Loving You

Loving you

Makes as much sense as throwing myself to the floor

And on my knees kiss the earth and beg

For rain to come up from the soil

And bathe the clouds with endless rain

As much sense as jumping into a pool

If I don’t know how to swim

And there’s no one around to save me

As much sense as ripping out my arm

Because I have a paper cut on my pinkie

As much sense as hate

Loving you

Makes as much sense as yelling at the sun

Scream at him and demand with strong voice

For him to turn colder, he is burning my skin

At 12 noon I demand for the moon to rise

As much sense as jumping from a plane

Without a parachute, when I love life

And I am clearly aware that I can’t fly

As much sense as praying for my skin to change

I can’t just throw my genes away

As much sense as me

Loving you

Makes absolutely no sense

Loving you and missing you

Is like willingly cutting my veins

When I don’t even want to die

I’m a small piece from a hundred-piece puzzle

You are complex, from a thousand-piece one

I am a winter day, cloudy with gloom

You are a summer day, sun bright, water blue

I’m the knife and the wound

You are the Band-Aid and kiss

You belong everywhere but next to me

Yet, I will keep loving you with all my heart

Even if you never know 

Because yes, it hurts me and kills me and breaks me

But it’s the only thing I know how to do

 

Can you give it back?

It’s just like a body

without a brain

without lungs

without blood

without anything that holds the adjective

‘vital’

Dear, what’s the point?

If the pain in my chest

will only spread like wild fire

and the blood in my veins

will only make it grow

the tears in my eyes

will be like calcium to my bones

You leaving,

was more than having my limbs ripped out

by a cold blooded murderer

and yes, it hasn't happened

but I imagine is about the same

Maybe if you haven’t taken anything

I could be whole

but my heart

was sewn to your sleeve

how could have you returned it

if you didn't know it was there

if you still don’t know it’s there

Can you realize it’s there?

Can you give it back?

my chest feels empty without it

my brain has a hard time

trusting anyone

this walls, they protect me,

but they keep me trapped

Dear, can you return it?

put the tiny pieces inside a box

tie it safely with a red bow

give it to me as a present

on the day that I was born 

Journal, Twenty Seventh of Month Three

Vanishing muse

I want to write so badly, and I get the motivation for a second, but then it just slips. My muse is slipping through the spaces between my fingers, like water in my cupped hands. And I can’t hold it. I can’t freeze it and hold it in my palm and let it freeze my skin. I can’t stop it from melting; I can’t stop it from leaking. My muse is like the memory of someone who died, or someone who’s away, someone you don’t see every day. It’s slowly vanishing from my brain and I try to hold on onto it but I can’t, not even if I look at pictures or videos the person behind the screen is not the same as the person who once stood in front of me, who I once hugged.

My mom says ‘stop starting new stories and you’ll see how you finish the other ones’ but how can I explain that it doesn’t work like that. How can I make her understand so she’ll stop pressuring me if I can’t even explain it to myself? My head is full of worlds, full of developing characters and faces I cannot fathom the factions of, yet I know their hearts and their souls and fears and dreams. They keep popping out of nowhere and grow and I have to write them down because sometimes it becomes too much, sometimes I need to detach myself from that character from one story who’s feeling shitty and I need to remember that it’s not me right now, that maybe it was me when I wrote it but it’s not me right now. The only way of draining my head and letting things go is by writing them and that’s why I have so many unfinished stories because I feel someway and I write about it but then it goes away and I can’t write anymore, or the problem is never resolved so it feels wrong to finish writing about it. I don’t know.

Sometimes I just lose the story, I think about it for too long or take a long break in between two chapters and I lose the soul of the story, and when I try to write it again and giving it an end it feels wrong and incomplete. I need to feel what I’ writing, if I don’t I can’t do it, I can’t write something I don’t believe in or something I don’t feel. Sometimes it’s something that I want, sometimes it’s something I hate, but it needs to be linked to my feeling because if its not then why the hell would I take my time to write about it. A piece of paper is the only place where I can truly be me, where I can say what I want without holding back. The pen is the only one I trust with my secrets, the only one I let to peek into my chest and see what hides in there, why would I write something that means nothing to me. All I write, it’s linked to me, because it comes from me.

