In search of beauty

Poets
we are merchants of beauty
we love to find beauty
to describe it
discover it in new places
or with new looks
and we proclaim
AH! Yes!
look at how beautiful she is.
the infinite muse for us all

because most of us believe
that we are not capable of housing beauty in our own bodies
we see ourselves as broken
and as such,
never deserving to possess her

that is why
I have not been able to write recently.

You see,
words used to flow from my fingers like drops of water from the tips of icicles
about the eccentric, estatic, erratic men in my life
and how we would escape from daily life
to our unconventional romantic misadventures
we took mini vacations into each others minds
thinking ourselves archeologists, finding truths that were long buried and preserved by time
but forgetting
that sometimes
the most important things
are soft enough
to never leave a permanent imprint on the world.

we were triumphant and glorious
allowed to become perfection in someone else's arms
and returning to mediocrity the moment they leave
letting the zombies arise from freshly dug graves
with tombstones reading "irrational self doubt"

Loving someone who is brokenly beautiful
is one of the most transforming experiences I have had in my lifetime
that I have known three times over
we were escape artists
breaking free of our own rules and stereotypes we tried to hard to ascribe to
letting our minds wander freely through the possibilities of never returning to who we thought we were

now I know that this fantasy world
is a place you travel to
with someone who helps you realize
you're not as broken you've been telling yourself you are.

you will bear your soul, just to know how it feels to do so in front of something besides your mirror
and you will ask them not to look
but they will peer through their fingers at you
and you won't mind.

they will play connect the dots with your scars and you will see your body
not as flawed or imperfect
but as a canvas ready to be transformed into a vessel
for all the potential explosions of phenomenal self expression
that you now know you were always capable of
and just for a moment-
you understand how lovely it would feel
to exhale the word "beautiful" into frozen air
because it is so deeply embedded in your being
and just like that
the passing of moments whisks it away
and you return.
they leave.
you move on.

and that wanting of beauty
and believing you are never capable of truly knowing it as your own
is one of the best muses I have ever known and loved

so... that is why I haven't been able to write recently.
you see, ever since Daniel said he loved me
I see my reflection and see beauty written in each of my movements
it is in every moment that we share together
so I do not seek it out
when I am filled with it and surrounded by it
constantly.
continually.
forever.

empty

Beautiful woman,
 we met almost five years ago
during a hazy freshman night
full of loud laughter and unexpected compliments
we started the most epic of adventures

 my undergrad years were bearable because of you,
best friend.
where others saw prison bars, I saw a playground
the world was not our oyster, it was our sandbox
and we were free to build and discover as we wished

I was your candle during the long nights full of loss and grief
I watched you struggle and persevere
to declare that the dark places in your mind
did not have a part in your life

we were determined and strong
we learned what it means to call ourselves women
we were always going to be there for the other
and we were the next big thing to hit the academic world

so tell me,
please
what could have possessed you
that night
when you decided it was your time to leave this earth
that you simply didn't belong here any more

I can't comprehend the past events
They simply will not dissolve into thoughts that I can make sense of
still-
 I wish I knew how you wrote your demise into your own future fault lines
why you deepened the cracks of scars that already ran the length of your years
because I know the monsters in the closets of your memories
the secrets scribbled on scraps of paper and hastily shoved behind your day to day thoughts
 I'm the one whose arms will be around you when the pain from your past threatens to consume you
 I know you better than anyone
 I am your rock.
 you don't know this, but you're mine.

 yet
 how am I supposed to lean on you
when your foundations have all crumbled away with a few handfuls of pills?

 You didn't look the part
when I saw you sitting in the crisp hospital bed
telling me why you thought I would be okay if you were gone


Honestly,
 I think that your excuses and your reasons are total bullshit
know that if you had succeeded, I would never be able to find peace.


your attempt on your own life has left me... empty.
but that's not the right word.
is there a word for the pain of accidentally cutting your fingers on the pieces of your shattered anger?
there should be.
it would make my explanation easier to fit between my lips

I want you to know
that if you left,
I would lose my mind
on purpose.
drop it down a storm drain
so that it would wash away the hollow feeling
that wishful wanting that never fully goes away

 Baby girl, I am not okay.
I wish you could be here to hear these words
and understand how hard my heart pounds whenever you call me in tears

 There is a fear slowly gnawing at my sanity
that flames during the moments between waking and sleeping
and the drips of consoling thoughts that you're still here don't do much for the burns I've sustained

 so how do I end this?
with hope.

 maybe hope that next time....
...next time you'll take just a moment to realize
exactly what the chaotic aftermath of blades inscribed with self-blame and remorse cutting through my ability to be functional
would really look like.

