martes, 17 de diciembre de 2013

Dame ternura

Destellos de feminidad

Fue un momento que había sido postergado por mucho tiempo. El ininterrumpido deseo se fue amontonando durante estos años. Mientras más nos separábamos, mas sentíamos una fuerza imperante  que nos embelesaba. Un imán que se refuerza al alejarse, creándonos un repelente al acercarnos en este preciso momento.

Mientras ella se ahogaba en mi cuello, empantanándolo de ósculos y mimos, yo procuraba recapitular la razón por cual la renuncié. Fue un momento vehemente lleno de delirios,  tan íntimo y prohibido, que escurría feromonas. Me hundí en tus brazos y me deslice en nuestros recuerdos, fundiendo mi boca con su aliento. Entrelazando nuestras piernas, mientras la música distraía nuestros clamores. Mi boca se agarrotaba por el suplicio que acariciaba mi corazón, dolor porque nos separamos en algún momento.

[Hace tiempo que quemé la escalera de mi ventana]

Give me malice

Flashes of masculinity
He was gone. He left not because of a natural course of action, but because she actually asked him to. She tried to play safe and say that she was ok. 
She’s always saying that she misses him, saying that it’ll pass and nothing will be as painful as before. It’s not, of course it's definitely not the same thing but it sort of feels like it. 
The love she felt, that feeling is slowly burning and choking her at night. It really, literally burns like melting wax. He’s caressing her dreams and invading her reality.

Once she called him hers but she was never quite sure if he really was at all.

lunes, 21 de octubre de 2013

Lost entry, back in May (?) 2013 [FLASHBACKS OF PAIN]

Please don't go 
I'll eat you whole, 
I love you so,
I love you so.

(This is an entry of my personal journal 
I carried with me when she was gone)

Dear significant other:

When I listened to this song I thought it was perfect due to the actual situation I was (and you were) into. I crave you, I don't want you to ever leave me again. I think this time, I won't be able to get through with it. I think I would just fucking give up. So please don't hurt me anymore, please? 
I love you so much. Just like Conor Oberst says, "you're the yellow bird that I've been waiting for". But I feel like you are going to do it again, or you already are. Maybe you got bored of her, or the situation or whatever; or even worse, she got bored of you and that is why you came back. Because she gave you up, and you knew I was going to be here, like always. Waiting for you, because it doesn't matter what happens I'm always going to be here. But that means you don't love me as much as I love you. It doesn't really matter how much you hurt me now or before, I'm still here. My heart still races when you say my name, and I'll never stop adoring you. 
I am growing tired, that is true.
I feel like everytime you turn your back on me, my head explodes and I suffer a heart 

My cheeks are rivers, conducting great flows of tears that pour from my eyes. 

Last time I literally couldn't stop crying for weeks, I couldn't talk, I wanted to kill you so I could stop my suffering. The night was my worst enemy. I became a monster of the night, a creature or ghoul, a soul that was forever in debt with life, with a past lover that killed me, but I couldn't understand why, that's why I kept on mourning. I was a creature insanely (and still) in love with you. I don't think you actually comprehend this, I've never felt like this/that before. I was in physical pain, I developed a cancer that started to devour me, and I named it Eloise. You made me fall, beg on my knees and pray for the Lord to forgive you, forgive you for making me suffer like that. I crawled on fours, to the land of the disappeared, that place where all the missing people go. The dead, the missing little girls after being raped by their lords. I stood there in the doors of hell and I saw your face deep down in the soil that all those miserable ghouls were standing on. I knew then, you were miserable too.


Well, that was a little out there.

I used to think that writing with tears pouring out of my eyes was the worst method ever. I still think the same way, but I lost that sense of shame that didn't let me upload or even write how I felt on my worst. I learned to wear out my emotions to start my actual healing path. Even though this has been one of the most vulnerable things I've ever let anyone read, it kind of feels plastic and utterly stupid (why? beats me).
Lately, I've been trying to portray my feelings in stuff I do, to not overload  my guts with grudges and resentement. This commitment I'm doing of actually telling people how I feel/think is being pretty hard, I don't recall making such a change on the way I live since I was like 10 when I decided to lock myself up (something I really regret now).
It's been really hard for me uploading stuff that just flows out of me, without any filter or any shackles of language. I truly like uploading here because there isn't much people that know about this blog or actually care enough to read one of my entries. Because now that I stopped going to therapy, writing and drawing and talking and everything that's "therapeutical" has been so helpful with everything.
I must admit, back in October (2012) I was really considering the idea of deleting this blog and stop writing for good. I'M SO GLAD I DIDN'T. Every now and then I get back at my old entries when I was 15 or 16 and I feel so touched, like if all those alters of my past are actually walking right beside me in everything I do and everything I ache.
I guess that if you're one of those alters, I must thank you for holding my hand in the way.

miércoles, 16 de octubre de 2013

The undeniable and perpetual nagging

Letter to whom may concern (or the reasons on being a fuck-up)

Everything’s getting pretty chaotic, within my wits. You hang your hopes around my head, building castles in the sky. Like we’re half married or half degutted, we cling on each other to skip the meaningless chitchat. I guess you’re more than just a wooer, or my truelove; it’s more like an aching heart-desire.

