The ultimate parley

I talked with Saturn last night.

I told it how I ran free in those fields,

how it grew inside me when I thought it couldn’t expand further.

I told it how I embrace so tightly that my arms ache for reassurance,

how my tears turn pure, refracting light into prismatic angles.

And it didn’t answer...

I talked with Venus this morning.
I told it about those eyes and those sighs 
so unreal in their beauty.
I told it how I would ruin the world just to see them, 
how I would tear apart every fiber of my being
if it meant keeping their light from dimming.
I told it how my soul reverberates with pure joy
at the mere scent of that other soul.
And it didn’t answer...

Now, I’m talking with Death.
I’m telling it how I will fight.
I’m telling it how I will protect what is precious to me.
I say, loud and clear, that I will never give up.
I could disappear,
return to the womb that birthed me,
seek peace in my solitude
sleep in my dark space
but in the end, I always win my battles.

I thought about giving up for a moment.
But I am a thousand times stronger than that.

And this time, I got an answer.

"You keep on fighting, but at some point, you will dance with me," it said.

But for now
the l word is my shield.
That expression, my sword.
And my strength? That’s mine...

Ceiling's weight

I looked at my cellphone as another reel passed by.
The sound of the clock had half my attention,
the hum of the fan had the other.

My body sat gracelessly on the couch,
bare feet resting on a pillow,
hair cascading freely down my back.

I wanted to smoke so badly that I clenched my teeth.
My gaze drifted to the ceiling,
my head falling back against the couch with no resistance.
A sigh escaped my lips, and I closed my eyes.

My mind was so loud that everything else went numb
the phone, the ceiling, the clock.
Why do thoughts scream the loudest when silence is suffocating?

It was 3 AM.
At that hour, nothing feels sacred.
Nothing is black or white.
Nothing is good or wrong.

Was I always this clueless?
I used to hate messy, clumsy people.
But now I realize I’m clumsy as fuck.
Do we hate what we are?

I wanted to wave goodbye to all the things that bothered me,
all the things about myself that bothered me.
Guilt crept in again, the familiar weight of being "bad."
Was I always sabotaging the good in my life,
or is this a new trait?

But then his words made sense
I don’t own all the responsibility.
I don’t own all the blame.

I own my anxiety, my feelings, my erratic actions
always wanting to escape sensations I don’t like,
always wanting to run from what could harm me.

Maybe I will always be a coward,
running from everything,
avoiding people, avoiding consequences.
Maybe I’m just that sick.

Well, you can take another shot,
and I’ll keep working on myself like I always do.
But for the first time,
I don’t want to be the one to decide.

Hahahan't

I stopped crying when I realized I was being too harsh on myself.

I don’t think I’m the one to blame.

I don’t think there’s any blame to place at all.

Supposedly, we should be able to talk about anything

but I think that’s not the case.

Why do I feel so insecure?

I think about the others in your past

how perfect they must have been,

how skinny, how beautiful,

how good in bed,

with no eating disorders,

no anxiety

and it breaks my heart.

I know I’m the problem.

I know how broken I am.

And just thinking about how much work I’ve done,

only to feel like I’m back at the same place...

It just makes me feel like garbage.

It’s not you.

It’s just my fucked-up brain.

I just need a hug and to hear that everything's going to be ok.

Then, again...

At the beginning, it felt like first love
the anxiety, the expectations, the nerves.
Even the idealization seemed childish.
Then came the uncertainty,
the not knowing,
and my chest would ache at the thought of losing you,
until it just went numb.

Now it’s new.
Now it’s the honeymoon phase.
It seems like, with us, nothing is normal.
Nothing has an order, nothing a pattern.
Things just happen,
like life.
They just happen
like you and me,
the unmatchable people who ended up together.

Remembering the past,
In every crowd, in every dark space,
I could find you without wanting to.
I could watch you even when I tried to avoid you,
when I was blind to everything but you.

I was always so drawn to you,
so attached to the thought of you being mine someday,
of us belonging to each other,
of joining our hands and touching our lips.

When I fell in love,
I was so scared of those feelings.
Even then, I held on to the hope that this could work.
And even when I shed tears,
I still had hope.

And I’m grateful for that
for waiting,
for being patient.

Because now,
I couldn’t be happier.
Now that we are together,
and everything has sorted itself out,
it just feels so natural,
like breathing.

And I’ve realized
you became my oxygen...

So blind

I’m stunned,

surprised like I haven’t been in a long time.

I usually tend to be quite apathetic about life,

or lean toward pessimism.

Today, I’m trying to decipher what I’m feeling.

I know I’m happy, 

but there’s something underneath,

something bothering me.

If this was what I wanted,

if I was so sure about it,

why am I doubting?

Maybe I’m just scared.

I thought this would never happen,

and I was ready to let go.

Well, let this settle in.

Let this grow.

We’re not alone anymore...

November rain

What a prophecy this is,

sent by signs I asked for a while ago.

The subway is quite empty, and it makes me doubt where I’m heading.

The calendar makes me doubt even more

counting days and weeks, feeling so hollow as time passes without shared teas.

Why is it cold again? Isn’t it November already?

Where is my summer, threatening to burn my skin?

Well, I’m always observing others,

an observer of pretty things,

but a protagonist of tragedies.

(Yeah, I read that in some meme.)

There are five stations more to go

before I arrive at my destination.

It seems I’m not dressed for the occasion, though.

