You´re so easily deceived... How can you take home what I threw away?

How does it feels to take what no one would take?

Guilt

Guilt is a teerible feeling: it hunts its carrier and hits him until he feels like he cannot move anymore...

I know what guilt is, so do not think that I do not know what is going on and do not say that I do not how you are feeling.

What bothers me the most, is that you wanted it, you were dying to get it —and I gave it to you —but now that you had it, you feel guilty. And you may not notice, but you blame it all on me. You punish me, you walk away and you stay in silence as if nothing as ever happened.

Why am I to pay for your faults? I already have my guilt to deal with...

Countdown

Inopportune

And then it comes that moment when you are all alone looking through the window and just thinking about how lucky you feel for founding someone special, how blessed you were because they crossed your way. Or you may be in the middle of a crowd, crossing the street or among friends and still your mind wanders and floats to where that person is.

So your heart is filled with joy and passion and thankfulness. You need to share that, you must let that person know that you´re about to explode. You call them or send a message or take a taxi right to their office, but they´re immersed in the daily life or thinking about something else. They just happen to be in a different mood than yours.It is not that they don´t love you back or as much as you love them, you just picked the worst moment of all to show your fondness. And though you acknowledge this, your heart sinks a little.

I have thought about this a lot lately. It is like I´m always hungry of endorphins and warmness. Maybe I have read too many books or maybe I just refuse to believe that you cannot feel in love forever.

I think love has many faces and colors that you can learn to feel and distinguish as the day goes by if you only take enough time to find them. Even when you´re mad or busy, there is always a hint of love: even if it tastes bitter or if it feels like a deep passive feeling very similar to boredom. And it can be expressed. 

It is not possible to shut it down or leave it home when we go out to work or for a walk. It is not a mask you can take off whenerver you feel like doing so. It never goes away. It changes and turns and may almost become invisible during the day, during your lifetime. Sometimes I forget about this myself and stop responding to its call.

I won´t let it slip away. I can´t allow myself to forget how to recognize love. I won´t let myself give up (and I hope you won´t either).

A change

Hello, I want to thank each one of you, my readers, for being there for me and helping me become a better writer. I learnt a lot from you and my mind is now full of your beautiful poems and stories. But, you see, right now I´m in a very difficult time in my life where I feel like I need to do different things, expand my horizons and explore my capacities. I am studying hispanic literature right now and since my native language is Spanish, I would like to explore my writing on that field. I am not planning to quit on this blog or to close it because it contains the evidence of a very important stage in my life. I will come back sooner or later.

Thank you all, really. Specially I want to thank all Poetry Palace staff for being there for me during Thursday Rally and introducing me to so many other wonderful artists. Till later.

I am thankful

I am thankful for his smile, for his eyes, for his hands.

I am thankful for the marks he has left inside my heart, for the colors he brought into my life, for the way he makes me see life, for the way I see myself through his eyes.

I am thankful, most of all, even if he could never be near me, because he breathes, because his heart beats, because he exists... His existence makes this world a brighter place to live in. 

Woman

Cold.
Scared.
Alone in the immense black hole which they call "growing up."
In need of physical affection,
in urge of emotional caresses;
realizing that the love of a father is not enough anymore...

I gladly accept the award. Please visit Poetry Palace.
I´d like to nominate Dulce.

I do not.

I dont like you.

I dont like your smell in the morning.

I dont like the mess you drag me into.

I dont like the way you move your hands while you talk.

I dont like it at all.

I dont like it when you touch me.

I dont like the way you kiss.

I dont like your hugs 

I dont like the way you think.

I dont like it at all.

I dont like the way you lie

I dont like it when you steal my clothes

and neither when you come late from school.

I dont like you at all, 

and yet

I love you so.

Taking part in Thursday Poets Rally

Sister

Suddenly the feeling invaded Alice. She felt that she knew her better than she did herself.
"Can I keep it?" she had asked.
"No" Alice replied.
"Ok, then I wont go"
Her answer shocked her. Alice would have expected her to kick and scream, to damn her for ruining her night, and yet she didnt. She said "Ok" so carelessly...
So Alice started to feel wrong about herself. It was like her sister knew exactly what to say to make her feel awkward about it.
"I wont change my mind" Alice thought. But as each minute passed by, she felt worse and worse.
At the end it meant that she was not as selfish as she thought she was, she didnt want to ruin her sister´s night, did she?
"Ok, go ahead. Keep it just for tonight."

This house

The walls are pink and white.
The piano is on that corner and over it, the masks stare.
Two bookshelves: Isabel Allende and Chopin.
The tic-toc sound.
"Le huitieme jour", "Trainspotting", "Les Choristes", "Nosferatu."
The freckled doll, Picasso, the Bible...

Nothing smells of you. Everything smells of me.
I know these objects. They are part of me.

This diminute world contained behind this door is mine. It should remind me of myself. I should be thinking of my childhood, and yet, every single time I step into this house, the only thing I can think about is you...

A man.

People is waiting. She knows she needs to be fast. They are all waiting for her to choose the epitaph that is to be written in his grave.

She feels the pressure on her. What if she is mistaken? What if what she decides to write is not what he would have wanted to be written in his eternal mud bed?

But who would care after all? He was dead. Maybe in twenty years nobody would ever remember him and nobody would care about reading his epitaph, right?

Wrong. She would still care, she will always do.

Years before they even got married, he had told her that in case he died before her, he wanted her to write his favorite Albert Einstein quote on his grave: "The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources".

She thought it was a pretty weird epitaph for him to choose.