I’m always worried sick thinking that it might get weary being around me. I’ve always been the gloomy, lifeless, repelling type; which makes it sort of difficult to live due to the fact that I am a fuck-up. [I really hate my therapist for telling I am the reason people leave me]

I want to burn this infinite fondness I have towards you. I’m a fuck-up and will always be. Do you still love me? I really can’t picture myself with someone else; it gets pretty chaotic within my wits.


I feel you deeply within my bones, like you travel in my veins, slowly oxygenating my body. You’re the healer and the demise; you slip through my pores and possess my anatomy. I like it right here, living inside my guts, with you. It’s warm and cozy, it smells like a meat market or carnage; sort of sweet and vinegary. We dandle, touch and kiss under my skin; all I can hear is the erratic rhythm of my heart. This is all I want, everything I need, all there is for me.

Be still, my heart.  

lunes, 30 de septiembre de 2013

50 reasons why she loves me (back in April?)

[I'm not going to admit that when I found that letter in my purse today, I cried a bit]

1. Because you have the cutest, prettiest, most beautiful face I've ever seen, and you don’t realize that.

      2. Because you have gapped teeth.
3. Because your lips look really good in red
4. Because you’re white.
5. Because you’re really girly.
6. Because you dress nice.
7. Because you always smell pretty.
8. Because you’re a scary cat and that makes me feel like I can take care of you. 
9. Because you’re clumsy.
10. Because you don’t have big tits.
11. Because you’re artsy and I suck at that.
12. Because we take the best naps together.
13. Because we can watch anything (movies, series, etc)
14. Because you don’t care I eat like crap.
15. Because you moan really loud.
16. Because you’re the best kisser ever.
17. Because you say “Fuck” when you’re about to cum.
18. Because you drink like Jack Sparrow.
19. Because you’re the cheesiest.
20. Because you think you look really bad ass when you “rap”.
21. Because you sing like shit.
22. Because we can spend all day in bed and it would never get boring.
23. Because you like Interpol.
24. Because you look really pretty when you smoke, and when you eat, and talk, and drink, and sleep…
25. Because you hug me like a koala bear.
26. Because you have your polar bear pajamas.
27. Because you had the guts to live by yourself.
28. Because you like to go to the movies as much as I do.
29. Because you go crazy with cute little animals.
30. Because I think about you 24/7.
31. Because I wish I could spend every hour of every day with you.
32. Because we can spend hours doing nothing.
33. Because I want to live with you
34. Because I want to marry you
35. Because I want to have 3 puppies in our backyard.
36. Because I want to see what a great mother you’d be.
37. Because I want to wake up early to make you breakfast. 
38. Because I want to make you happy.
39. Because I don’t want you to be anyone else’s.
40. Because I’m yours, and will always be.
41. Because I don’t want to be without you.
42. Because I want to do everything with you.
43. Because I want to make up for the past 3 years.
44. Because you have been the bestest friend.
45. Because I don’t love anyone like I love you.
46. Because I have loved you since I saw you.
47. Because your heart is broken into little pieces, and some of it is my fault, and I want to spend every day of my life putting it back together.
48. Because I truly believe you’re my soulmate.
49. Because you have been the best that has ever happened to me. You are everything I want.
50. Because I love you more than I know of.

It’s really hard for me to believe all that (after everything that happened), but I guess she must’ve stayed for a reason, right?I’m just really glad we’re taking this trip together and she didn't actually have to re-sell her plane tickets. (Jumps and makes pirouettes of joy)
I really hope everything she says, it's actually what she feels and she plans to do. 

I love you senselessly, G. 

miércoles, 18 de septiembre de 2013

"I feel strange every now and then"

