They spit it, scream it, slash it at us
furious that we’ve finally taken something,
their sacred genocide,
decolonized it,
made it heroic, resilient.

-Laura Andrea



Mi Tierra

Death is cyclical here.
Romanticized via crusty yellow leaves
and skeletal trees.

I’m dying here too.
My roots were yanked from my soil
where death is violent.
We may not bloom year round
but we’re immortal.

-Laura Andrea

I dived into light eyes once.
They were the only ones that hurt me

Since then I’ve only swum in brown,
a kindred sea,
whose waves echoed mine.

There’s an understanding in the darkness.
There is no end,
no future,
no guarantees of clear skies and open fields.
Only the unsustainable energy of coffee,
the uncertainty of sand,
and the lack of promises
that were somehow kind to me.

-Laura Andrea

I don’t get colds

Mami says she’s thankful for her healthy children

as if my sister doesn’t get allergy shots every week
and carries around a $700 epipen “just in case”

as if my brother at 18 doesn’t have to take pills for arthritis
and have frequent blood tests to make sure they aren’t killing him

as if my anxiety and depression don’t rob me of my peace
and I drown in my choked screams

-Laura Andrea

I don’t want to kiss anyone else yet.
I want your taste to linger a bit longer.
I’m already forgetting your sound, your smell,
the texture of your hair.

Your touch dimmed since the start. The end.
Still, you were significant,
a reminder of something I can’t forget,
a persistent echo,
a lyric I can finally understand.
Yet another reason to become a bad poet.

-Laura Andrea

We were a stutter,
a scratched CD,
false start after false start
screaming to become.
We were young intentions,
unresolved want,
curiosity drenched in hesitation.
We were also beautiful moments.
Chance encounters turned into soft afternoons
under canopied trees
on old wooden benches,
through plucked guitar strings.
Your head resting in my lap,
my heart staining your fingers.

-Laura Andrea

I feel sick.

Sick that you’re going to our world,
the world we found ourselves in,
the one we unintentionally created.

I have no right.
You might not even be going there,
but the possibility of it
of you washing us away with newer, healthier memories
weakens the breaks I have fortified with you.

My bitterness towards you has softened in time, unlike many others.
You cared for me in a way that you didn’t even notice
and now you’ll forget me in ways you’ll never realize.

-Laura Andrea


I always wanna go home
whether I’m in my childhood bedroom
or the dorm room I live in 9 months a year
I cry this
cradling myself
the springs in the mattress drilling my sides
thinking “just a lil bit longer”
always hoping
to be taken home

They say it’s the people,
where the heart is
but the heart is a muscle
and it isn’t until it’s injured that we know how much we use it

It wasn’t until I was heartbroken
that I realized how much I cared

home (less)
hope  (less)
heart (less)

-Laura Andrea

I can’t scream in my dreams,
never have.
Instead I raw my throat
heaving for an ear,
for an out.

I don’t scream while awake.
I stopped a time ago
grinding my teeth,
choking myself
because laughs drowned them out
even in my sleep.

There is no peaceful death.

-Laura Andrea