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Immobilized I gaze at the ceiling
Remembering the moments that led to this evening
I choke on the words I dare not say
Forced to deal with the pain that plagues me each day

Piercing each nerve
Giving way to exasperation
Resentment hangs heavy
and I feel suffocated  
Another day alone plotting my reparation
These fantasies could end my senses and reason

I wish I could inflict the same anguish upon him
Wounding his pride leaving him with nothing
If only he could feel helplessness and shame
To a degree in which he would never be the same
Only then could my hate begin to wane
 Aug 2014 Diana Dieguez
Kristina
I'm Feeling
The want to disappear
I'm dealing
With the person in the mirror
I'm hurting
The pain is everywhere
I'm crying
Tears I cannot share
I'm lying
Curled up on the floor
I'm trying
But I don't want to anymore
No new messages.

I don’t know where you are on the other side of the screen. But I want to know. Badly.

No new messages.

I’m not sure what I’ve become, in these seconds, of being patient.

No new messages.

My soul only wants one thing, I realize: You. Your attention. Your sympathy. Your words to make me feel better.

No new messages.

I’m going crazy now. I want you, your touch through words. I want to know that you’re listening to my thoughts. That you’re here for me.

No new message.

My patience is running out, my love for you is too. Staring at a screen, wanting something only you can give.

What has my life become? I am nothing. Saving time for you to talk to me, when I should concentrate on what’s important.

No new messages.

My life is useless. I am looking for the wrong goal. But I keep staring, hoping you’d somehow send me a message, telling me it’s ok.

No new messages.

I’m tired. I’m sorry. I can’t stop being the crazy girl I am. But I’m in love, that’s all I can say.

No new messages.

I get it, you’re not online. Fine. I’ve stopped caring. What’s the point? Forget you. I hate you. I wish we’d never met.

No new messages.

Yes, I’m still here. Can’t you see? It’s been hours, I’ve been staring at this screen since you said you’d be here. I’m not ready to give up. Are you there, somehow?

No new messages.

I’ve tried, but it’s getting late. I’m sorry. Even though I know you’re not here. Please know that I still care.

I type in a new message and then sign out.

I Love You.
Never Forget It.
 Aug 2014 Diana Dieguez
Elise
As the awkward silence of a thousand heartbeats pass
I am left to think there is nothing left for me
I don't like diaries they feel far too personal
they speak of pain, bitterness, shattered hopes and dreams
Mine no better than others
All consuming love drowned out by the angry waves of grief and misery
Buried by the storms you left behind as you walked away
Like truthless dreams, so are my joys expired,
And past return are all my dandled days;
My love misled, and fancy quite retired—
Of all which passed the sorrow only stays.

My lost delights, now clean from sight of land,
Have left me all alone in unknown ways;
My mind to woe, my life in fortune’s hand—
Of all which passed the sorrow only stays.

As in a country strange, without companion,
I only wail the wrong of death’s delays,
Whose sweet spring spent, whose summer well-nigh done—
Of all which passed the sorrow only stays.

Whom care forewarns, ere age and winter cold,
To haste me hence to find my fortune’s fold.
Life isn't fair.
Sometimes it's taking more than it's giving.
Yell for justice, if you want or
dream of somebody saving you,
of someone giving you happiness
like buying it in a shop as a gift.
Get depressed, stay at home,
get isolated, get even more depressed,
get frustrated, get lost,
counting the chances passing by.


Life isn't complicated.
It's a complex simplicity, not a simple complexity.
Sometimes you win, sometimes you loose,
a simple truth of life,
you never learn in school from your teachers
or at home from your parents
or by listening to your friends
or watching anybody else.
It's something life tells
occasionally.


Life isn't serious.*
It tells you a joke almost every day;
a joke so surprisingely good, you will cry for months
a joke so intensely captivating, you won't be able to laugh
a joke so terrifyingly amusing, you cannot listen to it again
or it will burst your chest in hilariousness.
Laugh about it, loud and crazy,
don't retreat a chance to look,
as life's osbcure and obtrusive faible for grim sarcasm,
is always worth a level-up or two.*

Life is just living.
It's about hanging on, about clinging to it;
There is nothing special to it, no mysteries to be solved,
no desire and no craving, except you go for it.
It's a game you can't refuse without playing it anyway,
so trying to win is as good as loosing by doing nothing.
And when you are not satisfied with the outcome
or you always end up loosing despite your biggest efforts,
you can always change how, why and with who you play
and start anew.
All around me, the sky with its deep shade of dark.
The stars.

The moon with its shrunken soul.
Can I become what I want to become?

Neither wife or mother.
I am noone and nobody is my lover.

I am afraid
that when I go mad,
my father will bow his downy head
into his silver wings and weep.

My daughter, O my daughter.
 Aug 2014 Diana Dieguez
NitaAnn
I am different.  I always have been.

A little girl is crying in the corner.  Her tears are on the inside.
Long, tired streaks down the ***** windows of her soul.
Her soul is old.
Her soul is different.

Shame.  Her t-shirt is never quite enough.
  It stretches over her knees just short to cover her shame.
  Exposed.  Her shame; it burns.
Her shame is different.  

Her hair.  Long and twisted; a curtain to hide the pain behind.
  His scent lingers as it curls her hair into knots of hate.
  Her hair; it would be beautiful.
Instead her hair is different.

A little girl.  She is still to let the corner hug her.
  A plaster embrace will have to do.
  A wall that hugs; it's not so bad.
  This corner is safe.
Her hug is different.

A grown up girl stands in another corner.
Afraid to touch the pain across the room.
  The tears are gone.  Clothes are hers.
  Her hair is the same.
  That different corner still remains.

Go to her.

Clean her up.

Dress her shame.

Give her human comfort.

Any other girl.  But this one is different.  

She is me.  And I am different.

Undeserving.  And indifferent.
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