The Rawness of Buildings, by Leila Ortiz

Violence can feel natural. Like a full, blood moon.

Rocks at the bottom of a riverbed. In the book of 

diagnoses, the word trauma appears. She was drawn 

to ugly structures, the rawness of buildings exposed. 

Massive concrete propped against dark forest. 

Back then, she wasn’t human. No. She was more 

human than she could bear. Felt alien in everyday 

activities. In time, she became human again. 

Comfortable pretending. Or so she pretended.  

Trapped in a sticky mesh substance. Her shame was

woven from silk. She wanted to run in rain storms

and hurricanes. Water falling in sheets, freedom

clinging to her body, darker stained. She wandered 

a food court with a dollar crumpled in her jeans. 

Dreaming of the touch of leaves. Sliver of moon 

between two towers. Is this what the world is, 

love that feeds on bones and loneliness?

all poems are love poems, by Leila Ortiz

it’s true. i search for you on every bridge, our story 

of strangulation and fucking outdoors. we were 

children, watching video music box after school. 

you gave me a crystal i cleansed in the sun.

precious to me. i can’t remember everything.

only a feeling of remembering. a nest or shimmering

egg. it’s true i am a bird in morning, and you are

a rock by the water. i believe time has a secret door

we crawl through. in this iteration i know my worth.

i don’t cry after sex. all poems are love poems, it’s true.

some poems are also grief poems, goodbye poems,

i’ve moved on poems, i’ve healed.