The temperature has dropped more than I can handle with just a jacket, jeans, and a crop top.

What a lazy girl I am

too distracted to even check the weather.

My head has been in space all day.

ppp

Maybe I shouldn’t be here.

I know where I want to be

although impossible, I know what I want.

At least I’m not faking.

I’ve been honest about my inclinations.

People can say many things about me,

but never that I faked something.

I’m sleepy now.

The subway’s movement makes me drowsy.

Even with 12 hours of sleep, I still feel exhausted.

One station to go, and I’m freezing.

The couple kissing in front of me has already left,

leaving us without their presence.

They looked so happy.

An observer of happiness, that’s me.

I got up from my seat and went to the stairs,

heading to the streets,

where the sky was messy and wanted to cry.

Like I wanted to.

I felt anguished and didn’t know why.

Well, I did.

I was ashamed.

Every time I remembered that night, I felt so ashamed.

(I already wrote something else about that.)

But in that moment, I felt really bad.

I don’t know if I’m being played,

if I’m being lied to.

What’s the point of showing your true colors,

your true self, to someone you can’t trust?

It’s just stupid.

And with that thought, the rain started to fall

big, round drops,

clouding my glasses.

“I’m going to get sick again,” I thought.

But then I saw him.

In his brown car, with his pretty long hair, I saw him,

coming to me,

to my rescue.

I hurried to get in the car,

hiding from the cold and that November rain.

I smiled at him.

In that moment,

he was my savior.

Where the shivers End

It's cold again,
it seems winter doesn't want to back down,
but here between my hands,
it's still spring.

I used to ask the rain what Mondays in bed with its presence would be like,
and it used to answer me with silence.
Even now, after knowing the feeling of rain and coffee in bed,
all I want is the sun, burning sun on my skin.

I can feel it in my shoulders.
I’d choose this kind of fog to numb my sight,
to tell me that dinner is served
and that mischief is on the menu.

Spinning under the rain,
dreaming of warmth,
craving heat and hating the cold.
Honey, let it sink
and meet me where you can’t control the shivers.

Si alguna vez me tocará morir

El viento enfurecido me despeinó con rapidez, y así mismo se robó parte de la ceniza de mi cigarro, manchando sus pantalones. Sonreí burlona mientras él se limpiaba, concentrado.

Seguí balanceando mis piernas y pegué una calada al pucho.

—Me emperra tu silencio —dijo mirando al horizonte.

—Amo mi silencio —respondí, fumando nuevamente. Su pierna estaba a centímetros de la mía; podía sentir su calor y nuestros cuerpos miraban en la misma dirección.

—Me da un poco de miedo la verdad —dijo, sonriendo y mirándose los zapatos.

—El silencio no puede hacer más daño que las palabras. —Traté de ser enigmática, y solo recibí una risa ante mi observación, casualmente profunda. Pero a la risa no le siguió ningún comentario suyo, así que ataqué de nuevo—. Es como dice Mia en Pulp Fiction: ¿por qué necesitas hablar de cualquier estupidez para evitar los silencios incómodos? La gente debería aprender a callarse cuando no tiene nada relevante que decir.

—A veces también hablas puras huevadas, ¿sabes? —dijo riéndose y mirándome.

—Pff… —Aparté la mirada fingiendo enojo—. Tomaré eso como un "quédate callada", pero sin entender por qué me reclamabas antes.

—Porque no me llamaste llorando solo para quedarte callada. O borraste otra base de datos?—Su mano encontró mi hombro y me sacudió suavemente.

—Touché —pronuncié levantando las cejas—. Quizás solo quería compañía para fumar. —Se volvió a reír y encendió uno propio.

—Listo, misión cumplida. Acompañándonos. —El silencio volvió a ceñirse sobre nosotros.

—Hasta diciembre, ese es el límite. Si no se aclara, cierro el ciclo. Y comienzo un nuevo año libre, con luto pero libre —dije tan convencida que hasta yo me lo creí, y debo creerlo.

Pasó su brazo por mis hombros y me acercó para besar mi frente.

—Hasta diciembre...

Let's smoke

Eyes drift from the TV to broad shoulders,
Lost in another world, so immersed.
Smiling at the sound of that voice.
But wandering
Why? Why again?
Lost, sinking, crashing.
What’s the point?
Nothing left 
Emptiness, hollowness, ego, superficial words.
Nothing real.
Addicted to uncertainty,
Rollercoaster of highs and lows,
Unsure of where it’s all heading.
Getting tired of this too.
That much is clear.
I want to truly rest, being vulnerable.
Disposable feelings.
Craving, something deeper.
Time for another cigar.

Silent tides

I’ve dreamt about it countless times this week,
then panic mode sets in.
Sometimes it feels more like hope,
but deep down, I’m truly scared, and I feel so alone.
If the waters move against me,
can I swim along with them?

I know, I know
it’s my fault,
but maybe it's not.
Or maybe,
I can fake madness
until everything runs its course.
Names and names,
they circle in my ear,
flowers and a soft voice,
cigars and a scream lost in the morning.

Maybe I can save the moon,
maybe, in a bitter sigh,
I can dream again.

15/04 = Esto lo escribí cuando estuve con un atraso y llegué llorando a la casa de la Cote a hacerme un test, salió negativo pero el pánico que tuve fue inmenso. La Cote se enojó, preguntándome porque la persona que debería estar ahí conmigo no lo estaba, y yo solo lloraba...