© All words are the original work and property of Tatiana Arredondo
If we were ever in a game show.
would be forced to put your hands on my waist.
would be forced to put my arms
around the nape of your neck.
dance with tension as eventual rhythm enters
where there was once a dense air.
crack our equally hard demeanor.
leave our bodies, and
End the grace with our bodies close.
Sealing our youth
with an expired kiss.
at the touch of our lips.
Parting only to notice the time.
Dated: April 12, 2013
What sweet youth this is
to slowly wilt at eighteen.
Where in twenty years I will be
I wonder what my hands
will feel like then.
Kinder, or maybe the exact
How many paintings will they
have created by then?
How many countries would my
eyes have seen?
How many men would I have
chosen to lay with?
How many decisions would I
How many things bought and broken.
How many of those will I save.
How many memories will I forget in
twenty years that now seem so
How much of my life will I regret?
How much will be left by then?
To mend what I have broken.
To throw away what should not have been kept.
To take a pottery class and learn
how to finally mold myself.
It feels weird. Friendship.
Picking up where you left off with someone you didn’t think you could.
I wish I could be genuine, tell this person “hey, I missed you.”
Not because it would be a lie,
but because I miss me more.
I miss who I was a year ago
when I used to consider this person a friend for life.
Envision them by my side 10 years down the line,
with frequent visits to each others homes.
Scatter outings when our schedules allowed.
I can’t even tell if I’ll be around them tomorrow.
I used to pride myself in being a good friend.
Now I am as unpredictable as ever.
I make no promises,
so that I won’t break them.
I make no plans,
so that I won’t cancel them.
Being with myself is hard enough as it is
and I’d hate to ruin someone as pure,
and kind as you.
Forgive me if I’m distant.
I apologize for the lack
of comfort I provide.
The only thing I can say is that
I'll be staying a while,
and I hope that's okay.
Whose name I trace on my lips with my finger tips.
Such sweet bliss.
My morning and my lovely moon.
But your absence is agony
And I fight to breathe,
But air that lacks your scent is not fresh.
Nights without your voice are just as good as deaf.
Wake me from this coma.
Save me from your silence.
Forgive what it seems like and see whats hidden in plain sight.
Is more infinite than the universe.
Hold my hand until we find its end.
Last night I dreamed of you.
For a moment I could have called you mine.
For an instant you truly were.
Its because of this that waking up was one of the hardest things I've had to do.
Leaving the desperation to kiss you rekindled and unsatisfied.
Make me forget the existence of time
so that I can lay with you forever.
I hope to one day recognize your scent
only to crave knowing more of you.
I want to know all of you,
your mind is fascinating,
your opinions are flooring,
your voice makes sense,
your soft hands are tempting and
your body is that of a God.
I can only hope to explore you further.
To enjoy watching the shift in your eyes
when I take you in.
All I ask is that you grip my hips while I do so.
I promise to kiss you greedily.
With you I lose my train of thought,
and my breath.
You make me search for unfamiliar words because
I don’t want you to ever think I’m redundant.
But no amount of words I find will ever keep up
with what I feel for you because it’s been so long
and my feelings are ever-growing.
Your name is moanable.
I can only imagine losing myself laying with you.
I want you to make me grip the sheets.
Take me to a place where tasting you becomes my only objective.
You will be my ultimate destruction.
Nothing can dismantle me more than
the wicked bitter sentiment of longing,
the decomposition of my being that counts
the second for the day you fix me,
the sweat on my brow in the morning from
dreams of you,
the smokey echoing memories of the past,
the loud promises we made that are still ringing,
the sweet vowels that rolled off your tongue like honey,
the pronunciation of my name:
a warm bath you could blanket yourself completely in
as you simply go under.
Drown in it if you could -
the sweetest of suicides.
What do I do with this pain?
Should I rip it from within me and
stick it in a blender?
Toss it aside and let it grow while
it destroys itself?
Take my longing and misplace it!
Someone will find it and make a better
I am not good company, not even to loneliness.
Perhaps it will feel neglected and leave on
its own accord.
But when it does I’ll chase it down
and beg it to give me one more chance.
Because nothing makes me feel
Part of being free
is realizing that you are not.
Only then will you truly have
and the thirst
to free yourself from
What you can control
and thrust yourself
into what you cannot.
4:00AM is the time of night where
the peaceful begin to dream,
the weak find their sleep,
and the dammed lay awake
sinking further into themselves.
It is not their tired mind that
earns them eventual rest,
but the weight of their eyelids.
Missing you is hell on earth.
I think of you.
bruised by your absence.
aching for you aura.
gone for as long as you have.
curse me with the vividness or your voice.
as if it were yesterday.
is almost acidic if the vowels don't roll off your sweet tongue.
an unspoken understanding of such electrifying connection
it could power the city.
the only words we spoke of our affection.
I want you to destroy me
because you'd enjoy it.
I want you on me because I know
you've lusted to see me quiver
at the mercy of your entirety.
I want you to rip me to shreds
because that's what I want to be
if it means you loving me together.
Because what we've got is so
horrible, so painful, so honest,
such a raw, destructive, quality
to what we call "us" that it would
almost be masochistic to go back.
Our brand of senselessness,
so alluring, and irresistibly passionate.
I cannot fathom the blandness of sanity.
Good songs remind me of you.
It's so hard to listen to music because of that.
All I hear is your name in between
the lines of every verse.
Yours are the words that echo in the gaps
between one song and the next.
Why did I ever lose that cassette player,
why did I ever allow you to think
that I wanted your singing to stop?
They asked her what she thought about
people who suffer in silence,
longing for each others love.
She said she thought if two people were
destined to be; that their roads would
overlap in the right moment.
He smiled, thinking of her as she spoke.
She smiled at him, as she thought of
Tonight I am not alive,
I am lowercase,
I am not now.
I am you insecurity,
I am your lack of impression,
I am your lust for epiphany.
I am not your sense of direction,
but a part of your life.
I'm what yells and haunts you
every waking moment of night.
I am what is remembered,
I am your regret.
I am your past,
I am all that's left.
I couldn't bring myself to tell you this after what's happened.
It's selfish of me to wish you missed me now.
to wish you’d call me at five in the morning
asking if we could talk for a while.
I don’t want to ruin you this way.
Its even more selfish of me to wish you’d let me anyways.
Wishing to be weak and destroy you because you let me,
destroy you because you're willing.
And to think I would allow myself to do so
because I can,
because I still love you.
May I disappear for a few years?
Become a stranger and breathe fresh air elsewhere?
Eat different foods,
Adjust to a different culture and simply redefine myself?
May I become a nobody to everyone
In order to become SOMEONE
to discover at last that
what you wanted
isn't what you wanted.
And that what you want
is nothing at all.
Tonight I feel a passion for nonsense
because I want it to manifest.
Soft to the touch.
Easy on the eyes.
Pleasant to the ears.
Euphoric to the nose.
Blissful to the taste.
I want to make what is not seen visible.
I want to make the nonsense understood.
I want to strip the world from it's clothes and
display it's naked beauty.
To see the light gleam in the eyes of the beholders
as they make love to it.
As each individual touches life with rekindled curious,
I want to feel the rebirth of love and thirst for life
as humanity rediscovers it.
And watch that piece of art reconstruct itself
with such grace that it would be a crime to ever
allow it to stop.