bound to the earth forever
named its sacred home
unreligious: 1 : irreligious. 2 : having no connection with or relation to religion : involving no religious import or idea : nonreligious unreligious education.
the aesthetic of death is that the soul detaches
itself from the vessel that it once rested in.
a soul once gregarious, now a defunct recluse.
languished lungs-that suffered sleepless nights,
radiates a newfound awakening.
for death had opened the soul’s plaintive eyes
and revealed the mendacious accusations of heaven and hell.
the looming omnipotent theory that we are either
blessed or ******-
the two are tantamount.
the world is sculpted as we think,
either living in the nadir we fear
creed we plead for.
salvation is a fetish importuning the lost.
we crave impeccableness from hapless humans
despite knowing the true face of a deranged society.
irreparable slaves to beliefs
with only a laconic grave to stand for what we once were.
affront your own demons, and instead of letting them insult your cowardice for not going into the dark, ask them: why are they scared of coming into the light?
sometimes i find myself applauding the times
my grandfather would
snap back at my father
he belittled him for being
a diabetic fat-**** who leaves his cane everywhere-
knowing that my father would beat the **** out of anyone, including me, for talking back.
what a hero.
who inspires you ?
these cracks on my phone screen are starting to cause minor dilemmas for a major ill tempered woman.
i smiled to the night sky and let a milky voice ease my nightmares.
i feel my soul pour out of the scabs of my skin and glimmer as if it were its last breath.
keep me warm
with your hands around my neck
or a sweater of yours,
whichever you prefer.
i’ll trace the places we’ve been on your arm and remember a fate,
love, it must be in your pretty veins,
*** is on fire.
flashes of roses fly around my head
in a rushing manner but the world does not see your smile.
and i am lost within two thousand lost souls, including yours,
but i feel your hands and i feel safe.
love tell me a secret.
how long will i sink in an abyss of confusion?
well i guess i’m a bit silly for that question, but that means you are too.
let me rise above the god forbidden clouds and transpire like castles in tiny village.
my lungs feel like they’re about to collapse, but what else is new?
there’s a lot of conversations within my own head, my thoughts talking to one another,
and no, don’t worry, i’m not crazy,
i’m simply a poet.
it’s a bit cold tonight and the shower was a bit cold and now my head rushes forward while my heart races back towards nothing specific.
my mouth shrivels and my stomach shrinks until i am numb,
everlasting underneath a comforter
that comforts my penitent soul.
vicente fernández is a romantic. he sings por tu maltido amor and i am in a trance.
i simply can’t help myself
would you like to talk? about nothing really, but just enough to make you smile. oh, darling, where art thou? i love talking with such romantic words. it feels as if you are not pained. as if you are beautifully dancing under a winter sunset. it’s okay if you cannot speak with words, at least dance with me one of these nights.
i cant think of anything
i smoked a little too much tonight to take my mind off of you. it worked, but somehow i began to write a letter to you.
maybe it’s just the blues.
as humans, we begin to dream of unrealistic fantasies while
sipping substances that
suffocate the train of thought.
in my mind's lines,
i write of the way your face was illuminated by the street light
and the way your knees bounced because of the cold,
and the way my inconsistent breaths fluttered into the stars that you have named yours.
this is reality,
and yet again, i was a fool for you;
for sitting beside you and letting
these fantasies consume me while i
craved a banana split blizzard
(with no chocolate)
and if by some chance, you are reading this,
i like you, and if unreciprocated,
you can blame it on the high.
yes, i guess, i do deserve this, you dont have to tell me twice.
i can write
"make me yours"
and all of you would fall in love with three simple words,
repeating trivial words to yourself
because you feel that it is truly beautiful.
i am a poet because
"make me yours"
is not simply a sentence, or a demand, to you,
but its the underlying tone of an ethereal love which you cannot describe
with three simple words, or even a hundred.
i am a poet because
you breathe my soul as if it were yours
in the wake of a new meaning.
simple or complex poems?
in dust, in graphite, i birth a new soul.
forget me not in the wake of a burning world.
in serenity, hear the collapse of my lungs
as fire erupts from drained eyes.
obliviously decaying, portraying disintegration.
