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Parabatai Blog

Photo Booth

(a poem)

We never left the photo booth

our persistant ignorance of working with out perspective

so we made the lights pink, blue, and florescent

knitted under the moon

We never left the Photo Booth

for the first time I had a secreat

a never ending train of reckless scenerious all unheard of

our lips cracked under the pressure our bodies where trying to escape of

we never figure how to make the shutter close slower

We never left the photo booth

so we sizzled with anxious laughter and screams of attention

we needed our eyes open for this

a sihollette capturer and slow dream catcher

We never left the photo booth

your hands tangled with my hair

and the flirtaious nature of each strand with the now steaming humidity

caved my breath

as you exhaled yours in my ear

We never left the photo booth

I let our hands wash us by the naiveness of the present

and I let the silence vibrate the doubths in my mind

the hue of the black & white filter

fills our pores with hinted hushes

we knew

I close my eyes and re-write your name with my tongue

We never left the Photo Booth

the button up of our distant thoughts filled the 3 walls

you play with my nails and whisper to the camera

“we are not inhuman”

we keep our private conversations the way we keep the curtain shut

this time we position, smile

we just say

“we would never”

I never left the photo booth

the music still blast

there is just some nights you can not control

not even after holding his art so close

I try to recreate your rhythem as I adjust the film

is in the most aired box that you fit unsure and I misundersttod

By: Sharon Monroy

 

 

 

July 2017

Another poem.

Purple Hue

Now in the twisted fantasies of her voice

I see our bodies moving

And the whispers I keep drinking settle in my skin

You try to carve what you said you had long forgotten

But the never ending loop of time that the reflecting lights provide

Ends the chapter with our hands trying to find an exit

Within the constant push and pull of our conscious, the walls hold us as 2

And now the champagne fizzing excites the silence and holds on to the trailing start of my neck

It cracks our worlds together, and for the first time I see your words making sense

No freedom to touch my figure I call my scripture would disrespect knowledge

Under such dizzy moments I had forgotten we had been swallowed buy the threads of acid in our veins

The opening and closing of my eyes seemed unnecessary when the necessity to believe was written in the imprint of your lips

You didn’t need insight to smell the feeling of gasoline on my knees

So I didn’t bother to question a fire with such longing gaze

My fingertips had been aquanted with my settling habit to play with fire

Only they never register that it was his hands igniting the sparks

That I kept for painkillers at dawn

By: Sharon Monroy

 

 

July 11th, 2017

It’s a poem this time.

Drums

You promised you wouldn’t leave me to be up for temptation

That the sacred walls would never embellish the mockery of that night

We left them unfinished, we became the extension never given

Time that never streched enough to see years

But there is something in me that keeps luring my hands to scribble her name

The unforgotten figure

How do I write the dance steps that our anonymous rhythm keeps making my eyes a part of the shore

I am getting colder

4, an almost lover but you said “almost” wasn’t right

You had consumed my essence too well

I thought you would know better than to leave me marinated by my own thoughts

The drums keep screaming

“summer”

But I hope it sees winter too

Their melody speaks in wavelengths of

“July!”

And I keep hoping this isn’t a lie

By: Sharon Monroy

 

June 26th, 2017

Crafted Moments

( All of my feelings are true yet the way the scene is set up has been modified for anonymous purposes)

  1. The lights are pink, almost to pink to call them red. The music is too loud, drowning any doubt or any space to think. I saw it first, the cup splattering its liquid substance on her jeans, In my mind clear was her reaction and the actions that will follow some type of clean up. The world had slowed then, my body pressing against the wall softly, interrupted then by the sight of your hands. The smoke, the body curled a black velvet tart, I saw it all. It was classy, your eyes found mine and all I truly felt then was the grip tighten around my cup. The lonely hours of the night diminish as you waved goodnight.                                          By:Sharon Monroy

June 24th,2017

I couldn’t accept his compliment, his tone was sweet almost shy like he deep down knew that the expression in my face should be a happy one, but instead his remark was greeted with confusion. I knew he meant no harm, I knew all he ever did was try to make me see that his remark was truthful, it was never a lie. I found myself blurred, out of focused because all my life I had accepted the lousy remarks from the boys with bad habits and broken hearts, the girls who knew the tale of everyone’s life but their own, the friends who genuinely waited till 12 to send a text that would potentially boost something in me, but from him all he ever got from me was- well nothing. Not 20 seconds after walking away did the ripple of my actions made my feet go faster, it didn’t beat the tears that formed in the rims of my eyes as I shut the door once again. It’s a funny thing, hearing the same familiar sounds like the on and off of the A/C suddenly be so strange and unknown. I searched my memory, it swung with fury and sadness because behind my eyelids I saw her the little girl with the black dress racing to the bathroom hoping that the water would be purifying somehow. Rubbing my lips so hard they turn red, the audience likes to compare it to cherries but I compared it to blood, the one that betrayed and always stays. I sit still, thinking hard of the times that came after and really ask myself if it was in that moment that life had fucked me or was I always so fucked up but I could never admit it because then It would mean I was one of them.