Now that he was dead, she remembered that talk. She would have written that quote with no much more trouble, but then she recalled hearing him say : "You know Im crazy, but I always mean what I say. When that moment arrives (if it does) just remember that you know me better than I know myself, you will know what to do". So now she was deliberating whether he really wanted her to write that quote or if he had meant something more.

Indeed she knew him better than anyone else in the world. The idea was so stupid that she felt pity about herself thinking about it. Why was his last phrase bothering her so much? "You will know what to do."

She whispered words of hate trying to make the feeling go away. She wanted to let go and move on as fast as possible. She just needed to tell them which epitaph would be written on her husband´s grave but she just could not do it.

She knew him, she knew him so well... but he knew her very well too. And he was right, he meant every single word he had ever said. 

That was the answer! She loved him.

That stupid quote could go to hell, she loved him.

She said to herself that she had loved him since the first time she saw him and it was not a cliché for her to say that, it had actually been real! She had loved every inch of him, every inch of skin, every inch of soul... And nobody else would understand it, nobody but her and him.

She took a pencil and wrote extremely fast the secret that had been always lingering between them. She knew it was the way he wanted to be remembered: "Here lays a man. A real man who has been loved by me."


Taking part in Thursday Poets Rally

I am

Welcome to the world of broken hopes. She had everything done and surrounded herself with things and people she loved. She draw the path to her future... but she made a mistake, a mistake that will not erase the stuff around her but will certainly ruin all of her plans and she no longer has ink to draw another one.

She has to step up in front of everybody and tell the truth: "I´m..."

18th

"You keep on surprising me" I said to you as you held my hand.
We were there, together and just breathing. We needed nothing else but to know that we were next to each other and that our friendship was being blessed by God.

We stayed quiet for a long, long time... I felt the air playing around with my hair and I felt your presence next to me, then I thought as I looked at the trees around us that I was happy, probably happier than I had ever been before and I knew that it could not be more perfect than this: me on my 18th birthday at a beautiful place in a wonderful time of my life, eating delicious food, under an amazing sky, being near the Almighty God and sitting next to an extraordinary man...

Disappointment

Disappointment is the most common thing in life. 

They tell you to dream and it is ok. But sometimes dreams are not possible, you have to take that and go on trying to save the rest of your dreams -the ones that may still be possible.
I´ll be fine, nothing´s wrong. Please believe me.

Now you know...

I had a dream last night. I was in that place we both know so well and I was walking fast. Lots of people passing me by and walking on a different direction. I felt like I had been walking for days and days following something my heart needed for beating.
 Suddenly, I recognized your sweet smell and I raised my head to look out for you. There you were and you    had stopped. I started to walk towards you and just before I reached you, you started running.
 Only then I realized I had been following you since the beginning, it was you who I was chasing.
I turned my head and saw faces staring at me and I must confess I felt ashamed.
 "What am I doing" I said.I turned away and started walking... "I am not used to this"
When you were far enough, I stopped and cried out loud hoping you could hear me: "I observe, I don´t chase!"

"His message was brutal but the delivery was kind

Maybe if I get this down I'll get it off my mind

It serves to condition me and smoothen mi kinks

Despite my frustation for the way that he thinks..."

Amy Winehouse "You sent me flying/cherry"

Me against the world.

I was thinking of how many things I hate about the world, about people, about life.

I felt angry and discouraged, but then I realized that I can´t change the world, I can only change myself and that will be enough.

Sometimes I realize I don´t have thew slightest idea about anything...

D.

She had forgotten how much she hated when somebody says that everything happens for a reson. She knew it, I mean, who doesn`t? It was just that she hated how it sounded, she hated how those words could never make her feel better -or at least less guilty and scared.

She took the subway. For the first time in her life, the eyes that were looking at her didn`t bug her at all, her mind was so far away that she almost missed her stop.When she went down, a warm tear ran down her face. That´s how she realized she had been crying all the way home. 

An old woman looked at her with pity while a little boy stared at her and asked her mom why was that lady crying.

She took the stairs to exit and before the sunlight could reach her skin she sighed out loud. It was the saddest sigh nobody had ever heard. The world seemed to stop around her while she kept climbing the stairs, then the light stroke her face and the truth in her eyes was revealed for all to see: she was sorry.


Taking part in Thursday Poets Rally

Hurt.

Every single inch of my skin hurts.

I am such a fool... 

Picnic.

Tall trees, pure air.

I looked at the sky, I am wrong, I know nothing. I wish I knew how...

Fatal play.

She stood in front of the mirror, looked at her frickled, pretty face and laughed. She stared at every single inch of her and counted the moles on her arms: "Eight" she said as she walked away.

Arlenne went to the kitchen and ate a piece of cake: "Two pieces left". Then she went to the bathroom and counted the spots on the blue tile and after that she counted the number of coins that were over the living room´s table.

To be honest, Arlenne had not the slightest idea of what to do or where to go, so she flunged herself into the armchair and cried. She was desperate and alone.

Suddenly, fear and rage took over her. She wanted to escape, she wanted to run away. She felt like hiding under the table and crying her eyes out the whole night through: she could not take it, but she knew she had to.

For the first time in a lot of time, Arlenne had made a mistake she couldn´t write about. She thought of calling her sister, of calling her best friend, of calling her mother, of calling her aunt, of calling his boss, of calling him, but she didn´t. Her life had changed so much during the last few months that suddenly every single important thing in her life was connected to each person she cared about. She couldn´t say it, they would hate her!

That night Arlenne cried and cried and died. They said it was suicide, but I know that she died from fear and sadness, because for the first time in her life, she made a mistake that she could not talk about with him, because it was about him...  She portrayed a betrayal.