ignorance is bliss, allow my mind to dismiss the possibility of
feign acceptance and deliver me from evil.
creation of an existence, resist the temptations of a luring abyss.
free myself from my puppeteer's love and disappear into
a state of mind where the meaning of life is refined.
breathe a sense of security in a world of fears.
bathe in the years of purity
for now my stained hands have touched true blue waters.
i live a life of regrets,
oppressed by despair and suppressed my affairs,
but acknowledgement is tarnished skin that i now will wear.
procrastinating for the sake of
relieving myself of my stress,
yet it begins to claw its way through my eyes
and i am forced to see that it is inevitable.
i want to drive in the city and tell myself that everything is alright. remind me to distance myself when you're too close for me to think. distracting thoughts. i need to refocus on me entirely, but why is it so difficult? unsaid words and im left with the sound of the stars weeping their incoherent memories. wake up for me. wake to the sound of my name underneath a morning moon. listen to my voice talk nonsense and tell me to continue. please, burn my fantasies; like flying above an oblivious world and let them scatter like ashes. my fantasies will rest in peace, knowingly, of everything and you. you are the cause of my death. let my mind rest, please. i need this.
we are a cog in a machine
that runs on self esteem.
overtime becomes habit
as if it would supply a remedy.
to pretend that we could exceed expectations
is a consternation for the ignorant society
that succumbs to the ideology that
by injecting your imperfections
insecurities would no longer be the root of your depression.
it becomes a matter of whatever it takes
no take backs
energy lacks and the suitcase stay unpacked
because i cannot travel when im
bed-ridden in my own mind.
i haven't wrote any poems lately because i am unable to encapsulate
the feeling of something i could confront two days ago.
by putting my clothes away that have fainted on the floor
and cleaning the bowl of cereal that has sat unanswered on my nightstand
gives me a sense of closure;
by personifying my room distracts me from objectifying myself.
maybe i wont realize that my eyes have become
moons surrounded by pitch black skies with no stars
or my fingers are becoming worn out and empty due to
the lack of being accessorized by appreciation.
i begin to find myself debating with reason.
reality becomes the absence of familiar faces
but i understand that i need to release myself
from the impression that
i am okay,
because im not
but i will be.
stuck in the same cycle
and if you must know what that is,
read my words and let them depict an image of me of who i am.
yer killin' me- remo drive
how does it feel- citizen
not pretty enough- tinylittlehouses
lets talk about your hair- have mercy
bearing the soul of a three am moon;
to sacrifice a night for the stars to witness planes
wander into the future.
to think in silence
and bathe in the sight
of crimson red, mustard yellow, and persimmon orange
i spy the horizon.
but actions speak fearlessly
yet you still fear the time that time cannot tell
but fuckitright because
roses are red
and violets are blue,
and at 2:30
meet me at the rendezvous.
dont tell me secrets i cant keep.
i can feel the stillness of my breath
as i hear the devil's trill sonata enriched of the
fantasies that plague me.
create a symphony that depicts the darkness
lying in my hands
which struggles to stretch itself
over the sunrise and roam amongst the wind-
to be free.
exhale and i will inhale
a breath of serenity
in a compressing world of fears.
realize that i, too, am human
i am tired of telling people that i love them
when in reality i am suffering from the lack of it.
coming to terms with myself becomes demanding;
its a compromise i struggle to follow through with:
to not love so easily.
i am tired of hearing "i love you" within two days
for it makes my heavy heart feel lighter
and my conscious struggles to detach
from an idea embedded onto
your voice provides comfort that
i cannot provide myself.
perambulating on perturbation
due to the lack of words your lips provide now;
resulting in the need for a distraction
such as the stinging feeling of alcohol
sleeping in the cool creases of my heart.
immerse yourself in the hazy feeling of being alone
you've got poetry dripping from my lips
formulating a desire, a need
for something my body is stranger to.
ive lusted for pleasure,
gasped in daylight and hungered for satisfaction
but never had words make love to my sinful soul thats
submerged in fantasies.
you've got my fingers dancing with ferocity
clawing vehemently up towards my arched back
as if the cure was a substance discharged
from a pretty flower
pleased by the pretty and pulsating sounds
of your fingers playing
-breathless nights we will find
captivated by one who contemplates.
