a compilation of a heartbreak

this bone machine is broken

last night i broke my jaw in two places to

spit blood and conversation out because

reinvention is a beautiful thing

the morning after you die

letting go is the equivalent to dying

and i’ve never had a fear of death

but for my sons and daughters i do

i woke up numb from neck down

laid, frozen wondering what was wrong,

whispered for help but my lips never opened

my eyes wide

shot from gin and whiskey

with skin that keeps evenings & whispers

tighter than secrets and lies

this is not fiction
there will be blood if i am cut

there is no magic here

no sprouting bouquets of desire from my hands

take these ripped veins

and hang the history you want

carry this weight into the deep water of your decision

breathe the guilt of these shadows you created in your ribs

you are not a metaphor

you are life threatening

gash my head on the concrete of your feet

watch your face disintegrate in my hands

the stain of your kiss still scented on my neck

and even after i rip the skin off my body

i can smell you in my blood

the song of your name is a death crawl

and regardless of who wears it, they become you

give to me all the secrets

you kept under your tongue

that you wanted me to eat

give to me the questions you never asked

the ones that would save us from becoming

the inevitable piece of art that we now are

there is no last goodbye in heartbreak

just the silence that is deafening

this is for release

an opening sentence

in a conversation of self preservation

i am not a victim

but does that mean i don't need help

i speak of reinvention

because it has saved me

more than once

so now

i stand in the same room

we've made love in

and i burn it all

everything is in flames

and it looks beautiful

all the blues and oranges tangled together

dancing as the smoke rises

burn away the memories for tomorrow

for tomorrow is prepared for new ones

and yesterday is gone

a slowed down scene of black and white

caught in the fire

this heart is not broken anymore but it still bleeds

these hands still write your name unconsciously

my eyes have been taught not to search for you in the crowd

these feet watch where they walk because your feet were there an hour before

this love is mine once more

once yours but no more

I used to speak about

how utterly blinding our love is

told everyone in the world that

we were ours and we would never correct them

but eventually I would have too

i see you in moments we called ours without me

are you replacing them with new ones?

i wanted us to search for intangible objects like hope

grab the wind and put it in a jar

destroy a beautiful piece of art

get so drunk we forget our purpose

jump in a pool of impulse

write words on passing trains

wave goodbye to animosity

steal rare books

draw our love on the promenade

but you didn’t want that did you

you used to be light like water until i was drowned out

from the cracked bulbs and got pushed out your desire

i never claimed to be anything except

a bearer of fruits called affection, effort and reciprocation

but did they taste like overbearingness and neediness

no one will look at you like i did

in sunlight

in red

in brooklyn summer

Dylan's "Lay Lady Lay" is playing through the speakers

i don’t think she wants to lay here anymore, Bob

even though her head is still imprinted on the mattress

and it's getting dark again

and nothing is ever darker than being alone

when you don't want it

i take my skin outside to dry

my hands are guilty of still wanting to touch you

but i have to go back inside and rebuild everything

all you ever wanted were things i knew nothing of

kept me in the dark hoping the last remaining light

would be the epiphany you hoped for

but my life is more complicated than it seems

beware

because your heart will never replace me

regardless how hard you try

i will always be the borough you try to avoid

the poem you never finished painting

the painting you never read

the song you didn’t frame

the book you never listened to correctly

so here i stand

unedited, unframed, unfinished

the most incomplete man you'll ever see

and tonight

i cherish that title

more than you'll ever know.

BIO

Bonafide Rojas:  father. poet. musician. teacher. eats pizza. enjoys gin & tonics. loves nyc. owns 13 guitars. wishes for traveling. wears chuck taylors. owns 13 vests. is published. watches baseball. collects books. takes photos. respects his son.