enough to make us both satisfied.

but I wanted a happy ending and I promised you

someday we would be lying in the grass

and I'd grab your shirt and kiss you on the lips

and the sun would be shining brighter

than anything, and you'd taste like tapioca

and I would be happy--

because everything was back together,

like a perfect puzzle.

no missing pieces, nothing to cry about.

I promised you a happy ending,

like I've promised a lot of people.

and my expectations were held in my heart

not because you promised me but because

I'm hopeful and I try and find the best

of every situation, and I try so hard

to promise happy endings to every dream

who sweeps into my life like a fairytale.

I try to pretend I stopped believing

in happy endings a long time ago.

to some degree I did because I was broken

again and again and again

until my heart was more staples and stitches

than flesh and blood-- but god,

you were unexpected,

but please mister enigma promise me

a happy ending, a faithful love and a knight and princess, a hero and a damsel in a distress, whatever you want.

promise me a happy ending before you tell me

that I'm not good enough to be a part of your life.

you picked me up off the street like a stray dog, a mutt scratched up with dirty fur

and you washed me and healed me enough

to think maybe I'd have someone to love, someone to stay with.

but you put me right back on the street.

but I promised you a happy ending.

I waited outside in the rain so pathetically

because you never looked outside

and there weren't any stones to throw at your window or a trellis to climb, a door knocker to bang on, a witch to save you from.

you're a lover, that I can confirm

a lover of the broken and the beaten,

the ripped and torn and scratched and bruised

the people like me in the world

who have been cut deep,

who really expected you not to leave.

I promised you a happy ending,

and I really believed maybe we could have it.

I imagined us in a million different ways,

stories to span a thousand pages and a million cracked spines on dusty shelves

but that's all they were.

stories, fantasies I made up in my head

of me climbing the spine of the dragon and maybe stabbing it through or riding it to save you from the necessary evil,

scales glimmering in the wind like a thousand diamonds.

of me rescuing you or you rescuing me from the street, a beggar with half a loaf of bread and a debt to pay.

but we always get that happy ending,

that fabled close that everyone fantasizes about

but in your story, your real story

I promise you a happy ending,

a happy ending without me in the picture.

because I am shifting this mirror just right

so you can no longer see my reflection

and can only see yourself,

the only happy ending I can promise.

'happy ending' kc.c, 1/13/2020

[mangowriting]

in a different universe I think we could've been soulmates

you and me fading into the sun like

star crossed lovers, movie magic

two people envied by all for their grand love

because the attraction between us was enough

to set me on fire

and I think we couldve been

big screen Friday night release lovers

the kind that lines lead up to witness

maybe not me but definitely you

you've got the potential

to be on the walk of fame

of people who swept in

and snatched my heart like a goodie bag

like a reward just for your existence

and I'd have let you,

I hope that part goes in the script

a note that the protagonist

steals my heart but I don't fight back

either because I want you

or because I want to be in love with you

it doesn't matter because in this film

I'm washing the dishes in the sink

and you circle your arms around me

the audience is in awe

when I hold your hand and point at the stars

but instead I soak in my blood red bathtub

hair dye dripping onto my skin

like I finally tore my brain out and this

is the last of the blood

so I don't have to think about

how I don't live in that universe,

and I never will

k.c, 2019

[mangowriting]

is this all it is?

one anniversary two days

and then another year without you

because if that's all it is I don't know

why I care to live

when I am choking on exhaust

like the way you died in your car

and if I can't have you then why

should I give myself to anyone?

k.c, 2019

[mangowriting]

s, 8/11

I close my eyes and imagine the people I've lost all sitting at a table, gathered in a room. most of them don't recognize the others. maybe for them, it's nothing beyond the faintest memory.

my companion of elementary school. her popcorn texture ceiling on the top of a bunk bed. I see her, hiding behind the waves.

the girl who was supposed to be here forever. the girl with the thin waist and perfect curves. partners in imagination, in escape.

my first love. so brief, the first person who ever understood how I was without me having to say a word. the girl who apologized.

two girls, at one point attached at the hip. conjoined twins of heartbreak, my Janus of hopelessness. fiery red and the pomegranate lip gloss.

two friends. the morning in the snow that I contemplated running into the street, she handed me a buttered waffle. I cried and cried and cried. my first and only year not feeling like I lived alone in the world. they walked off into the sun, together.

I'm sure those aren't the only people who I would find in that room, a door I never want to open. but of the pockmarked on my heart, those are the biggest ones.

but you weren't ever supposed to go. we were supposed to be twin suns until the day we crawled back into our graves. I know I've counted grief on my fingertips and buried those versions of me so I didn't have to carry them with me. just the two of us again. hasn't it always been? won't it always be? it was supposed to be.

wasn't it supposed to be? we sat in the sun and I felt like your eyes were a promise. I poured myself out and you let yourself go. never perfect, but always something. a promise of a sunrise and a future, together.

you can't break the glass to make the water go away. you have to choose, half empty, half full, dripping onto the floor.

I can't imagine the image of your laugh fading. figures of the past fade onto the horizon like specters of my past selves. but you held the hand of all of me. all versions, edits small and big. haircuts and style changes and our souls, always growing, shifting.

i can see you hiding behind the waves. floating away. but giggles but always in the air. us, partners in past and present and future. images flowing from your fingertips and words leaking from mine. it was something like love, wasn't it? an accidential kiss. cold fingers clicking on the lighter, a puff of smoke. laughter, fog on the windows, green tea. slurred speech and safety, all our own. my Artemis. my moon. closer than siblings. the blood of our covenant was always thicker than the water of our mother's wombs.

you and I, we were supposed to be indivisible. our number always came to zero, you couldn't divide us.

our sweaty palms clasped, light blazing all around us. our cheeks wet and our hearts full. our memories like glass mirrors into different worlds, different selves. portals into what was meant to extend forever. moment stacked upon moment until the weight is too heavy and everything tumbles.

you can always dig yourself out, while I sit, remembering until my hands bleed.

[mangowriting]

flesh

you’re a good person.

you have a good, warm heart, and your love is the kind of love

that will fill someone up someday.

i am truly sorry for being the person

who took your heart

and spoiled part of it

because i am a

selfish

broken

cruel

man.

and i’m sorry that you will never know

how much i loved

how you sounded when you fell asleep

your gentle laugh

the softness of your flannel around my dead, decaying skin

maybe the fact of the matter

the truth inside me

is that i am cold, rotten, and decimated

a corpse that walks, breathes, and somehow manages

to convince people he is worth loving.

i know i am broken

because of my experiences

i am sorry that you had to learn this the hard way.

you loved me, my whole self, or most of me in your perspective

i broke your hopeful heart

i created dreams for you and then i tore them up into tiny scraps of what could’ve been

i spoiled your faith in me

i know you deserve better.

i am sorry i was never the right person.

someday, i hope,

you will find someone,

who isn’t made

of pieces of hearts

he stole,

all of them rotting

inside his collapsed chest.