empecé a ver me en el espejo hace un ano
verdaderamente buscando y efectivamente encontrando
cosas que podía cambiar para que me quisieras más.
empezó con mi cuerpo y siguió a lo diminuto, el número de pestanas que tenía y lo largo de mi cabello.
me acuerdo sentir que no era suficiente para ti
que tenía que rogarte por tu atención...poniéndome como las chicas que veías en tu celular o la que estaba en tu wallpaper del teléfono. un día sonaba ser ella. pero nunca fui...entonces me sigo viendo…tratando de encontrar que me falta para que tu corras detrás de mi
para que sienta que soy la única que quisieras mirar por la eternidad
para que sería fácil que me digas que me veo bonita….sin tener que preguntarte.
lloro por no ser suficiente, lloro porque sé que hubiera podido tener más de ti…sé que no te esforzaste, lloro por el miedo que sientas lo que sentiste por mí con alguien más, lloro por imaginarme como se verá ella cuando sea que aparezca, lloro por saber que tus ojos nunca fueron ni serán totalmente para mí
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 8:58 PM UTC
i used to get flowers every month. they sat at my table and withered away but at least they made me feel something. it's been almost two years since dead petals grazed the table. i stare at an empty vase and wonder if i am capable of being loved. the way i love you. i feel so heavily but you are not there to balance it out. there are empty words and looks that mean nothing. i haven't seen love in your eyes in months. you may think its an over exaggeration but i've seen it many times in others. so instead i feel heavy. every tear swallowed like the two ton weight that anchors confidence. instead of feeling empowered and independent i feel belittled. not worthy of admiration, looking in the mirror, bending and ******* in pieces of me i wished were different so i could be more for you. the absence of your words i searched for was deafening. i became immune to others compliments because if it did not roll from your tongue it did not matter. i told you everything about me, undressed my stories and untucked my fears. but you are still buried, clothed, a wall and a guard between your soul and mine. at times you still felt like a stranger.
a stranger i love very much.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
i wish there was a way to draw out how i feel,
the tornadoes inside of me and the tangled ***** of yarn in my head.
the knots that form, a failed crochet, a product of walking in circles with my eyes closed. the colonies of goosebumps that race down my spine, searching for a finish line, for when my words are matching up but i can't seem to form a specific thought.
threads of this were movie scenes, an essence of cinematography or the warmth of a color. brush strokes i had visualized but never translated. melodies that made me feel but i could never explain how. inside of me were messes. dried up paint from a palette i never used, only created because i liked the colors. words i strung together, poking my fingers with the needle each time i didn't have the confidence to say how i felt. the fear of what others may think when they know i feel so deeply. there was an entire sky full of stars, dotted with each sentence i couldn't seem to spit out.
i couldn't overcome the fear of saying how heavily i feel even though i love you so much. there were moments where i bite my tongue til it bleeds so i don't tell you words that will never reciprocate.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC
i used to write about people that provoked me to feel a specific way,
no matter if that feeling lasted a week, a day or a year.
there were people i'd see in waiting rooms in doctors offices that ignited pages of words i had never unveiled.
i don't know if it is part of becoming older, this feeling of nothingness. losing hope in the spark of others, realizing they all are figments of what we hope for them to be, an embodiment made of illusions.
blowing out candles yearly has dimmed the lights,
the loss of wonder for the ones around me and the ones i have not yet found diminishes.
wondering if what i dreamed of is even alive, if all i ever wanted was drowning every second i got older.
love used to feel like the pain in your face from when you've smiled too much. now it feels like a home with no furniture, full of echoes.
i hear lyrics written out, about these girls who mean so much, who make a man seem vulnerable for the one he loves. saying if life was a movie, she'd be the best part. and i doubt myself, wondering if i don't possess what it takes to make someone feel this way. if i'm lukewarm and halfhearted, if i would ever experience a love that would change a person's heart. if someone could feel as sublime as i did, a grand optimist bursting with wonder, instead of the bitter realist i am becoming.
coming of age is not something i asked for.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 12:57 AM UTC
i wanted to feel submerged.
the feeling underwater when you hear nothing but its song.
when your eyes are closed but you know exactly whats around you.
the serenity of water coating every beginning and ending of me.
at that moment all i could think of was breathing.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC
giving myself away was the worst pain i have ever gone through.
