Merielle Rodriguez

I’ll Choose You in Every Universe The sky tells no limit lies. I cradle you with eternity, no pride. I pile sunken torments so you thus shall yield on lamented ground—a grave I descended. I choose to owe you a devotion none hath heard, none hath could give. I sing a song that waves a sound that could transcend in any form, echoing a love that reaches Atlantis. I choose, you— my quiet sunflower that shines amidst chaos, amidst the crowd; thus bloom like a luminescent breeze of evening walks where oceans loom. I choose, you. In the bright of Luna radiating your skin, I caress in rendezvous. The scent of your heavenly temple embodies a perfect proportion in every way possible. You are beautiful. I choose you, a perfect light in my place that no dream I doubt, nor conquest I have yet to make, could ever keep me from choosing you again and again in the next millennia—borders through borders, different galaxies and universes. I choose you. In slow days, silent nights, buzzing notifications, and overwhelming heights, I choose you—the perfect pair of an Americano in macchiato days. I choose you. I choose my yellow in my purple days. I choose you, my peace in every other way.

I graveled through moments of uncertainty and pulled at the thread of memories. I sat in a quiet corner, pulling until the tip unraveled; it flourished like a familiar history—a distant memory. I loved you before I love you now. Emotions you caged and buried taught me how to let go of something I never truly held. Yet, hard as a rock, I refused to listen. I stood my ground on the belief that one day, if you pushed me away, I would still stand firm and hold you gently. You were different from who you were yesterday. You are baggage made of memories foretold, yet I still love you even today. Even the soil embraced the nostalgia of you; I crossed timetables just to feel you once more. Remembering I remember when you hated yourself. You hated the world. You hated the people in it. I comforted your cruelty. I said yes, it did hurt—but turned it into mystery. You did not truly hate the world; you only wanted to feel seen and valued, hoping that one day your untamed thoughts would finally be understood. And at the moment you said it—indeed, you were. How lovely it was to see you dance in the distance with the same joy we once shared. Yet here I am, grieving at a funeral that was never mine to hold. Tiny details A tiny keychain attached to my wallet, if you haven’t noticed. “Here, a bracelet—one thing that embodied you.” I smiled with a joy worth millions, one that could outlive millennia. I treasured it like a selfish pirate guarding stolen gold. I carried it everywhere I went, like the rosary I always kept with me. But one day, it snapped. I left a tear upon it, placed it in my pocket, and now it is no longer a bracelet; it has become a keychain. It was never about the bracelet, nor the keychain. It was the piece of you I carried wherever I went. It was the memory of us that I wished to return to. And now, I grieve again—not for you, but for the funeral of my thoughts and feelings; the ones I could never bury, only learn to live grieving beside. I love you still.

Staying Friends Is Safe, Doesn’t Mean You Should Stuck in familiarity, hoping for just a burnt toast theory. I exclaimed and kept it worthy— sounds fun, coming undone. Why, alms, should I be in debt to time? A little rendezvous, a little time. I speak in capacious rhyme so I won’t step onto the red line. Two heartbeats not as one, thus little carries electrified touch. Confused as I’ve ever been, I confess a crime—and I will be. Ruin the friendship or drown in it? No escape, guilty as sin. But God, is it? Why is it whole and complete? Without a doubt, I embrace it with Calvary Took a risk turned out at risk Is it really a time to rest?

Where I Meet Peace In buzzing, unhinged scenes where thoughts and dreams were bent, there is a peace that comes within— where words are both listened to. No trials beyond reasonable doubt, just where a business in court rests its case. It heals where no doctor’s scalpel could hold, just a healing that binds within. Both human, just being human, where serenity holds— and peace alone. Where exile meets caffeine, and sweetest sugar words find meaning, a depth in silence with hearts mending— there lives a child, held and healed.

“Mi Canción, Mi Poema” My song, my poem— My muse, a crimson cloaked in fume. Though I shall fight through raining fires of a gloomy storm, Thus shall I pen a hidden weapon. Hear her plea; she thought she won. Writing a song that none hath heard. Thus did I cry, in the name of Bruno, “the man”— I’d risk it all for thee, my love. I, who sent a poem and a song, Dancing to the hymn of a voiceless loom, So shall I buy thee flowers in June, And borrow time for us alone.