craving to be conscious
yet we're drunk from ceaseless conversations;
crackling in a fiery blaze of vulnerability.
a reciprocal relationship requires rationality.
however, dissecting a distraught soul
leads to the destruction of vitality.
to be or not to be, that is the question
beauty is imperfection
a concept we're grasping
is a concept that's collapsing.
everlasting and its unmasking
between two poets
love is a creator.
ive been listening to the world lately.
letting it ring in my head like rosie on a carousal.
craving to find serenity in a chaotic mind
but i cannot sit for a fraction of time.
how quickly it changes in our mind like a person who contemplates life.
and so we find that were lost in a place where
the ocean ends at the shore,
a city ends at town lines,
where the universe is simply infinite;
where the vastness of the world is created simpler for the mundane
with barriers to be crossed because everything in our eyes
is never enough.
This results in satisfying our needs
with *** and ****
or late night hookups for free.
breathe the world in.
i hope my children will find that in the silence they can hear the car's engines buzzing underneath city lights or the heel of a woman's shoe rhythmically tapping against the concrete of a still town.
i hope my grandchildren will feel the Earth's roots between guitar strings letting it vibrate against their fingertips or feel intoxicated by reality.
i hope that i can too find fulfillment in a hollow world.
i crave the conversations that
we've contemplated underneath different ceilings;
ones that made the world seem as if it never slept.
delicate voices that could be heard through thick walls,
through crashing roads and busy waves,
boring cities and bustling towns,
and pulsating cars and the roaring breaths of our hearts
chiming senseless words,
fueling fire lights that flicker fatuous feelings.
living in different time zones that reset
a toxic cycle
of loving those who could never
make love to me.
"if i get high enough will i see you again"
to love yourself is an art
so i let other men sketch
along my hips
to prove that i am too...
in a pretty wooden frame
by my throat
gagging on the idea of...
romanticizing the naked heart
my body aches from my soul trying to rip itself out of my shattered skin
for it does not love the error-ridden body it is in.
scratching away at the wires of a bomb in my head like a drug addict
im trying to save myself from a bad habit.
in a cycle of repeating worthless words to people who see me as worthless
im trying to find love where love has been lost for it fought with no purpose.
self love has no meaning in desolate eyes only found in a desperate high;
getting high off of desperate lies and fooled with desolate alibis.
my body aches from a love that has burdened my bones
breaking apart a mind that cannot even hold its own.
the night holds our secrets which are closely kept underneath facades we fake
hold me closer to your chest so i can hear the silence break.
fabricated beauty used to bewitch a young heart
its an art, really. lets see who next will tear me apart.
you need to love yourself
before you love me,
because one day i will not be able to supply the dose that you need
and then you will be found begging on your feet.
i am addicted to the sound of love and the sound of silence-
letting it ring in my ears,
but this is not love and i feel as if ive gone deaf
with nothing to show but fallen tears.
ill let the moon weep for me, my love
and let it tell you goodnight,
because my words will be lost within the sunrise,
for she is the one now who tells me, "it is alright."
1. forgive yourself
2. understand that you are complete
3. you are yourself and no one else
4. support yourself
5. ignore perfection
6. self-esteem is important
7. find a purpose, a goal
7 ways to become happier with yourself
because of 7 months we depended on each other for happiness is NOT it.
i am dazed
with demons that prance around my head.
endlessly weeping for love and a soul
that they cannot find.
my soul sits in an urn
on top of a rusted shelf in an abandoned castle that
once made the sun elated.
but now my soul's whispers reside within a glass vase
and i am tired of ridding my demons
so that ive stopped trying.
now they comfortably sit watching the world turn into a capsule.
they yearn for simplicity
but my mind has become too complex.
they yearn for belonging
but even I cannot obtain that.
the devil dances with me at night.
he makes love to me with his words
and by morning he will not have remembered what he said.
he falls asleep and i am left with unsaid words.
willingly, ive become his.
consumed by poison that ill never be
able to rid.
inhale the smoke that you emit.
i believe that you are too chaotic for my mind
but my angels are
screaming for salvation.