i remember being caught in a web of words, trusting everything you spoke was true. staying up when my eyes begged me to shut them, to comfort you. giving away time like it was never mine in fear you'd be angry it wasn't spent on you. you knew i was naive, innocent, inexperienced. you told me i believed life was a fairy-tale, that i trusted everyone too easily, and that you never trusted anyone but yourself. you knew i gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, believing everyone was innately good. you heard my aspirations, and when i met them, you kept a straight face and discouraged my excitement because it would mean distance between us.
you got me my favorite things. things i always wanted, but you held no interest in. a record player, to play music you never allowed in your car. a polaroid...which later seemed for only pictures of you and i. i will always be appreciative of the thoughtfulness, but i believed these items did not buy me. they seemed to be there as a reminder, for all the "things" you've gotten me. as to say the items were a trade, and you expected me, entirely, swallowed up into your world in return.
i remember crying after a year a half. i had gone through the greatest physical and emotional pain simultaneously. my first surgery and my greatest betrayal. i'm pretty sure the neighbors heard. food didn't enter my system in a week. there was so much manipulation and mind games racked up from you, and to this day i learn more and more that your love for me was far from perfect like you claimed it to be. you put me on a pedestal and tore me down every time i stepped down from it. but you never even came close to what you held yourself up as. i lost myself. it was a difficult and confusing way back.
you crawled to me a couple times later.
giving myself away is something i will never do again. i have never felt a feeling of vulnerability or intimacy with anyone because of you. i built up a wall so high, being afraid that the world is just like you. i never want to find another you. so i wrap myself in me. hoping i'll be enough for now.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 1:24 AM UTC
a dark room and a dim light,
the constant sound of the ac unit was comfort,
the thought of everyone around slipping into their dreams,
lights off, mouths shut, eyes seeing absolutely nothing.
nothingness was beautiful, she held a constant hum that was my lullaby, like the hands on a clock dancing closer to a new hour.
she inhabited me, cleared my heart of emotions that have sunken in these tired eyes, people that never left my head for years, feelings tied to individuals who stirred confusion in my mind.
there was something so peaceful, in feeling nothing for no one.
no desire to intertwine fingers, a forgetfulness on how to look someone in the eyes. cherishing silence more than conversation. letting go of strings that were wound so tight around those i tugged for every day. and never knoting new ones to people i met.
actions became empty, but i became full, picking up all the pieces i left behind for others.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 12:45 AM UTC
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
the words could never come out of my mouth,
and as much as i have written them over pages, and laid them down millions of times, my mouth cannot seem to utter anything close to what i think of you. hands cannot seem to reach for what i've always wanted, you became something made of glass, something i only admired from a distance, glistening. fingers could not fan out, i could never seem to risk seeing reality, fearing to fall out of this dream. the nervousness of failing on something my mind has daydreamed about for ages. the silence that was projected, caused by a mind of flying thoughts, of whether i'd regret doing nothing more than regretting making a move. i lived in fear for every wrong move i could ever make, trying to solve the mystery of what your mind really thought of me and why there were moments you disappeared. i tried to search myself to see if pieces of me were wrong, if maybe there were components i was lacking, if being beautiful like the girls with the glassy eyes and structured faces would've given me an advantage.
my mouth became a cage for the words i'd never say to you, and my hands will lock, eyes scared to fix themselves upon you and create more feelings that will be jammed into lumps in my throat.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC
my dad deals with an exhaustion that i have never endured. stress and heartbeats, computer clicks and international affairs. bank statements and car payments. medical bills caused by trying to pay the bills.
my mother deals with physical exhaust, legs lined with spider webs of purple and green. the pain of losing a soul inside of her she never saw. the weariness of countless years without a good nights rest. rugged hands from abrasive chemicals to clean messes we made. the wonder of "where did i go wrong?" when her daughters were out of line.
my sisters exhaust was beginning to be mine. seeing life through the eyes of others. the successful, the wealthy, the lovebirds on every corner with rings and a heart that sings.
it was like standing at the window of the electronics store.
tv monitors depicting lives so untouchable, held by such ordinary people. she asks herself "how did they do it?" and "why haven't i gotten there yet?"
its the most crushing walk of life, when the expectations you once held are now on the floor stepped on, disintegrating into patterns of sameness.
i am far too young to experience the exhaust of the ones around me, but my fuel is being lost on being a second choice, an afterthought, and 11PM phone call after the day is done and all that is being sought after is satisfaction. i do not want dates in a drive-in because i know your mind is already on the backseat. i do not care for an empty house, because i no longer crave to be craved. i do not belong in backseats. i do not belong in cars, i am the destination you seek through the windshield, the blow of the wind that drives the passenger to sleep, the home itself, the structure and the stucco, strong and unyielding.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC