I know the feeling to be loved. to be wanted. adored. showered in sprinkles and anger droplets formed near the crevice of the eye but we dare not speak of. No. It's too hard to speak of loving to be wanted. adored. showered in fiery liquid spurts formed between linen sheets and thunderous thighs. but we do not dare speak of it. Yes. It's too wonderful to remember the wanting to be loved. adored. showered in subliminal thought clouds following me in rude awakenings and sweet reveries. I know the feeling to be loved. I do know the loving adornment the showering of gifts and small trinkets of remembrance. But we dare to recollect the time. Date. Exact moment. No. It's too painful to even remember the flowers that wrinkled in time desiring to be loved. adored. secretly being your umbrella in rain. A shelter of fortitude when pellets titter- patter on vinyl and plastic creating mildew stains. How I wish it were a parasol, shielding me from the ...

I wish I were an artist. Trace your curvature of lines in vivid detail and remark on the thickness smooth lips as they intense with hues of graphite and stencil. Wish I could paint vividly. an encased reverie of just you and I to become we. oh, how I wish to be the stroke on your body and retrace its endings and firm beginnings, retold in pastels, water soluble paints and revamped historical perspectives. I only wish to capture the image of you. Recapture the soul and eyes of orbs encased in the human skull so hard to shift elements in globs of watercolor. tell tales of high cheekbones and broad shoulders free following of a pencil in raised eyebrows and sympathetic frowns. A white eraser clings nearby, swiftly chasing hopes and dreams, lines drawn dark holed black and now vanishing  in dematerialized crumpled portraits. -b.r.rivera Poem 22 of 30, April 2012 #30in30

She's a shell, you know. Some sort of fat humpty dumpty look a like skin un-kissed by the warmth of the sun. She's never seen what its like to allow the dimples to careen into deep valleys whiten the glazed over eyes of youth in almost porcelain enamels challenge the hurried hours in a curl of a moist lip. who knows what enters the mind at the middle of the playground dust and dirt kicked up to the pressed starchiness and itchiness of stockings. A reminder of delicate legs and shapely hips, bursting out to enter adolescence but pulled back in ribbons and plaits worn in her time. they scream at her, you know. some kind of words learned from their environment where the mother is a bitch from handing the daddies their plates cold the father is a motherfucker from a stain of red on a collar the dog is a shitter from a pound where only mixed breeds die and the child still lays in the womb as audio obscenities blast auto-tune in its fetal po...

Had I known. Had I simply known. Had I looked into a crystal ball, eyes glowing all ablaze see the fuzzy memories ahead the future in a tell tale haze- I would have run. Run. Run so fast and so sweet I would have become the breeze A whisper of what is to come, I would have shaped this earth into ease Run so fast and gliding to the soil A moment borrowed from the past Tell the future me it was all a mistake and dreams do not last. Had I known. If I simply known. -b.r.rivera

Shoot. A simple memory. A soon to be forgetful matrimony of a smile upon cheek, its lines wrinkling upon the sun a dried prune of wasted years wasted tears wasted facade of what hope brings, joy always takes away -a grin oddly photographed where sunshine should have been rain. -b.r.rivera #25 of 30 #30in30

Do You Like Me? Circle YES         or          NO and meet me by the slide. The one next to the monkey bars, but not the one next to the swings. You know, the big one. I have something to give you. I know you don't like surprises, so I'll just tell you. Its a dandelion. My Pops said they're just a weed, but I think this flower would look pretty in your hair. I'll wait for you. Wait here for 10 minutes if I have to. I know its a long time, but good things come to those that wait? Well, my MomMom said that a watched pot never boils, so I think she's talking about me watching a clock but I don't know why a clock would be hot. You know. Not spicy. But from the heat. It is warm out here today. Listen, are you still reading this? Why don't you just come and give me the answer already. I'm going to miss the bus and its a long walk home When the answer is No. -b.r.rivera-taylor 12 of 30 #30in30