cigarette butts & butterflies
arleny vargas
For those who have believed in my art.
Cocaine Dreams. She says it’s selfish of me to wish that you were different that you were someone else and I should have learned my lesson by now- but it’s hard. Sometimes the memories haunt me as they steal my sleep the tears resurface just like the first time the pain equally the same the smoke fills my lungs the alcohol poisons my veins until all I can remember is the cocaine the bloodshot eyes the aching pain that’s never left worst of all the fact that I lost you to drugs before you even gave me a fair chance to fight for you. 1
I realize that maybe we're not broken anymore but we're still fragments of a dream I had and haven't really let go of tell me how do I fix it? how do I fix us?
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Your laughter has always given me hope and maybe he took that away from you a long time ago but we're trying to help you find it again
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You're still my favorite person to wake up to. even when you wake me up before 9 a.m. you're still my favorite person to wake up to even when I know what it's like to wake up in Paris. I love waking up and seeing your face more than I love feeling well rested. I love that you'll wait for me to eat breakfast knowing that it's my favorite meal of the day and I'm afraid of the day I'll wake up and you'll no longer be there.
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I want you to love me the way I love my own skin
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piel morena como la tierra soy parte de la madre naturaleza en los veranos soy canela y en los inviernos un cafĂŠ con leche que no es tan amargo ni tan fuerte y aunque mi color cambie con las temporadas quiero que me ames en todas no solo en invierno.
We're 3000 miles and 3 hours away and you're asking about the tone in my voice while I'm google translating "eating disorders" in a room that's all too dark with a truth that's too fresh but has been hovering for 6 years and while I'm looking looking at desorden alimentario I'm searching for courage and realizing that I have none and suddenly the moment is gone but desorden alimentario has never left.
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I’m attracted to people’s brokenness this by far is my greatest fault it’s not my self-destructive tendencies or my inability to give people a chance it’s seeing myself in their broken pieces it’s my reflection calling my own name asking me to fix them to fix me as if somehow I can make myself feel everything I lack by projecting it onto them.
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To My Little Brown Girls Pt. II la revolución sigue do not let people tell you that they can’t believe this is happening do not wipe away their tears or collect them on your shoulders this after all is your realidad this is our shared historia yours, mine, your papá’s and all those who came before us this hate has deep roots do not let anyone tell you otherwise when they try to tell you who you are and where you come from do not forget that ground beneath your feet is Aztlán this tierra has always been yours the sun has always known you to be native and kissed your skin while burning the skin of those who try to look like you
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do not give up your grandmother’s tongue it is the only inheritance she can give you her most treasured family heirloom make them choke on your name demand that they learn how to pronounce it with the same ferocity that they beat our ancestors tongues with do not let them teach you how to hate yourself you must love yourself resist exist this is your revolución this is your song this is your llanto this is my bleeding heart.
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Sad Eyes “Tienes los mismos ojos tristes de cuando eras niña.” ten years later and you think I still hold the same sad expression maybe it’s because I have yet to let go of that sadness maybe I’m still crying myself to sleep and sending pleading prayers into the void six years later and my expression is still the same maybe I’ve grown weary of everything but sadness it's such a numbing and comfortable feeling sometimes that I don't know how to identify anything else. I don't know how to feel anything else. 14
To My Father I spent years cursing your name resenting your absent figure and picking apart the pieces of me that belonged to you. I yearned for my mother’s fair skin and detested the brown skin I inherited from you. But now, when the winter comes and my brown skin fades away I yearn for it in a way I’ve never yearned before.
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You're not that man anymore but I'd like to believe that if you still were, I'd have the strength to walk away.
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Boyle Heights, CA
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I hope you'll remember me years down the road when we've both grown old and have drifted away. I hope you'll remember me in my youth, when I was most afraid of everything and somehow found the ability to fuel myself by it. I hope you'll remember all the times I sought comfort on rooftops and all the times I got burned by 4th of July firework ash. I hope you'll remember all the places I turned to when the words were spilling out of me. My front steps. The library benches. Coffee shops. Bus rides. School offices. You have never questioned my growth. You have simply allowed me bloom, unapologetically. We've reached a point in our lives where we're both changing. You're changing at a faster rate than I can keep up with. I don't know if we'll still know each other when we're reunited. We might be ripped apart at the seams and turned into total strangers. But I will always remember the best parts of you. Everyone will know just how much you changed me. And I hope you'll remember me the way I'll always remember you.
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for nancy we met at a time in our lives when I was convinced that we were both bleeding hearts we roamed the streets of the city we would come to hate most with a half empty bottle of cheap wine as we spoke of the bitter aftertaste the boys who tried to break our hearts left us with this is by far the most european thing we'll ever do we drank and smoked too much giving ourselves to the clear ocean waves and filling the night sky with the nostalgia that we carried in our laughs and now that we're apart I realize that we were never bleeding hearts we were simply wilted roses who had been told to cut down our thorns and now we've grown them back I'm glad to see that you are blooming once more.
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Dearest Reader, I'm composed of heart ache, burnt lungs, and scraped knees. In this small collection you'll find pieces that reflect that. These are some of my most personal angst written thoughts, bittersweet love letters, and favorite photographs. You now hold a small piece of me, feel free to do with it as you please. Until next time, A.V.
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