JCruz Hernandez

JCruz Hernandez Nov 2013

Words

Those words,

It’s like they reached over and into my eyelids, and pulled at my tears.

It hurt,

The way they vigorously fought for what seemed a few years,

I turned,

Against my beloved, cause nothing. No, nothing would crack open my piers,

And I learned,

That these words are my life, this hear is my wife, and I’m nothing without her. She vanquished my fears,

I stopped,

And looked at the tears deep in my eye,

Distraught,

They begged not to go. They pleaded me, “why?”

They fought,

They were alone, as I stepped away, alone in this fight.

They dropped,

They slipped and they dripped for the words had their might.

Betrayed,

My tears held on dear to the branch of my pride.

Betrayed,

I cut that branch and my tears knew not why,

Betrayed,

Because I in my selfishness wished words by my side.

Betrayed,

Because they needed to go. Because I needed to cry.

These words are my everything. These words that I write.

-J.Cruz Hernandez

JCruz Hernandez Nov 2013

A Poet's Writer's Block

This ******* writers block has me claustrophobic.

The pressure of the air around me has me struggling to breath.

My hand is sore from an imminent future of carpal tunnel syndrome,

And my mind is wandering from a sad past that I won’t remember.

Age has taken its toll on me and this youth of mine is wasted.

The only things I have left to admire are the women that remain unmoved by my lack of maturity, and remain despite my ignorance.

I’ve written quite a bit throughout my years, but I have never created anything that has fully filled the void left by a presence that was never there.

I’ve never written anything that will satisfy my need of a perfectly paradoxical phrase that will always be embedded within your soul, or mine, and yet i continue to write.

Even now as the keys on the keyboard quickly click and clack together.

I search through the vast and endless realms of the universe for a glimpse of a spark that will ignite the fuse of the core of my imagination, and have all the thoughts that i have ever thought blown out from an explosion so vast and powerful that those thoughts would become desperate.

Hopefully, through their desperation they will come together.

One can only wish that those thoughts will rearrange themselves, and create a logical structure that will one day come back to me.

The thought of death does not scare me.

The thought of being forgotten in my times when the world seems new breaks my very existence.

The pressures of the world don’t way heavy on my shoulders,

But if I could come up with something to write it would be awesome.

-J.Cruz Hernandez

JCruz Hernandez Nov 2013

The Third Time

This sinking feeling is known all too well
When your stomach is heavy cause your heart just fell.
It is now the third time that you have failed
To immortalize the youth that has passed unveiled.

The blind cannot see.
The blinded was me.
But even the blind that is blind
Could see what i could not see,

I now walk at a distance.
No more by her side.
She’s holding his hand now.
No more piggy back rides.

I know I’ll still hold her.
I know I’m still with her.
I know she’s getting older,
But she’s still my Lil sister.

-J.Cruz Hernandez

JCruz Hernandez Nov 2013

By The Rain

I woke up by the rain.
The covers soaked and wet.

I woke up by the rain.
She dripped with every breath.

I woke up by the rain.
She rippled as she slept.

I woke up by the rain.
She dreamt and my soul wept.

I woke up with the rain.
As she turned and held me close.

I woke up with the rain.
And she washed away the cold.

I woke up with the rain.
No longer numb and blue.

I woke up with the rain.
And saw that dreams do come true.

-J. Cruz Hernandez

JCruz Hernandez Nov 2013

Freestyle

I don’t freestyle.
I write my things down.
Though I wish that I could spit when I talk **** and pitch in metaphors so quick they zip right past you with a swing and a miss.

That’s why I pick up my pen and pad, or my phone if it has a charge,
Go to the memos app and find a knife that is sharp.
Crack open my rib cage and pull out my beating heart.
Squeeze that ***** dry till it bleeds the right part.

But this prune has no juice now.
This prune has no use now.
Its beats have no sync it looks gray, old, and used out.
It burned out its pacer, and its fuse just fused out,

It’s excuses?
That I used it when I couldn’t use it.
I abused and confused it.
It gave me all that I wanted but its plasma was useless.

So much material came night after night.
Every time it gave more. I just brushed it aside.
My table was covered with all my insides,
But none of it perfect. None of it right.

I squeezed and I squeezed till my fingers went numb.
The nail on my index was cutting into my thumb.
Desperate for a punch line to make the crowds go dumb.
Screaming and owing these ******* gonna come.

Too caught up on what they wanted I let my heart dry.
Too caught up living their life I let my heart die.
It turned out that turned up turned into a lie.
I turned into some one torn from their real life.

Now I’m resting my heart for a while.
It’s in the hands of a misses that cares for it now.
That’s why I don’t freestyle.
I write my **** down.

-J.Cruz Hernandez

JCruz Hernandez Aug 2013

Within Me

I can feel something boiling inside. Its pressure continues to rise as my mind slowly decides whether it will capture this moment and write, or let it slip into darkness and slide into the Forest of Tries.

It wants to explode; but it quickly simmers down and a saddened frown collapses itself upon my chin, and without a sound this Sickly Whim has now picked up the crown and claimed itself through sin King of the town of Him.

It suppresses any thought of motivation. Any child of a thought that has brought on its cloth even the slightest inspiration will be locked in a vault where their voices will halt to a whisper and then speculation.

The thoughts that remain in this desolate place all live in the shadows in shame of the day. For Fear and Pain have been recruited the same by this Sickly Whim that now rules my domain.

Fear is the soul that was spawned from a hole so dark and so old that the moment Fear left the hole started to grow. The slower Fear crept up the steps of their homes; the quicker my thoughts shriveled down to their bones. Fear left them with breath only to do it again. For that’s how he fed. They’re no good to him dead. My thoughts started to flee when they knew they were next, and thoughts started to die and Fear started to stress. Fear started to change every way that he dressed, so the thoughts wouldn't fear which was Fear in a vest. He gave them all boxes to shove in their heads, so that Fear could politely take them all by the neck.

Pain couldn't care if they lived or they died, as long as my thoughts couldn't bear when they cried. If they pulled out their hair, or they tore out the tears in their eyes he would relic the moment with a crude vicious pride. My thoughts would scream from their knees to the sky. Screams that seemed to **** out their lives from deep in their belly and out through their eyes. My thoughts wouldn't breath and their screams would subside, but their mouths still wide open and their pain still alive. Pain stood aside with a vise by his side, a glass full of wine, and an army behind. He’d sit back and sigh with a grin in his eye, as my thoughts would wither away like ash in the sky.

My mind has been burned and turned into a desperate place. Few thoughts roam through the vast endless space. The Sickly Whim now showers in self grace; showers in darkness he cares not for his face.

Pain and Fear both do as they please. They’re watching my thoughts burn like leaves in the breeze.

Love has been lost. Hope slowly dies, but something still lurks in the Forest of Tries.
-J.Cruz Hernandez

JCruz Hernandez Aug 2013

The Tired Man

He sits alone in that cushioned chair,
It nips his bones with love and care,
The pain his soles have held so dear,
Is slowly bleeding now through their heel.

But can you hear this weary man?
Can you feel his tired hand?
It drips the sweat it took from brow.
He slowly sighs; exhales a wow.

He dreamt one day the sun would shine.
Through the window. Through the pine.
Lay a kiss upon his cheek.
Not too subtle. Not too bleak.

Misty fingers running through his scalp.
A familiar kiss upon his mouth.
He feels a lift and up he goes.
Drifting slow on clouds of gold.

Could you hear the wondrous love?
From she who smiled from up above?
Could you see the rain in trance?
As a new old love starts to dance.

-J.Cruz Hernandez