Blind

There are days
after seeing all the beautiful variation in strangers irises

there are days
where I wish that everyone
was blind.

so they would decide to trust someone
based on the gentleness of their touch
rather than their choice in clothing

designer brands would quickly fade
we would wrap ourselves in the most comfortable fabrics
nothing skin tight to show off curves-
no one would be looking, anyway.
me?
I would dress in loose cotton
and everything underneath
would be made of pure silk

I wish that everyone was blind
so they could read with their fingertips
so that the next time they touch the face of their lover
they could understand the messages etched into their weathered skin
by the passing of days

I wish that everyone was blind
so they would be less self conscious of their appearance
solve this mass media binge feeding young girls
with how they should look by the time they're 16
we wouldn't care
we would put all our efforts into making our voices rival those of songbirds
imagine-
instead of trying to act sexy
we could show off our beautiful selves
by singing.

I wish everyone was blind
so that people
might actually
start
listening.

turn their ears to voices that have always been unheard
children who are crying for justice
passionate youth who believe that we can cause change
and of course
all the wonderful poets who wear their hearts in their throats and carry their own soapboxes like thrones

I wish that everyone was blind
because in this visual oriented society
it might result in us
actually learning something about ourselves.

Dear poetry- full version

Dear Poetry,

I am sorry that I have neglected you recently.
I have not forgotten you
I can only hope
that you have not forgotten me

you have been weaving through my mind
like circular kalaidoscopes
ever changing windmills
that peacefully circle my sleepy mind
why must you visit me when there is no pen and paper to be found?

I have missed you.
if you have disappeared from my dreams
because you no longer found me worthy
this
is an apology
and a plea for your return

I need you.
do not leave me
wordless and without both rhyme and reason
do not betray me with mental treason
and kiss me with lips dripping with abandonment issues

If you will not speak, then I will say it first
I love you.

I cannot remember the last time I wrote from the heart
and for that, I am sorry
I have neglected you
but I have not abandoned you
I can only hope that you
have not done the same

Dear poetry,

I have always been yours. Do not think I have strayed.
You have been with me every moment
tucked into scrap paper and draft messages on my phone
or the inner crevices of my arms when paper was hard to come by
I will never abandon you.

Dear poetry,

I am sorry I have neglected you recently.
It was not intentional
see, there's this boy
rather, this man

He has stolen all my words
and my rhythym
so when you ask me to whisper sweet nothings to you
I find only nothings resting upon my lips
waiting to flutter to your eardrums and leave you less than satisfied

Dear poetry,

You know I am a perfectionist
and all I have wanted to write about
is the giant wave crashing earth shaking musical melodies that this man plays on my skin with his fingertips
I have not been unfaithful to you, I promise
but you should see his eyes
they encompass the entire ocean
with all of its beautiful tidal shifts
he is my tsunami bound by the body of a fighter
who somehow knows how to be gentle
he traces patterns from the pulse throbbing indentation on my neck
to my caged rib chest
down to the backs of my knees
and back up to the butterfly between my thighs
and makes my hearbeat go wild

he is hypnosis fixated on no particular goal
he is serenity threaded with breaths of chaos
he is an overdose of jazz music
you know,
something good to dance to
full of rich saxophones and bass drums that make you sway long after you've lost the energy to move

dear poetry,
he moves me.
I'm not saying that you don't
I'm saying that he has shown me how much can be said
when words are left for a later time

I am still faithful to you
but for now,
I have few things to say
that cannot be written into the silent parts of his skin

your faithful lover,
V rabbit

P.S.
you really should see his eyes
then you would understand how I am so captivated.

Dear Poetry, part 2

Dear poetry,

I am sorry I have neglected you recently.
It was not intentional
see, there's this boy
rather, this man

He has stolen all my words
and my rhythym
so when you ask me to whisper sweet nothings to you
I find only nothings resting upon my lips
waiting to flutter to your eardrums and leave you less than satisfied

Dear poetry,

You know I am a perfectionist
and all I have wanted to write about
is the giant wave crashing earth shaking musical melodies that this man plays on my skin with his fingertips
I have not been unfaithful to you, I promise
but you should see his eyes
they encompass the entire ocean
with all of its beautiful tidal shifts
he is my tsunami bound by the body of a fighter
who somehow knows how to be gentle
he traces patterns from the pulse throbbing indentation on my neck
to my caged rib chest
down to the backs of my knees
and back up to the butterfly between my thighs
and makes my hearbeat go wild

he is hypnosis fixated on no particular goal
he is serenity threaded with breaths of chaos
he is an overdose of jazz music
you know,
something good to dance to
full of rich saxophones and bass drums that make you sway long after you've lost the energy to move

dear poetry,
he moves me.
I'm not saying that you don't
I'm saying that he has shown me how much can be said
when words are left for a later time

I am still faithful to you
but for now,
I have few things to say
that cannot be written into the silent parts of his skin

your faithful lover,
V rabbit

P.S.
you really should see his eyes
then you would understand how I am so captivated.