My muse loves to play hide and seek. She comes and goes and comes and goes and it’s worse than a gypsy honestly, she has no home. Sometimes she is a random smile coming from a random person or a certain look or a smell or the ghost of an emotion or an emotion on someone else’s face. I never know where she is coming from or how she got here. I never know when she will leave, and when she does I never know when she will come back. She likes to play and she likes to leave before things are over and really, I can’t blame her. She is just like the person she likes to posses. 

Hello!

Hi :) I haven't been using this blog in the longest time (all my time wasted on tumblr lol) but I want to start using it again! I redesigned the entire blog and I have so many things I've written lately that I want to put up. I hope you like it! <3

Beauty

Beauty,
is not the perfect alignment of the
factions of your face,
not the smooth but edgy curves
of your hips, waist, legs,
not the perfect flowing hair,
eyelashes so long
they touch my face.
real beauty,
is a smile, teeth maybe not perfect
but so breathtaking,
it makes your heart go warm
with the sincerity of those eyes
and those lips
that even not smiling
make you want to smile back.
beauty is the powerful music
that comes from your heart,
that passion, that fire
that draws people in,
your wishes, beliefs,
that twisted mind
so beautiful, so deep.

Insomnia

I lay awake
facing the ceiling I know so well
The tears fall,
like the furious storm outside my window
and the current of thoughts
like a desperate river
in a rainy weather
that fills my head
My breath is short
the dream now gone
it took the sunshine, it took your face
the face I loved so dearly,
a love that was never returned,
stayed in my heart to torture me,
I guess I'm not worthy of your love.

To You

 To You:

              Years have passed since the last time we talked and dear, I cannot take it anymore. You probably are not hurting, you probably forgot about it many years ago but I haven’t, and even though it wasn’t my fault I do feel like it is because you put the blame on me and now is difficult to take it off. But I have no courage to call you, or to message you, I cannot. Why? You may ask; why can’t you if you were able to do it in the moment of the fight? Because in that moment we weren’t broken, now we are, and I’m deeply scared of what the sound of your voice could do to me. I can’t listen to the voice that used to call me on the phone to tell me funny stories now being cold and distant, it’s already too painful to know that we are distant, that there is nothing there, unlike the others, there is no bridge connecting us, there is no rope tied to our hearts that would keep them together how they should be. I cannot carry with all this words inside of me anymore, and I cannot say that I am sorry, because once I said it to give you the pleasure. It was not my fault, and you can blame everything on me but you created it, you messed it up. I’m sorry, you know, I’m sorry that we didn’t last, and I hope I could go back in time before any of those things happen and I could fix them, so we could still be friends and you would be part of my life. Why am I writing this letter? Because I loved you, and it hurts me to know that I lost a dear friend even though I do not have the strength to try it again, you were priceless and anyone would be lucky to be friends with you, but me, I cannot anymore. After glass is broken it cannot be unified. That’s what happened with me, every accusation was a bullet breaking my glass, our glass, and even though my intentions are not to be friends again, I forgive you and I hope you forgive me to, because we are human beings, and humans commit mistakes.

Someone that loved you once,

Me.

Note: A letter that was supposed to be on a story but I never wrote it so it just stayed there, so I hope you like it :)

Questions

Life is full of empty questions

without answers, left unasked

I wish there was a book with chapters,

that would teach me about this life

How my tongue burns when I lie

  How my heart just loves to smile

and how he cries

most of the time there are

just reasons to cry

How do people fall in love

How does 'I' becomes and 'us'

Why does the sky, so big and blue

can’t give me answers, can’t give me cures

cures to heartache and salty tears

mean words, unwanted fears

How to let go and forget

How to move forward without regrets