How the warmest of smiles and embrace
sits, in a pool of loving charisma
to show me - for the first time -
what family is.
Nearly sixty years on me
and a liveliness more vibrant than mine
that can surely be attributed to the magic of this city.
For just six days we've become reunited,
your English as broke as my Spanish,
but like the defining scene of a classic film,
I remember the proud tears in your eyes,
and the resonance of your voice when you said "te quiero"
before dropping me and my mother off at our apartment,
just six hours after you showed us your childhood home.
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 4:09 PM UTC
Are we smiling?
wherever it was:
Sonreí en Madrid or
on the pier in Seattle.
The effervescent smell of Clam Chowder -
warm and thick -
Like the last moments of your body.
But with only the absence of smile in the last moments:
Every smile forced and every chance at eye contact
avoided (from shame, probably).
That the guilt and rage has subsided,
and the true loneliness has only grown in you,
do you smile from within?
Or do you smile beside yourself?
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 9:39 AM UTC
for
A noticeable change in the moon,
You actually made me grieve.
You actually made me cry, for once
And feel the emotion that pervaded me for at least
Four moons and months.
How I cried thrice alone,
and twice with your friends,
Who so surprisingly took my side for once.
What was worse than the time I snuck off with your best friend?
And we did the ONETHING that still tarnishes my reputation.
It was worse when you ****** your ex,
who you said to not worry about,
"I just go to the gym with him"
all behind my back, with the knife you
gave me for my eighteenth, and said to protect you with.
I used the knife to distress my pants and cut tobacco leaves,
and to uncouple the filth,
the blacktar poppy from the filthy phone screen,
where after you uncoupled me, I
Looked for filth in my friends,
who still had boyfriends.
I thought I would be alone, still.
And after two months you'd accept a desperate plea of mine,
and it would all be back to normal,
except for the engraved back of my mind,
which I could patch up for you.
But you wouldn't do the same,
hold everything I ever do against myself against me.
I'm not a ****** or a thief anymore, contrary to your thoughts.
I'm as good as I ever was, and I love the friends you abandonded for temporary relief,
And they love me, because you abandonded me for,
temporary relief.
When you stop mourning over your biological family's absence
You'll come to mourn our collective absence.
Because only a few treated you like family, rather than friend.
And even if some forgive you,
you've made me forgive my shutout hate,
welcomed back, forever against you,
If I die first, I don't want you to see me
If you die, I won't come see you.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 5:17 PM UTC
I hope the guilt of being
a Liar, and Cheater -
of stabbing the backs of those who fell
Under your facade of Love -
Tears you apart every morning
when the dream finally ends,
and You are left
alone again.
With nothing, but the guilt
and sorrow and loneliness that you
brought upon yourself out of
selfishness.
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 3:25 PM UTC
Can you, The Sadist,
Feel love?
Who knows?
What is in store for me.
Unlike you-
Not looking for rubber lust
or *** in cowardice-
with the mannequins of my past.
And I'm Lovesick-
not evil, or loon.
Never desperate for the intent to
engender anguish.
I don't play the guitar anymore.
I don't write songs about you.
My door stays locked now,
and it is of my own vengeful hope that
en route to our planned visitation,
you crash this time.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 6:55 PM UTC
Wow!
How far I've come in just ten days!
And if you do what I've done,
you can do it better!
Such is life
for a dreamer in misery.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 10:58 PM UTC
5:04 PM on a Thursday;
The third hour of this ******* comedown.
Depleted of all feelings,
except the stomach pains
and the thoughts.
Things are all too evident:
I have no friends.
Nobody wants to talk to me.
Nobody even wants to walk with me.
Or work with me.
Or drift away and sift
with me.
It's all too evident that
my friends only want to use me as mockery.
In my shackles, I can only wonder:
"How can I call them friends?"
Because I'm obsessed and alone,
And I have nowhere to run as long as I'm stuck in my room.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 7:05 PM UTC
At least for once in my life,
I feel motivation.
How odd, though?
A self-made Siamese desire of
nihilism and masochism.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 12:21 AM UTC
Prologue:
Don't let me grow up in a hurry.
Teardrop-marked fluster and confusion
and fear.
Fear that I won't be your son
anymore.
Fear that I don't have an option to run
anymore.
-
And so i must study and listen,
for four more years.
-
I'm still your son,
and I can assure you that,
and also the fact
that I have big dreams,
bogged down by that.
-
I don't want to be a son,
but I don't want to lose your love.
I don't want to be her love,
but I don't want to lose it-
For neither of you would handle the pain of my desires.
Epilogue:
Dreams of conquest and masochism seem quite paradoxical,
but also quite defining of my yearning.
To conquest my homeland,
like my ancestor's did my "homeland".
Ghosts of conquistadors,
who slaughtered to pave the way,
for the track marks
that I so oddly desire to tarnish my arms.
-
I never wanted tattoos,
but a sun and moon,
and a raging bulls head bound by stars
seem to be quite fitting
representations of myself at this moment.
-
I'm killing myself for my own desires,
and its a slow death
one that I hope will outlive you,
so your heart remains unbroken, and
protected by lies and denial.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 8:28 PM UTC
can i buy your love?
will you follow me, unconditionally
and pretend it's for me?
and not my supply.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 3:08 PM UTC