You Are Here

by Dawn Lanuza

  you can’t recover from

  Nothing’s scarier than not knowing

  what midnight brings

  you pray to the gods

  even if it sounds like wishful thinking

  You scare yourself more than

  anything,

  anyone.

  You’re the darkness,

  desperately seeking moonlight.

  misfit

  Sometimes you just wake up

  and the world still feels all right

  it’s just that:

  You’re the odd one out.

  role-playing

  Don’t cry yet

  it’s too early in the evening

  you’ve got roles to play

  you should be all dressed up

  bright and beaming.

  When it’s over

  hang your clothes to dry

  and get in the shower,

  the water will muffle your cry

  and tap you on your shoulders:

  You did well, love.

  Now surrender.

  breaking waves

  I feel it coming like the waves of the ocean.

  Sometimes it’s calm,

  sometimes it’s a current.

  I feel it coming, looming in my chest

  darkness growing inside

  spreading to my arms and legs.

  Living with this for years

  taught me how to look for signs,

  listen to the sound of my bones and insides.

  My mind is aware,

  I make it in time;

  I swim back to shore,

  I save my mind.

  Yet sometimes I know

  and I still couldn’t.

  I feel myself let go,

  I just drown in it.

  good news / bad news

  You’ve finally stopped falling asleep to your own tears

  You close your eyes and nothing appears

  When you dream, that’s when you wake

  You open your eyes and find your pillows stained

  roller coaster

  I don’t know what to tell you—

  some days it gets better

  some days it feels like

  it all fell apart

  Some days would get so good

  you doubt you were ever at the bottom

  ’cause how could it be this good, right?

  You must have imagined it all now

  But some days it gets so bad

  that you forget all the good days you had.

  You doubt you’d ever get one again

  and is it even worth holding out?

  When people say life is a roller coaster

  we all think, Oh, how fun!

  But we forget just how horrible it was

  to hold your breath

  close your eyes

  anticipate that drop

  And yeah you’ll feel a high

  a certain adrenaline rush

  but can you imagine living life like that?

  Being strapped in a roller coaster of your emotions

  and you just want to get out

  but your seat belt’s tucked tight

  and the ride just won’t stop.

  sometimes you just need

  someone else’s arms

  to keep you intact

  while

  you

  were

  breaking.

  only if you must

  If you must leave her,

  leave her without stepping on her toes.

  Don’t bruise her lips

  and silence her words.

  If you must leave her,

  tip her chin up

  and turn away slow.

  Better keep her head up as you go.

  “She could take care of herself,”

  doesn’t mean she didn’t need someone else to do it.

  bencoolen

  You’re in a different city

  lying on a different bed

  you’re still crying

  underneath all these threads.

  The rush of the day

  the sights, the sounds

  worked for you in the daylight

  but left you by night.

  You’re still you:

  a hollow shell,

  a brook babbling,

  a mountain erupting,

  silently,

  patiently.

  Put a lid on the crater

  and still the lava flows

  mad, angry lines spilling:

  your temporary fixes are failing.

  passengers

  Sometimes you see people with the same look,

  the one you’ve been trying to fix in front of the mirror

  in the morning,

  at night.

  They look so lost and confused

  that you want to take out

  pieces of paper you kept in your bag, your pockets.

  Maybe you can all pick it apart and compare

  your notes, lessons

  like unfolding an old map to answer

  How do I get here?

  Which way do I go?

  What’s the fastest route possible?

  maps

  If you found yourself lost

  and can’t seem to turn back

  consider that—

  you’re not supposed to turn around.

  Keep moving forward.

  Tread along the path even if it’s dark.

  Maybe where you were

  isn’t where you’re supposed to be,

  and who you were

  isn’t who you’re supposed to be

  now.

  honey sweet

  Some people grew up with honey in their tongues

  their words sound sweet,

  an antidote to doubts.

  I barely seek your words

  because I was terrified

  you are pure nectarine

  it could get addicting, fast.

  I wish I could keep you,

  let you speak nice.

  My ears are leaking blood

  from scratching poison off my mind.

  When you leave, I

  try to savor the sweetness

  but I always run out.

  I know I shouldn’t keep you

  but can you please keep coming back?

  staying is your choice

  It’s not that you don’t fall in love

  you do

  in fact

  you fall in love with people

  who made you laugh

  who made you think.

  You even fall in love with people

  just for their smiles

  or how they talk.

  You fall in love,

  you do

  but falling in love

  and staying in love

  are two different things

  Perhaps you have not learned

  to stay

  Perhaps you’ve yet to find

  a good reason to

  come home

  When did you decide that you were

  too small for a love that is enormous?

  Who gave you the impression that your heart

  is too tight to welcome a love so abundant?

  You are an abandoned house,

  waiting for the lights to turn on.

  You are someone else’s home.

  you’ve got standards, so what?

  Here comes another article

  telling you why you’re single


  enumerating all the “wrong” things you’ve done.

  You’re too picky, it said.

  Maybe it’s true but

  when you’ve been loved well,

  would you ever settle for anything less?

  the tale of the girl

  They told the young girl,

  “Be hasty, be wise.

  Choose a man who’d give you

  your best life.”

  The young girl grew

  into a woman

  so now they tell her:

  “Be careful, be smart.

  You can’t afford to refuse

  another heart.”

  When did the story change?