you are my escape under the moon
and a deal with the devil has made
everything all right.
strands of my hair
tangle around your fingers.
you're pulling on the strings
of my mind.
with your touch.
it reminds me of
y roba el sol
de mis labios
taste a little of me
and steal the sun
from my lips .
taste a little of me
until you are
i need to keep tasting you
and what your persona emits.
and i cannot taste another sample
knowing that you exist.
im addicted to the rarity of the words
and that taste has put my mind on edge.
you're too mature
for the innocence in my fingers,
but i keep clawing your back as if you
were my savior.
i have flirted with death too much
and ive fallen in love.
our vows have been said
and now i live a life I am not content with.
and life taunts me with its bitterness
but yet i stay.
because death is a life i have to learn to love.
i belong to you, mi amor, mi vida.
its hard to breathe when my
lungs are filled with substances i cannot name.
and its hard to see when my vision is
an empty whiskey bottle shattered in my brain.
diga buenas noches al chico malo
porque de repente estoy cansado.
say goodnight to the bad guy
because suddenly i am tired
you’re poison and
ive been licking the bottle clean
countless nights ive forgotten
and ive been trying to remember
what sober feels like.
but you're better than any drug
ive ever had
and im addicted to you
i open my mouth to scream,
to at least sob,
but my mouth is dry
and my eyes...
my eyes can no longer feel tears that trickle down towards my withered heart.
no longer living;
im blind of all things that once made me happy.
subdue my cries,
if you can,
but ive been falling apart.
my emotions looking for apathy,
but i cannot help it
so help me.
bring me closer to you,
until i am you.
until you breathe what i exhale, my agony,
until you understand why i am
but you do not, and you never will.
because the second you realize that ive almost fallen in love with the idea of you,
we start again;
at the beginning.
ive almost forgotten how we used to be, and you've seemed to already forgotten our conversations.
we are nothing but poets lost in love, in loneliness.
you do not say goodnight to me anymore
and because of that my nights do not end.
my days do not begin until i pretend to forget
and i will fall asleep hoping that
not say goodnight
to someone else.
ive cried myself to sleep,
and in the morning my tears tasted sweet.
summer rain hitting the winter ground
a river that led to the sewer
yet it feels as if ive drowned.
my fingers ache and I cannot write
my poetry has become out of sight,
out of mind.
who am i
collapsed to nothing
my structure seems defeated,
creaking at the slightest touch.
who am i
where can i find the words to express myself?
water the flowers in my soul
for i have withered
and my roots are beginning to dry.
winter creeps upon my skin
shriveled and now i sleep
in the silence.
please do not worship my poetry,
for even i do not believe in it.
let my soul burn by confessing the truth
and let my ashes tell you a story of who i am.
what i am composed of is everything but what you see.
because what i am is everything i try not to believe.
have you fallen in love yet with the person i try to be?
have you fallen in love with my poetry?
i tell you not to praise what i cannot praise myself
because even i do not believe in myself.
i am lacking the ability to be happy alone.
surrounded by my thoughts that i cannot control.
my words do not make sounds; they make poems.
compiled of emotions that i do not know.
strings tied to the corners of my mouth.
i tend to forget that i am bound.
hidden my inner demons, let my angels run around,
but what i want to say is not said
i feel trapped in an open room.
lost with an empty soul.
often i think of your smile
the way it reminds me of summer kisses on your bed,
and the way our bodies would sink into the mattress, enveloped into its arms as if it needed our warmth.
a mess surrounded us but even we were a mess ourselves.
and i often think of your hands,
flames dancing along my skin,
waves submerging my thoughts.
ive lost myself within you.
and somehow i feel complete.
i should sleep but dream has become reality and i can no longer close my eyes in fear that it'll disappear to nothing.
the absence of you reminds me of quiet evenings where i'd lay down staring at the white ceiling above me
and the silence was never more peaceful than those moments of feeling like nothing but everything.
i miss you.
i know you want to believe that i am perfect,
but i cannot guarantee it.
scars from scabs decorate my legs and even marred my back.
i'm afraid to wear skin-tight dresses for my body is not ideal.
i know you want to believe that i am perfect,
but i cannot guarantee it.
for while you are absent at the moment, i think of the possibilities of you finding a coefficient for an expression that equals a positive integer; a whole.
thinking of the time that has not been given to me, the possibility of it being given to another.
maybe i am too attached.
maybe i am too insane.
i am not an intellectual,
just someone rambling and scrambling their words to make it seem as if i am.
i am not perfect, by all means.
because on messy days, i cannot even look at myself.
because the knots in my hair resembles the knots in my chest and i cannot even untangle them.
because no matter how often you tell me im beautiful, i cannot find the truth there, and that is a real shame.
i am not perfect, so please, don't hold me to that expectation.
