I blush when she says I’m gay.

And she freezes because that’s not the routine of the joke.

There’s blood in my cheeks and my hands and my vision and I laugh.

And she asks me again—

not kidding.

And I see it all.

God’s face staring down after years in a Baptist church. Mom saying she never took us to the services enough. Mammaw telling me she’d have a heart attack, Grandma mentioning that poor waiter.

Words are power; but feelings are just unfinished thoughts. I shouldn’t make concrete out of questions, so I laugh again.

The laugh is not the 17 year old laugh she knows.

She knows.

I have something they call

a melted heart.

A vicious form that glides through my chest,

sliding through a vacant cavity,

never sticking,

never committing.

Long ago, this heart was solid,

secure in its skeletal home,

in its protected castle.

It used to open its gates

letting others see its whole

smooth,

hard candy surface.

Sweet to the tongue,

and warm.

A taste that left roses,

red,

on your cheeks.

But flowers wilt and fade,

melting back into the earth

where nothing

nothing but the dirt of their toes

remain.

Deep within my chest,

now,

are the tendrils of once was.

The petrified roots,

soured with poison,

dead, but remaining.

Try to brush your lips against it,

try.

And feel the thorny bristle that’s replaced

the softness,

A dull notes that whispers a soft negation.

Please,

no.

when i close my eyes,

i'm wrapped

--enveloped--

in you.

your warmth layers my skin

with a fragrance of comfort,

of safety.

i cling to this

in the stillness of the dark.

hot tears and a warm chest

confused passion and despair.

a love reciprocated.

so i draw a bath.

the warmth,

to embody your arms.

the suds,

to calm my heart the way

your soft kisses do.

with glassy eyes and lavender tears

i breathe.

im Waxahatchee still in

the water, alone,

lacking.

am i lacking?

yet,

submerging myself in the bubbles

isn't the same

as laying my head on your chest.

isn't the same as wrapping my legs around you

as we hide inside a cocoon of blankets.

isn't the same as brushing my lips against your skin

to comfort you.

to comfort me.

when i close my eyes,

im with you.

What does it mean to be Puerto Rican? It's abuela in her bata and beaded chancletas making enough arroz con gandules to feed the entire block. It's owning several banderas to dance and decorate la casa with. It's empanadas sold on the street for a dollar, begging your mamí for a dollar to buy from the coco stand after school, it's family bonchinche and watching novellas and Caso Cerrado on a humid afternoon. We are descendants of warriors, Taíno Natives, who respected the fertile island. It's sipping on a strong coquito or piña colada after a long day at work, browning arms after picking the yucca and plataños for tonight's meal, seasoning the freshly killed pet guisao with adobo and sazón. It's a feeling of the coqui song resonating in your heart, the island tugging you back to the homeland, and never wanting to leave Puerto Rico ever again.

Let sadness do

For you

What it must

Clear the cobwebs and the dust

Know

There's ebb and flow

Happiness is only appreciated

When sadness is sated

The corny saying is true, I fear

This too shall pass, my dear

So hug misery tightly to the chest

For it paves the way for true joy at its best

A drunken topple

Onto my own vomit

Now I feel awful

This I do admit

But you were lovely

The way that you sway

You, on top of me 

How I love you that way

Now that we're done

And puke on my shirt

I truly had fun

Getting under your skirt

An exotic encounter

Delivered with pride

Your money's on the counter

My Uber is outside