  Why do we flip the script when women age?

  to my younger self

  There are people who would come for you

  They’d celebrate your beauty and your youth

  They will gawk and stare and suck you in

  Hold yourself together, don’t believe everything

  There is a boy in another room

  His eyes twinkle like the stars, the moon

  His heart carries a love so immense

  You weren’t ready for it, so don’t bend

  There are people waiting for you

  They will come and listen to your tune

  They will pull words out of your mind

  They feed your soul, keep you in line

  There is a woman writing this for you

  She’s got regrets and scars from her youth

  She’s acquired a thicker skin, a better disposition

  Most of all, she’d want to tell you,

  You’re forgiven.

  snooze the alarm

  What’s life like

  never fearing what

  the weighing scale

  tells you in the morning?

  vessel

  I see nothing wrong with my body

  when I look at it in the mirror, naked.

  In fact I think it looks quite lovely

  That is until I get dressed

  and look at my phone

  then I start to wish for

  a longer torso

  a smaller waist

  skinny arms and legs

  Even worse is when I

  look at my older photos

  and wish I looked the same

  completely forgetting about

  how I got here,

  how this body grew.

  How it held me through the changes,

  how it carried me through.

  grow

  At one point would you stop wishing

  that you had a different nose

  better hair

  lighter skin

  lips like a rose.

  At one point would you know

  that it’s your job to learn

  how to be enough

  no, not for a man.

  It’s all for you.

  It always has been.

  let flowers bloom

  I wish they didn’t require us to acquire thick skin.

  I wish they told us to grow tender hearts instead,

  to let our tongues soften.

  I wish we were raised to be kind,

  not cruel

  Then we would be carefree,

  not careful.

  warm lights, cold nights

  Some nights I miss the city

  miss that coffee shop near the stadium

  miss getting breakfasts for dinner

  miss staying out late scribbling words on paper

  miss the dim yellow lights on the street

  miss the noisy streets go quiet

  miss seeing you, in a heartbeat

  miss being where you are.

  Some nights I miss the city

  but I’m far better where I am now.

  a message

  And to you who thought that I have changed:

  the truth is, I didn’t.

  I just learned how to speak

  instead of remaining silent.

  To not be afraid

  of expressing my thoughts

  when I used to be shamed for it.

  And most of all I learned

  how to treat myself better,

  enough to expect others

  to meet me at that level.

  dead bolts

  You’re knocking on the door

  realizing that it’s closed

  reaching up the jamb

  lifting back the rug

  Looking for the keys

  that weren’t there anymore

  twisting the knob, calling my name

  scratching on the surface.

  Meanwhile I

  stare at the door,

  purse my lips

  then turn my back.

  I am done falling for that.

  migratory birds, too

  I watched you move

  from continent to continent

  looking for a better climate

  escaping the cold.

  Has it always been about

  survival?

  Has it always been about

  protecting yourself?

  Who made you believe that you were hard to love?

  These days, whenever I start doubting my capability to feel,

  I think of how it used to be with you—

  and I remember.

  I can.

  I will.

  At the right time.

  With the right one.

  citizen

  And then sometimes

  you wake up

  to a world that is so

  messed up,

  you realize—

  you’re here for something,

  someone,

  so you get up.

  rise

  Once you reach the bottom

  and feel yourself rise,

  realize:

  it really does get better—

  not perfect,

  maybe not even that great but

  some days come with a great exhale.

  Breathe in.

  Then out.

  Keep it up.

  how it goes

  a prelude

  Every beginning

  has an ending

  Don’t let the goodbye

  scare you from starting

  what could be

  the best

  story of your life

  qualified

  I’ve got a knot in my chest

  that needed untangling

  I require able hands

  strong and willing,

  careful and stirring,

  patient and forgiving.

  I need no retreat, no fumbling.

  doomsday prepper

  I am somewhere between

  assuming someone out there

  is meant for me and

  preparing myself for the possibility:

  this person doesn’t exist.

  the art of eating alone

  I remember being nineteen and dreading the day that I had to eat in public alone.

  Then I turned twenty-two and mastered the art of it.

  I eat alone in a room filled with groups of people talking and laughing loudly. I hog a table and shut these people out with my earphones and submerge myself into the world of fiction. I never hurry in fear of people judging me. I linger, look out the window, laugh or frown, regardless of what people might think.

  It was then that I learned to like my own company.

  It is through this—the simple act of e
ating alone—that I am learning how to be my own.

  nine lives

  I think it’s a mistake to tell us

  we’ve only got one life.

  By all means, make us believe

  that we’ve got nine lives.

  Like cats jumping on our rooftops,

  maybe then we wouldn’t be afraid.

  And if we failed,

  so what?

  We can always start over again.

  Let us believe that we can take chances,

  retreat if we found ourselves in a dead end.

  These lives we could have lived?

  Let us live them.

  the ideal

  I imagine someone sitting across from me at this table with a worn-out paperback in his hands. I peer into him while my hand scribbles these words. He would slightly raise his head, put the book down an inch or so, and reveal a smile that I would return. We would remain silent, and we would not feel the need to utter a word to check how the other is doing, because we already know.

  I would close this notebook, just as he would his book, and we would stand up from our seats. He would put a hand around the small of my back to lead me out, and we would leave the place with nothing but a silent giggle or a mum smile.

  All this time, I kept on telling people that I wanted someone to have great conversations with. Someone I could stay up all night talking to. And I still want that, but I also realized that, above all things, I was looking for someone who I could be in solitude with.

  Someone I wouldn’t mind tagging along with to things that I usually love doing on my own.

  Someone who wouldn’t feel left out when I’ve gone missing, imagining things in my head.

  Someone who would listen to a song with me without talking over the sound.

  Someone who would join me in a library or a bookstore, scouring the bottom shelves.

  Someone who could sit with me in silence without being afraid of what it all means.

  One of life’s simplest pleasures is witnessing someone smile at you

  for the first time.

  when I said “nice to meet you,” I meant