chelle santos

all the pretty girls
their matching bags
& expensive footwear
...

i am nothing but words.
words - misspelled and mangled,
& sentences wrongly constructed.
...

he'd like to know all about me,
so he starts picking me apart.
he scours files inside my head
for blueprints, maps and charts.
...

a page is too small a space,
for you to plead a lost case
& our words, too plain & trite
to aptly paint out your plight.
...

to my dearest friend & evil girl,
tonight we celebrate the end of the world.

we'll dine on bad food & ignore the dishes,
...

'to get your writing
back in sync,
cut your wrists
& bleed out the ink.'
...

he guts numbers with letters,
and letters with words,
conquering sentences,
as the day pushes onwards.
...

someday when i'm older,
i will know how to write,
to draw pictures with my words
of days that were once bright.
...

the summer ends not with the sweeping breeze
entangled with sun, warming up your skin
but with the raking cold pounding of rain
on a steel roof, & the howl of the wind
...

'i think that it is best to be,
single, than part of two or three.

because men are born cruel & sly,
...

the good little girl and the good little boy,
sit side by side & arm in arm in the library.

the good little girl and the good little boy,
...

this year,
i was going to bake you a cake.
not pink whipped icing
on wimpy, fluffy chiffon,
...

same common sweetness,
different harm.
much more common
than a needle in arm.
...

from underneath the street lamps
it is rather hard to see,
the pin holes in the midnight sky
from where the gods laugh at me.
...

...

guess what!
really?
OHMYGOD!
who'd have thought?
...

sometimes, i think i'm going crazy.

not every girl's thoughts jump out of her head
between the grumbling hum of the air conditioner
...

i cannot stand silence.

so give me the banging of drums,
and the clash of cymbals to scare it away.
...

just add hot water

that's how you get
your coffee & tea.
...

i am out in open sea
beaten by the searing sun
whipped by the chilling winds
...