http://slow.writerscafe.org/alejandraguerra The original writings of author Ali Guerra en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1779795217 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 It always starts out the same,eyes meet from across the room, green andcurious. Green and mystical. Green and coy,and ready to kill.Beginnings are exciting,he is teasing you in the kitchen nowbecause he likes youbut you heard he has a girlfriend.He must not be into her.You are sitting in the back of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1826820/ Here,I am nothing but memorized syllablesfrom nights where I've had too much to drinkand can't seem to stop coughing up honesty.Here,there is always background noise but all I can hearis the sound of our breathing during nervous silencesand our bodies shuffling around on the grassat midnight&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1826779/ Sit on the back of the bus. Find an empty seat near the troubled blue-eyed boy who lives behind you. Pretend he is an enigma. Pretend to read a book while you glance at him. Watch him light a cigarette while he’s walking home. Pretend he is someone that you must save.Spend the next four years .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1826776/ My writing is tooraw, they say, too honest.It is true that I mustcompensatefor everything that I lack to saywhen I am around you;a falling bladethat lands uprightand never cuts.This is mehoping it will landon your doorstep.This is mehoping it will serveas a metaphorfor all the thingsI never sai.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1826774/ There is nothinggraceful about the way I grieve or write things.In fact, Icounted six empty beer bottles on my night stand this morningand woke up as atrain track, and I haven’t figured out how to turnthat into poetry.But you wantedto mak.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1826773/ Iam writing poems and drinking wine out of plastic cups.Thishas become my life,sometimein the last four yearswhenI decided I would rather sit in dark roomsandburn holes in my throat than speak to people.Mymother thinks that I am depressed,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1826770/ Wake up,today you are nothing but a lifeless bodyhurling itself across the different transitionsof your life. Your stomachis a pothole that youhaven't fed in daysfor fear of spewing out all this griefWake up,today you are not texting back your friendseven when they saythat they are filing a missing .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1826767/ When we met, I told you I was a vagrant drifterthat liked to stand on the edge of cliffs and play catch with the winduntil it heaves me over the tip, and you were the ice and the razor-edged rocks I would land on. I know that you are not about poetry,that you can't see the wreck between my ribs or t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1295286/ Your hands are twice the size of mineand I held them while you slept. I’ve drawnimaginary lines around the curve of your spineand I trace them while I’m sleeping next to you.I’ve dreamed up eight different worlds for us so far:in each, you are the vagrant drifter andI am .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1252894/ ~ for a very dear, younger version of myself who has a broken heart http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1248265/ I am tired of cutting people out.Of de-friending to de-emphasizethe memories,the hands of many lovers thathave leftI think of you whenever I hear this song.(there is nothing sadabout the winter,only when sheleaves)It is September first again,and last yearyou were around my waist.This is different. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1231896/ Somewhere there is rainfalling sideways and sad menwith empty hearts singing quitecynically about lost love, a half-finished bottle of bourbon on thecounter from this afternoon, thereis an ashtray and an empty packof Marlboros and an ink-stainedsheet with no words written on it,three soundtracks tha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1229919/ Shred every letter that youever addressed to me, even theones you never meant to send,tear them up into bits of scrapuntil they become fragmentedmemories that can never berecollected.And if it makes you happy,burn a hole in the pocket of myfavorite sweatshirt, the one with myscent still on it that I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1223559/ Dusk stretches overthe fallow sheath ofthis carcass that wasonce living, now morbid,alone, and the remainsof me wiltedWavering signals andunresolved feelings sweepover me swiftly and I callout to someone of ahigher potency, buthe doesn't existDepression lingersand the blood in my bonesdrops raw to i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1220872/ You sighed the sameway you cried;silentand hollow,andyou laughed the sameway you spoketo me,uninterestedblasé,half-heartedlylike drizzleon a bright day,not quiteunhappy butnot quitealiveyou took the mostbrittle piecesof methin-skinnedand weakand devoured themwholeand I still listen for y.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1211932/ You are fleeting.You are the raindropson the pavement aftera storm. You are snow,in the Spring and ice-particles in July aftera heatwave, a droughtYou are twenty centsin my jean pocket afterseven months, bleachedspots on my favoriteblouse, the head of ahalf-smoked cigaretteon the porch you area burn.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1203458/ If flowers can growafter the winter, then Ican get through this year. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1201262/ I imagine you'll be wearing a whitecrew-neck sweater, curved at thenape, bare, and you'll have spacesbetween the skin on your lowerwrists where there once had beenwounds, but I won't ask you wherethey came from when I hesitantlycurve your fingers with mineAfter dinner you'll take me to yourfavorite .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1199264/ It's almost the first ofthe month again and I tastethe tartness on your lips:grapefruits, iced tea, andlipstick - like a wasp itlures my skin and thethought of you stings.Last April the sky brokeopen and I fell into you likeasteroids dropping to thecenter of the earth. Weshared kisses worthsavoring,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1198208/ It was late summer and we were chasing nostalgia behind rusty alleys and abandoned back-roads while we fell in love with the city’s stillness after dark. You were drivingwith your hand between my knees and the city had built walls around us that night.It was late summer and.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1198119/ The atoms in your body were replaced by ones that did not remember the flavor of my skin in vacant basements at mid-night after five swigs of whiskey, and they replenished your sense of smell so that you would not remember the scent of winter when she was in town w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1198005/ A story about loving something elusive. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1197982/ If your hands could speak what would they have said when they danced nervously in that hollow gap between my knees? sometimes instead of crawling they like to break in like intruders carelessly hoping to take what’s theirs at late hours when melancholy kind of smells l.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1197976/ There is a place underneath your collarbone where I left the imprint of my fingertips and there is a place between your thighs where I left the outline of my hipbones they were swaying in the moonlight as you sung me to sleep.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1197973/ Yesterday I woke up alone; tomorrow I will wake up alone Tonight won’t be any different, really. Yesterday I missed the sound of your voice tomorrow I will miss the lack of it, probably. Tonight isn’t any different, really. Yest.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1197970/ You sighed in your sleep.I bet you never noticedthe sounds that you madewhile you drank yourmorning coffee. Youtook it black just likeeverything else. And Ibet you never noticedthe way your eyebrowsslouch when you are sador how your knees hugyour chin in the summerwhen you sit on the curbin front of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1197261/ And neither would your fingertips when they graze the crease of my spine under your bed-sheets, vinyl, just like the carpet in the corridor next to your roommate's study in your new apartmentAnd the walls in your bedroom would have nothing to say to the&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1197260/ the best things always come in twos�"like two freshwater pearl earrings and two shades of lipstick and two soft hands gently dancing in-between two graceful thighs at midnight after two movie marathons in a row&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1197257/ A short poem about lost love http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alejandraguerra/1197255/