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.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Today I began to think about tears:
Can a person cry, on top of a cry? I mean like, its not exactly considered "I'm still crying", or "I'm crying again" But another level of crying? Like a cry, on top of another cry, and the levels just keep going up, although you can't tell by the many tears? Or how long they've been running down someone's cheeks?...Can you tell which level of tears someone is crying, if they cry in your eyes? If they cry in their words?
Can a person cry, on top of a cry? I mean like, its not exactly considered "I'm still crying", or "I'm crying again" But another level of crying? Like a cry, on top of another cry, and the levels just keep going up, although you can't tell by the many tears? Or how long they've been running down someone's cheeks?...Can you tell which level of tears someone is crying, if they cry in your eyes? If they cry in their words?
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Pablo Neruda's, "Tonight I Can Write"
Today I went to the library here in Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri with hopes of finding some good poetry, or something to open the doors to my inspiration. It worked. I found a couple of Pablo Neruda's books, and was forced to pick only two. I bought the books home, and the very first one I chose to read, amazed me; as has most of his work, but this particular one, sort of moved me. And so, I am sharing it with anyone who follows my blog. Enjoy Pablo Neruda's, "Tonight I Can Write"
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night, whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through night like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night, whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through night like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
One Minute, Each Time
(4/4/2010 4:41 AM Original date)
I am sorry, because things are the way they are, and the way things work out. Come out? I am sorry, that I don't see your face in the morning, and I am sorry, that time is priceless, I am so sorry.
Whether sorry or not, here I am, covered in shit, and little by little, I am falling, as I am falling, I am sorry. I am sorry that things work out the way they do.
I am sorry.
Sorry I couldn't give you what you deserved. Whether my ear, my hands, or simply, my body besides yours.
I am sorry, that the answer to your million questions about me, simply, went, "I'm sorry, It's time to move"
And I am sorry I didn't have time to explain, why this had to be
I'm sorry I couldn't promise you tomorrow, because today, is not yet over
I am sorry,
To the friend, who carried my future,
I am sorry,
But they tell me to walk,
That tomorrow will bring
happiness, or maybe a bit more stability.
This is killing me and I'm not sure how you'd react,
But I am on knees, scraped laying down here.
I am sorry for the millions of things that, together we started. I ams sorry for the unfinished stories, for the drawings that were never painted. For this I am sorry, friend of mines.
My Love, My Sweetheart, This I am living without you, and for that too I am sorry. I want to be part of, what will become of me. And I, could never, determine tomorrow.
I will not promise a tomorrow, I will not promise, the same touches. But I will stand, I will stand, and I will try my best, to stay civilized.
I am sorry, because things are the way they are, and the way things work out. Come out? I am sorry, that I don't see your face in the morning, and I am sorry, that time is priceless, I am so sorry.
Whether sorry or not, here I am, covered in shit, and little by little, I am falling, as I am falling, I am sorry. I am sorry that things work out the way they do.
I am sorry.
Sorry I couldn't give you what you deserved. Whether my ear, my hands, or simply, my body besides yours.
I am sorry, that the answer to your million questions about me, simply, went, "I'm sorry, It's time to move"
And I am sorry I didn't have time to explain, why this had to be
I'm sorry I couldn't promise you tomorrow, because today, is not yet over
I am sorry,
To the friend, who carried my future,
I am sorry,
But they tell me to walk,
That tomorrow will bring
happiness, or maybe a bit more stability.
This is killing me and I'm not sure how you'd react,
But I am on knees, scraped laying down here.
I am sorry for the millions of things that, together we started. I ams sorry for the unfinished stories, for the drawings that were never painted. For this I am sorry, friend of mines.
My Love, My Sweetheart, This I am living without you, and for that too I am sorry. I want to be part of, what will become of me. And I, could never, determine tomorrow.
I will not promise a tomorrow, I will not promise, the same touches. But I will stand, I will stand, and I will try my best, to stay civilized.
Monday, June 14, 2010
I know in Heaven, you'll find Peace
I want to learn how to accept that I will never see your face again, at least not for a long while, and it hurts to think about it. Hector, you touched my life more than you could imagine, and in my head, I've just been hearing you calling my name as soon as you see me, no matter what mood you were in when I came in, "Wendesiiiitaaaaa." I will miss you forever, and ever, and always sexy boy. I remember our little Zara game on Newbury st. Walking down the street and pointing out Zara clothing, then arguing over some, I swore I saw the same ones at H&M and you let it slide because you knew you would win anyway, you have a better eye for these things than I do. I remember all the compliments you gave me on what I was wearing, and all the critizism on the messy stuff that I wore, on those days I didnt look into the mirror before walking out the house. I miss you Hector. I miss your laugh, your smile, your voice. Most of all, I miss the way you would slap my ass, and pinch me. Although both hurt, the slap in the ass was hella sexy I must admit. "You're lucky I love you" Damn right, I am lucky. and I'm lucky I got to meet you, and I'm lucky you learned to like me, and that I learned to like you because I know alot of people didnt. Fuck all the Newbury st customers. FUCK THEM! Newbury st, never again. If it wasnt for Mel and a couple of others, I would say fuck Zara, but my lips are sealed for now. I would've married you, if you liked my stuff....damn! I should've got a surgery :-) Hahaha that made me laugh, and I'm sure it made you laugh! You're running across my mind right now, like right this second, Hey at least I know you're getting fit. Enjoy Heaven till I get there and kick your ass. I love you Hector Antonio Medina Mejia (June 14th, 1983-June 12th, 2010) sexxyboyy <3
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