Abyss of the Mind

"My mind is the battlefield, my mind is the prize. But no matter how much I train...he is always the victor." A collection of short stories and poems representing my deepest secrets, thoughts, and anecdotes, wrapped in poetic metaphor.

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6. You Asked Me What I Like, So Here It Is...

Friday, June 3, 2016

 

You Asked Me What I Like, So Here It Is...

I like the darkest of dark chocolate;

sometimes the bitterness can be sweet.

I like walking around in fuzzy socks,

and popping bubble wrap with my feet.

 

I like opening the microwave

before it hits 0:00,

and drawing a hundred little hearts

on the foggy bathroom mirror.

 

I like the smell of Sharpies,

despite the certain headache,

and pastel-colored liquid soap

I fear for me it’s become a fetish.

 

I like honey on my pancakes,

banana on my bread,

and no, I don’t want soda, thanks,

diluted cranberry juice instead.

 

I like quiet walks in the park,

and the sound of water running.

I like laughing ‘till my sides burst,

yeah, I know it wasn’t that funny.

 

I like talking about things that matter least

with the people that matter most,

and squeezing Mr. Monkey tight

when I think I’ve seen a ghost.

 

I like quiet mornings,

and bustling nights,

wooden stairs,

and bright neon lights.

 

I like small houses,

not too grand,

the smell of pinewood,

and big green land.

 

I like small talk

with the old Hispanic ladies who sit downstairs on the

brown wooden benches

I like mashed plantains

with the classic Latino spice

that always gives me a good kick in the senses

 

I like swings

and stickers,

and those butterflies

with the dotted wings;

daisy crowns,

and simple rings.

 

I like pretty things--

not gems, and glitter, and diamonds, and clothes--

but things like love,

that stay hidden in shadows.

 

I like the rain--

no, scratch that--

I like watching the rain

from my apartment window

especially when the sky and I

can become one in soul.  

I like cloudy days

because sometimes,

even the brightest stars

want to hide away.

 

I like a good, 500 page book

with words as sweet as desserts

I eat them up, like an alphabet soup,

but then it makes me wonder if I’ll ever be

as great a cook.

 

But what I like most of all

is to pretend that dreams are reality,

and that reality is a dream--

‘cuz it’s the only way I can prevent this heart

from tearing at the seams.

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