Dear Poetry

Dear Poetry,

I am sorry that I have neglected you recently.
I have not forgotten you
I can only hope
that you have not forgotten me

you have been weaving through my mind
like circular kalaidoscopes
ever changing windmills
that peacefully circle my sleepy mind
why must you visit me when there is no pen and paper to be found?

I have missed you.
I wonder if you are warming the bed of another
if you have disappeared from my dreams
because you no longer found me worthy
so this
is an apology
a plea for your return

I need you. please.
do not leave me
wordless and without both rhyme and reason
do not betray me with mental treason
and kiss me with lips dripping with abandonment issues

If you will not speak, then I will say it first
I love you. I have always loved you
you saved the sanity of my young mind
when I turned from grief and found only more labyrinths of darkness
constantly pressed against wrong turns that I could not correct
you were the guiding light that showed me
how to be whole again

so it is ironic that i call my poems pieces
maybe because they are pieces of me
and because they bring me piece

I cannot remember the last time I wrote from the heart
and for that, I am sorry
I have neglected you
but I have not abandoned you
I can only hope that you
have not done the same

Dear poetry,

I have always been yours. Do not think I have strayed.
You have been with me every moment
tucked into scrap paper and draft messages on my phone
or the inner crevices of my arms when paper was hard to come by
I will never abandon you.

your faithful lover,
V Rabbit

For the Dreamers

This is for the dreamers.
If you are content with mediocrity
this is not for you.
If you have never felt your pulse racing like there are tsunamis consuming your veins
this is not for you
If you have never chased the impossible just to see how long it takes you to lose your breath
this is not for you
IF you have never learned how to not only march, but to dance to the beat of your own
subwoofer dubstep drop heartbeat
with bass wobbles that shake like you've swallowed an earthquake without chewing it first
this is not for you

This is for the dreamers
with enough passionate fires burning in our chests
that we don't need heaters during the longest unlit nights
when the stars take over the sky and smolder themselves into the back of our retinas
and we don't know which one to wish on
so we smile into the pinpricked blackness
because simple stars aren't big enough to hold our dreams anyways

We don't engage in superstition
but it would be nice if we did
so when the world steals our dreams away and whispers them into the wind
we could knock on wood and cross our fingers that they'll return
but we don't.
We turn accommodating ears to a beautiful woman named Faith- she always knows exactly how to tell us
that our dreams will return if we are patient

and after all- patience is a virtue,
but we don't like to wait

We don't wait for opportunity to come knocking
We find its home address and sit outside the front door until it comes home
to ask with curious eyes "what surprises have you found for me today?"

This is for the dreamers.
We have pockets full of hand me down hope
and handfuls of helium
because most days, our dreams are drifiting in the stratosphere
we've got to learn how to fly one way or another
go ahead and call me the early bird
but i've got worms to catch
i'm using them as bait for something even bigger
because for us dreamers

good enough is never good enough.
we are the grown up versions of toddlers who choose ultraviolet as their favorite color
because the visible spectrum just isn't satisfactory

This is for the dreamers.
We are masterpieces in the making
the paint may never dry while our rhythms remain restless
the change we cause is continuous
and redefined on a moment to moment basis
I've been caught red handed recreating the blueprints of my fingertips
so they spelled out "I'm a dreamer"
but I know i can't be the only one

we are dreamers.
we are trying to leave behind more than a trail of carbon footprints
for the words we impart upon this earth to be more than etchings on tombstones
for the motions we create to be more than temporary shadows
We are trying to be more than silhouettes in the back of history books

We are pushing
We are pushing for the voiceless, the helpless, and the brokenly beautiful
We are pushing for a flexible future that we shall bend with our willpower
We are pushing for a lasting legacy that isn't bittersweet when we try to taste test the memories of our glory days
We are pushing for a trustworthy tomorrow that keeps the pinky promises it makes to the next wide eyed generation

Dreamers-
Keep pushing.