What am I writing for?
Who am I writing for?
I'd like to say that I'm writing for myself to obtain purpose, but yet i think of those that will read this, and think of what they think.
The lights strung around my mirror are beginning to sleep.
The fan never seems to be exhausted despite constantly running in circles.
My skin becomes irritated by the nagging of my fingernails.
I've become tired of my mind, and it has become tired of me.
3 am thoughts
i spent weeks fixated on only your happiness that i forgot to find my own.
i spent weeks wasting my words.
my feelings drained through an iv that which you have decided that you don't need anymore.
ripped from your veins, i drip onto the solid sheet vinyl flooring.
para ti. y ahora no soy nada.
i spent weeks craving your touch and while you let your words travel down my thighs, trickle down my tinted pink lips,
i imagined of what we could have been, now i imagine of what we were.
i spent weeks building kingdoms, placing our fantasies in citadels and while your voice lined the empty halls,
mine never seemed to echo along with yours.
now these walls are empty. they have crumbled at our feet, unable of resurrection.
i bathed in illusions and imagination was my drink.
now that i am sober, i realize.
para ti. y ahora no soy nada.
Since your "I'm sorry" seemed to prove flase, how am I supposed to believe that your "I love you" was genuine?
i try to grasp onto the words that slip back down my throat but they fall into piles until they are hills and soon those become mountains.
they crumble into dust and words disperse among my untouched mind
so that i cannot decipher what it is i wanted to say.
they rest in the cracks of my fractured mind and ignore my silent requests.
their bones are shattered from constant use;
i think that even i have gotten tired of myself.
i continue writing your scripture along my fragile skin hoping that you’ll understand the words that I devote to you.
in the hopes of forgetting you, i’ve desperately tried to erase the idioms that i’ve created with the images and ideas that are engraved into my mind,
but i’m stuck staring at the shavings that you’ve left behind.
my hands tire from the constant motion of trying to erase even the smallest mark left on the stained paper.
its stained with memories of you.
my fingers tremble and lead drips down my face onto the castles i've made out of paragraphs.
my breath rushes from the bottom of my lungs and overflows the tiny broken down, brick walls.
i've built thrones which sit unused.
i know that you look upon me with disgust while my hands are covered in dust and graphite but i cannot help write poems about us.
i've used this pencil down to the very tip foolishly believing that my words affect you.
i know that this poem is a mess but it is what i became.
because of you.
because while you obliviously sit
i knowingly, absurdly, continue writing with a pencil in my hand and shavings dispersed across my lap,
words bleed from my fingertips onto the stainless steel sink
and i watch them spill down the drain
like old coffee that has sat in a mug for days.
words that have been romanticized; over used but yet slips through my lips; i cannot help myself but let regret seep through my face.
they spill into my lap and i intertwine my fingers which are touching upon the threads that struggle to untangle themselves.
i struggle to untangle them and this for some reason scares me.
it scares me that i cannot control the shaking of my hands like
a rising volcano that suppressed its screams.
it scares me that i knotted the slithering snakes in my lap and which
hisses through my ears; the echoing sound of myself could hear the fear.
and as i think further upon the words that slipped through my chapped lips, i realize that i'm a silly child after all;
unable to control. unable to foresee. unable to be loved.
i am a silly child asking for silly things.
i let the words i said ring through the air and touch upon his skin.
his bones went frigid for a second but he continued to love me.
it was then when i realized that he had a different concept of love.
i want to be able to write with such feeling
as if it was the last thing you'd read.
and so that it is truly heart-wrenching
that you remember me by the words i've spoken and written,
and not by the shape of my body.