By: Sharon Monroy

 

June 14th,2017

Its a poem this time

Spanish

Con tu presencia los vidrios los hipnotizan

Los reflejos, las mentiras que algún día creí

Aunque confieso que la verdad está en los espacios de tu sonrisa

Me pregunto si algún día tus labios cambiaran el sabor del sol

Pero por ahorita sigue mojando mis sentimientos en tu aroma

Que algún día morirán con solo la primera letra de tu nombre

English

With your precence the mirrors hypnotize them

The reflections, the lies that I once believed

although I have to confess that the truth lyes in the spaces of your smile

I ask myself if one day your lips will change the flavor of the sun

For now, keep wetting my feelings in your aroma

Because one day my feelings will die, with only the first letter of your name.

By: Sharon Monroy

June 13th,2017

played

“I like the way I look in the picture”, I told myself as I zoomed in to take a closer look at the small dimple that not many agreed it was. Partially because I guess maybe it wasn’t what you consider a dimple and partially because not many noticed it. I saw my eyes, the way they kinda closed when I smiled and thought about how easy those times where. I stopped zooming then and remember the secrecy of that night, how all in our matching PJs I only trusted one but ended spilling my worries to all because well we did match, right?. That’s how it was supposed to be or at least feel, but the walls had been build for too many years not to notice the distance in the air. The perfect moment captured only the beginning of an interesting night where I would find myself forgetting my worries of only the fragmented pieces I had acquired until then and had them replaced by the concern of my phone dying and having to hear the repercussion; my mother’s words.   I made it home, upon entering the door you of course where waiting for me at the end of my imagination at least when in reality you wiggle yourself back into foggy thoughts. I can’t recall if we talked that night although I know that our routine was ever hardly broken it could have been that this was one of those nights that it was. We didn’t, reality crashing again called upon remembering the previous text, you without concern or worry even after sending a picture, I know you would want proof. I laid in bed thoughts still without surprise drifting to you and the pieces that just never quite fit, now I wonder if it was because I wanted to believe different or because one of you was lying, nevertheless I never truly found any truth only the mid sentences and “witnesses” to attribute to her truth. The only thing that ever remained was my running thoughts and endless scenarios where you were right because you had to be, I wanted you to be. In that plastered moment, no one ever knew that happy I was but I was never at rest.

By:Sharon Monroy

June 8,2017

It’s a poem today.

Through

am I suppose to bound myself to the common words to sketch?

the living screams my heart can’t take

I have searched for the fire ending of this stop

It’s beginning to look like, I want it to make sense

but I need it to be tence

a mind game of unarrange words with mistaken meanings

for my body, to finally try to create

its own dictionary that our own doesn’t cover

it never had enough commonality to realate naiveness at it’s peek

so I need to be a conflict

the user and the eyes of the thief

this is the way it can ever be safe

to plaster my words on red covers

or white irises of clustered mess

because it’s in the mess that I find the need to walk now a little further

and not ask you to step a little closer

by: Sharon Monroy

June 4th,2017

I am ignoring it and pushing it away, my arms always want to pull them in and push myself to them. It’s become very evident: however, that neither pulling or pushing makes anyone stay if what they choose is to leave. It used to make no sense knowing that you gave it your all and things still end like the cigaret buds crushed to the ground as its owner tries to forget their addiction. They become forgotten and neglected pushed and then said to believe that the owner is the victim when really it was a choice, that’s what everything comes down to a choice. I am beginning to understand that most things are meant to happen in order to shape, and I know that reflections are not affirmative, but conflicting: twisted. I know I would have put logic on the line to challenge my affections and dare to prove me otherwise, but the rain keeps hitting and the memories never fade. Not when you use words that invade my lips, despite popular believe I am walking, not running, not yet maybe not ever, but standing on an edge no longer excites my beating heart enough to make an attempt to jump. So no I can’t dance myself out of this one and no I don’t consume vast production in attempts to fake contempt, I do it out of passion because my bones don’t know how to be still when the melody is my truth. I do it to pass a time and reunite but not to find you somewhere in my visions and not in my houses, although sometimes I hear the door knocking. I have learned however, that it will never be you because is always me who knocks.

By:Sharon Monroy

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