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Nunca pensé que
tendría hábitos malos,

que la vida me
enseñaría a vivir,

de manera más,
suave y amorosa,

como una madre
que quiere hijos,

los trata con paciencia
y ternura y rayos de sol,

que alumbra su cuarto
al amanecer,

y cuando las noches
se vuelven más

y más oscuras,
a cambio bebo

café por las mañanas,
para pelear con las

horas que no duermo,
y así mantenerme despierto,

y poder caminar en los
talones de las personas

que no lo merecen,
invirtiendo en las

sombras y lo que
desaparece en lo olvidado,

aguantando mi
corazón en una mano,

y un ramo de
flores en la otra.
Oh, little
Prisoner of
Moments
And the
Materialistic,
Misled
And
Misunderstood,
When will
You find your
Own way?
Be late on rent,
Flip tables,
Argue with
The ones
Who mistreat
You.
Little one,
Things will
Be okay.
Just dont let it consume you, please.
Many times I've loved,
And many times I've
Written about love.

Many times I've left,
And many times I've
Written about leaving.

I've loved with my
Heart in hand,
Blood pooling,
Words flying
Out of my mouth,
Crashing upon their skin
In an act of valor.

The same thing
I could say about leaving
Words sharp,
Striking like the edge of a storm,
Breaking upon the silence.

But it was just love,
And I wasn’t brave.
And it was just leaving,
And it wasn’t brave.
Jesus, why am i like this?
Why does nostalgia run
Through my veins like
It should be there,
If the feeling leaves,
I would probably miss
It too.
I’ve met a beautiful woman,
her face native to a land
that’s not mine
but I would still recognize it.

There’s no second thought about it:
she’s native by blood,
by eyes,
by cheekbones,
by the warmth in her skin,

a warmth that transcends
her shirt, my shirt,
my skin,
finding its way toward my soul.

Lightning strikes twice
campfires and oven mitts.

What a disrespectful way
to love someone,
but I wouldn’t wait
to love her.

— The End —