Foreword: When I thought of this poem, everything came to me in spanish, so when I sat down to write it, I started to translate all my words into English. I began to write, "Illusion of a Kiss" and it just didn't sound right. I have decided to leave it in spanish. I will try and give the best translation I can, but I guarantee you, it is so much yummier in spanish. ENJOY!
Ilusion de un Beso
Antes de amarte,
pense en besarte.
Me soñe esa noche
en tantas maravillas,
me hice tantas ilusiones
La mas bella,
siendo, tus labios.
Me ilucione
tus manos sobre mi cuerpo,
la derecha sobre la piel
de mi cadera izquierda
la izquierda sosteniendo tu peso contra la pared.
Me contaste un cuento, una historia
de cuando, hace años te enamoraste
pero al encontrar que estabas solo,
le corriste al amor, al compromise, y a la lealtad.
Me pediste que no te uyera
que te habias dado cuenta
que las cosas, pasan por alguna razon
y el destino, te habia traido aqui, al lado mio
No se que me llevo
si fue la noche, calma y soltera
o tu mirada placentera
Pero con mi mirada, te regale
mis secretos, te abri puertas
que hace mucho tiempo habia cerrado
Espero que entiendas, que no tengo mucho
que lo mas valioso que tengo son mis palabras,
que lo mas valioso que tengo es mi amor,
Y te lo entrego.
Y quien sabra
Quizas mañana,
me estaras amando, al igual que yo a ti.
Quizas mañana,
te este regalando lo que tengo, al igual que tu.
Y quien sabra
Quizas mañana,
ni me conoceras, no te recordaras de este momento
Quizas mañana,
le diras lo mismo, a otra persona
La vida te da chances,
Y es tu llamada
Quizas mañana no te acuerdes de mi
Quizas mañana, cuando mencionen mi nombre
Temblara tu cuerpo,
Pensaras en un beso
En esa noche
Y en esa muchacha
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Horrid Story of Love
It has been a while since I wrote on here, anything new anyway.
Its actually been a while since I wrote to myself, journal wise.
I mean, I have sat down, to write.
And I have wrote many things.
But no honest things.
Nothing from the heart.
Just lies. Lies. Lies.
In other words,
Facts.
The things that are happening every day.
When I am wake, when I am walking.
When I am doing the every day things.
I am a very happy person you know
And I like most of the people I meet.
But not too many people really sit down
and get to know me.
I mean, I have friends.
But over the years,
I feel as though,
I have shared, less and less of me
As I go.
Who knows, maybe its the past experiences
Maybe its supposed to happen this way.
Anyway, very few know.
The real thing.
So maybe,
I can take a few minutes,
and let you in on a little secret.
Shhhh, I'll tell you
Only if you keep reading, quietly.
A long time ago.
Long, long time ago.
(Seeing how I am in my 10's.
Wish November would hurry
so that could sound normal
and I could simply say, "20's").
I fell in Love.
This Love was the inspiration
for every single one of my poems.
Now some people know this, some do not.
Someone once told me
they could hear the sincerity in my words
when I spoke of him,
and although I never said, this one's about him,
They knew, because of that gentle song I sang
When I spoke of him.
Anyway, like every love story,
he lifted me off my feet,
and with his hand in mines,
taught me how to fly.
Made me feel safe,
when I flew right above water,
so close to it, it brushed
the tips of my hair like the wind.
Now before you get ahead of yourself,
this is not a happily ever after story,
actually my story ends dark, and ugly.
So dark.
So ugly.
I did everything in my power
to take this love story,
and flip it upside down.
That is exactly what I did,
flipped it upside down.
I then squeezed it,
stomped on it,
sent it soaring through the window
after I viciously hit it with my brothers bat.
And then there were the leftovers.
Black eyes, broken bones, shattered intestines,
and two brutally disintegrated hearts.
I can't tell you exactly how many tears I cried
But the accumulation could've been
your summer pool,
Cleaned and drained. Daily.
Now what does a smart person do at this point?
I don't know
Whatever it is they do, it's not what I did.
I got up the next day,
and everything was fine.
I laughed, and laughed.
I danced, and danced.
I told stories, and more stories.
Until I ran out of stories,
that didn't include him.
And suddenly,it hit me.
I felt my heart, being torn in two
with one of those loud machines
that they use to cut off the big trees
you know the old, fat trees.
And the men with goggles.
I felt as he was being torn, from inside of me.
As if those wings he had made for me
were being ripped from my back
I felt it all
No anesthesia
No narcotic pain reliever
Just me, on my bedroom floor
Me, and that thing, that nasty thing
Tearing me in two
And I, with no scape
I can't tell you how I bared the pain
But I can show you the scars
Maybe then you can try and imagine.
Gruesome.
Gruesome were the lies that came after that.
I continued. Said I was fine.
Who cares. Noone knew.
There was noone to explain it to.
Noone who called and asked.
That made it easier huh?
Maybe.
Quien sabra.
The days passed, the months.
I felt fine, said I, 3 months later.
I picked up, where I left off,
2 years before.
I made friends. I went to parties.
I learned about the real world, outside of home.
I payed bills, worked a 9-5
Read about Erikson's Trust vs Mistrust
About Chris McCandless trip to Alaska
About polynomial, exponential and logarithmic functions
And, I stopped writing.
I stopped writing because I couldn't find what to write about
What could I possibly write about?
And when I got desperate?
I asked me,
Where do I find the beauty I found in him?
How do I find, what I saw in him,
somewhere else?
