How often do you think about death
About dying
About everyone else dying

While I sit with mom
Watching a movie about euthanasia
She asks me
                       What are you going to do with me?

I thought about dying when the world seemed too dark
And life felt too heavy

She though about dying when her body hut too much
And her heart was broken

But that night
Watching an old man loving too much
We both felt like we didn’t think about dying
By aging
By living too much

In the morning
With warm coffee in our hands
I said to her
                         What you ask me to

because while i scrub the tiles
I can't hear you in the kitchen
I can't hear the words you say under your breath

While trying to get rid of the ugliness between the tiles
I try to get rid of the ugliness inside me
My head can only recite you words
even if I try to imagine histories of other words
even if I repeat my mantra
                                               aléjate de mi aléjate de mi aléjate de mi
I can only hear those voices

Am I too much?

why is that the me that i thought was the best of me
is the one hurting you?
why is that i thought that everything was fine
but every word
every look
every action
was hurting you?
why is that i was convinced that the worst was behind us?

is bad that even if you are telling me that I'm hurting you
every day
every second
I can only cry?

am I bad for thinking in the way your words hurt me
when you are the one hurting?

is this the best that I can get?

I just keep running in circles
thinking that I'm close to the end

I thought that -
does it matter what i thought?

the bathroom is clean now
I didn't want you to enter
I wasn't finished yet
is everything I say that hurtful?

I ask you
If you love me,
All the time:
While eating
Watching television
Working
Cooking

I need to get it

I’m not afraid that one day
You’ll realize that you don’t love me anymore
What really scares me is that
one day
That love won’t be enough
For you to forgive everything I’ve done
Everything that I haven’t done
Everything I won’t do

Her sadness was loud
she would cry herself out
bang her hands against the walls

she would scream asking why
to the heavens
asking why
to the glass of water still full

Her grief was like a storm
encompassing everything else
it was wet
there was no escape from it

I could just
stare
at her
at the photo
at the candles

my sadness was quiet
I couldn't cry
the tears would dry in my eyelashes
I would just lay there

asking why
to the shadows in the altar
asking why
to my memory
asking why
I couldn't remember

his voice
his hands
the last time I saw him
the last time I heard his voice

The lights are the only thing I can offer
to help him
to help her
to

remember
even if it's just now
I only have the guilt
because death did us part
and all the love I didn't knew
it doesn't have anywhere to go

To that baby
That kid
That teenager
That adult

Growing inside me
I’m afraid
                 Of the pain
                                    I may feel

                                    It may cause
  I’m afraid
                 Of growing

                                    Up

                                    Old

paceful
in going to sleep with the certainity of not waking up
in the morning
when the conciuos slowlly makes its apperance
there is a crashing pain in the soul
in the knowlede of being alive.

What can one do
when the bones can´t stand the weight
of the body
of the mind
of the heart
and they hurt
like when you where a child
growing.

But we are growing, aren´t we?

You open your eyes
or maybe not
And you can only ask
Why?
Wasn’t it enough?

in the days where I can’t get out of bed
and my lips are chapped.
How will you hear me
in the day where I don’t want to talk
and my voice is strangled.
How will you touch me
in the days where I’m not here
and my nails are claws.
Will you love me when I don’t?
Will you be there when I’m not?
Will I do it?