When the Rain Made Gunmetal Roses

This is the first poem I made on coping with my mom’s death. It was tough to write, as I had no choice but to revisit that grief over and over again. But it gave me a bit of closure in a sense. I’m not all the way healed but I’m getting there.

My Permission to Die

I feel shitty today. And I hate how my brain tells me everything that I do and all the things that I am aren’t enough in the grand scheme of things because I’m still nothing with all things. I really miss my mom today, and my fiancé is too far away. So I have to …

It’s Spelled D-E-N-I-S-E

They want me to write urban, Because urban people don't sleep, or sleep peacefully rather. But I've been dreaming Disney far past the avenues and bodegas. I've seen prince charming in a durag and some fitted socks. His horse is a pittie with a muzzle that he promises don't bite. Still, they want me to …