And so I looked. And I looked.
I attempted.
The worst poem, I had ever written.
The worst lines ever combined
in the english language.
And that's all that was until now.
That's all that it was until now.
That's all it was, until I can,
Be honest with me.
That's all it was,
Until I can confess,
That I haven't healed.
No.
I've been lying to you, my reader.
I said, for you to know my pain,
I would show you my scars.
I don't have any.
My back is still dripping,
Hoping my wings will grow back.
My bones? I haven't been able to walk.
And so here it is.
Now you know a little of me.
A small part of what I have become to be.
And don't worry, friend, I'll be fine.
I know what that once you lose touch,
You must listen to your heart.
And that there is little magic left here,
because we are all scared of being alone,
and so we settle for something
that will keep us company.
And that's what keeps me strong
Knowing that, although I've been hurt,
I will not stop believing
in finding someone
who makes you feel like you're flying,
so high you can touch the sky
and your hair, is tangled up in the clouds.
Until next time,
Have a good night.
Its actually been a while since I wrote to myself, journal wise.
I mean, I have sat down, to write.
And I have wrote many things.
But no honest things.
Nothing from the heart.
Just lies. Lies. Lies.
In other words,
Facts.
The things that are happening every day.
When I am wake, when I am walking.
When I am doing the every day things.
I am a very happy person you know
And I like most of the people I meet.
But not too many people really sit down
and get to know me.
I mean, I have friends.
But over the years,
I feel as though,
I have shared, less and less of me
As I go.
Who knows, maybe its the past experiences
Maybe its supposed to happen this way.
Anyway, very few know.
The real thing.
So maybe,
I can take a few minutes,
and let you in on a little secret.
Shhhh, I'll tell you
Only if you keep reading, quietly.
A long time ago.
Long, long time ago.
(Seeing how I am in my 10's.
Wish November would hurry
so that could sound normal
and I could simply say, "20's").
I fell in Love.
This Love was the inspiration
for every single one of my poems.
Now some people know this, some do not.
Someone once told me
they could hear the sincerity in my words
when I spoke of him,
and although I never said, this one's about him,
They knew, because of that gentle song I sang
When I spoke of him.
Anyway, like every love story,
he lifted me off my feet,
and with his hand in mines,
taught me how to fly.
Made me feel safe,
when I flew right above water,
so close to it, it brushed
the tips of my hair like the wind.
Now before you get ahead of yourself,
this is not a happily ever after story,
actually my story ends dark, and ugly.
So dark.
So ugly.
I did everything in my power
to take this love story,
and flip it upside down.
That is exactly what I did,
flipped it upside down.
I then squeezed it,
stomped on it,
sent it soaring through the window
after I viciously hit it with my brothers bat.
And then there were the leftovers.
Black eyes, broken bones, shattered intestines,
and two brutally disintegrated hearts.
I can't tell you exactly how many tears I cried
But the accumulation could've been
your summer pool,
Cleaned and drained. Daily.
Now what does a smart person do at this point?
I don't know
Whatever it is they do, it's not what I did.
I got up the next day,
and everything was fine.
I laughed, and laughed.
I danced, and danced.
I told stories, and more stories.
Until I ran out of stories,
that didn't include him.
And suddenly,it hit me.
I felt my heart, being torn in two
with one of those loud machines
that they use to cut off the big trees
you know the old, fat trees.
And the men with goggles.
I felt as he was being torn, from inside of me.
As if those wings he had made for me
were being ripped from my back
I felt it all
No anesthesia
No narcotic pain reliever
Just me, on my bedroom floor
Me, and that thing, that nasty thing
Tearing me in two
And I, with no scape
I can't tell you how I bared the pain
But I can show you the scars
Maybe then you can try and imagine.
Gruesome.
Gruesome were the lies that came after that.
I continued. Said I was fine.
Who cares. Noone knew.
There was noone to explain it to.
Noone who called and asked.
That made it easier huh?
Maybe.
Quien sabra.
The days passed, the months.
I felt fine, said I, 3 months later.
I picked up, where I left off,
2 years before.
I made friends. I went to parties.
I learned about the real world, outside of home.
I payed bills, worked a 9-5
Read about Erikson's Trust vs Mistrust
About Chris McCandless trip to Alaska
About polynomial, exponential and logarithmic functions
And, I stopped writing.
I stopped writing because I couldn't find what to write about
What could I possibly write about?
And when I got desperate?
I asked me,
Where do I find the beauty I found in him?
How do I find, what I saw in him,
somewhere else?
And so I looked. And I looked.
I attempted.
The worst poem, I had ever written.
The worst lines ever combined
in the english language.
And that's all that was until now.
That's all that it was until now.
That's all it was, until I can,
Be honest with me.
That's all it was,
Until I can confess,
That I haven't healed.
No.
I've been lying to you, my reader.
I said, for you to know my pain,
I would show you my scars.
I don't have any.
My back is still dripping,
Hoping my wings will grow back.
My bones? I haven't been able to walk.
And so here it is.
Now you know a little of me.
A small part of what I have become to be.
And don't worry, friend, I'll be fine.
I know what that once you lose touch,
You must listen to your heart.
And that there is little magic left here,
because we are all scared of being alone,
and so we settle for something
that will keep us company.
And that's what keeps me strong
Knowing that, although I've been hurt,
I will not stop believing
in finding someone
who makes you feel like you're flying,
so high you can touch the sky
and your hair, is tangled up in the clouds.
Until next time,
Have a good night.
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