When I was 12 years old I always noticed the little details that I was certain no one else observed. I liked to sit at the back of the classroom and watch my classmates, I often made little drawings of my best friend and the boy I was so infatuated with.
I enjoyed observing how he bit his fingernails when he was nervous about some school assignment; he also used to tear bits of skin off his fingers. I remember one time he sat in front of my best friend, which means he was just one desk away from me. I recall watching his pale freckled neck and imaging it would smell like soap and freesias. His skin was milky and almost mirror like, I wanted to bathe my face in his face, because it looked so untroubled and velvety. He even had a Monroe-esque mole that made his lips look even more luscious. He was a male impression of Snow White, his lips were bloodshot and his hair black as charcoal made his skin look more like porcelain.  His flourishing almost incandescent green eyes were deep as the sky, and when by any lucky chance his eyes crossed with mine I vanished and merged with the specs of dust floating around him.
He was bold and quick-witted; his cleverness was beyond any 12 year old boy. His cunning aptitudes made me fall in love with him; he was astonishingly mean with everyone, even with his girlfriend. It almost sound ridiculous how faultless he sounds, because he also had a dainty turned up nose. Of course he was completely out of my reach, of course he never talked to me, by all means he was an object of worship and I was an uninviting slouchy geek.
No matter when I looked at a mirror, all I saw (and see) was a graceless and repelling kid. I always wore a ponytail, with my hair slicked back. With some petty eyes combining a snub nose, I walked slouchy, trying to hide what I had (and have) for a face. I was a walking disaster, with a grief-stricken look, and a pair of crooked legs and teeth. The entire wreckage I had for a body and existence always pulled me down and obviously I was utterly bullied by the most beautiful boys and girls.
I was friends with almost all the underdogs, the deaf, the birdbrained, the ill-favored and the most peculiar specimens I had the chance to meet. I loved sitting with the mentally handicapped kid, he was really sweet and didn’t care much of what other kids said about him; one day he even peed himself and he laughed his hardest. I liked watching him because he enjoyed everything he did and how he did it.
 Being the youngest of three, made me contemplate and actually scrutinize each and every action of my brothers.  My sister, the voluptuous dancer, was (and still is) my dad’s favorite child. She was your regular 20 year old gal, she was in med school and on her free time she danced and ran like a gazelle. My brother, the pathological liar, was a rather lively law student. Both of them were my mom’s everyday aneurism, they always composed the most stinging opera back at home. They vehemently yelled all day long, cursing each other, cursing my mother and painting me along with the walls. With my muted mouth babbling inside my consciousness whatever crossed my mind to stop making my mother cry. I killed them a million times, I cremated their bodies, I was a bitter girl, I am a bitter girl, I am resentful and mordant.
 I ache, I ache, I ache. Fuck, how did I get here?

jueves, 21 de marzo de 2013

uoy eroda I

I think I feel you somehow, the pain is soothing and the birds are chirping in the sky. Somehow as I lay here, in this car, my thoughts and anxiousness seem to fly up in the sky and are traded with yours. They get back at my body and I feel your eyes watching me from a distance. Like you used to, hiding in the bushes of the park we’re parked next to. My hands are sweating, like I’m about to touch your lips and my veins are about to explode from the blood rushing inside of them. My body is splattered in the front of the passenger seat. My friends keep changing the music in the radio. “Used to be the one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that”. My ears are nearly bleeding, my heart is about to stop beating. My mind is somewhere else; I can smell something putrid there. Something’s decomposing near my nostrils. I think I’m expiring. They’re maggots crawling out of my mouth and there are some of them that crawl inside it. When I look up, all I see is the grey and long-faced sky with clouds embracing it, wooing me to marry them. I’m feeling ill, I’m about to puke. Please, leave my body alone. Please, leave me alone, please, please, please, please.

My devotion to you is sole, rare and unadulterated. I stare at you with my eyes opened wide and clear. I cannot miss a beat or word you expel, I want to devour you. Everything that comes out of you I plan to keep near me, because there is nothing I don’t adore about you. But suddenly everything’s changed, there’s a delusion of madness growing inside of me, aching to eat you up and lock you in a bird cage. The hours or minutes apart from you makes it worse, the pit of degradation is absorbing my intestines, and minutes unconnected make me feel a whole lot more insane than you used to make me. When we’re lying together in my bed, I want to melt into one; I want to subtract the wretchedness or martyrdom you’ve ever felt before. Absorbing the misery and grayness, I plan to conquer you, deleting past lovers or unused feelings. My complete devotion lies on you, my will, my whole, my teeth and claws are breaking if you’re not with me. “…Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me”.  

viernes, 1 de febrero de 2013

A new error

(I'm obsessed with this movie)

I clutched the cigarette until my fingers were sore. Unzipping my dress, we started talking about the simplicity of what we were going to do. In a flash, I was standing in front of my bed, in front of him ‘au naturel’, defenseless, utterly vulnerable. He looked at me, touched my inner thighs and said that I shouldn’t worry because I’m beautiful. I kept thinking that something’s not right with me; this kind of stuff is not what I usually do. I repeated as he kissed my breasts, “You’re not doing anything wrong”. After a few minutes of arousal I decided to not give a fuck because, what’s the chance of seeing this poor bastard again? He’s gorgeous; has a lovely body, stunning green eyes and wants to fuck me.

 I was too nervous, my hands were jiggly, I felt a knot in my stomach, my mouth dry and I even felt a little queasy. I saw blood coming out of somewhere and thought the worst, but then I felt pain in my arm and I figured he ripped off my crust accidentally. He blushed and said he was really sorry, with blood all over his arms. My bed sheets started to soak on my blood, arm blood. We decided to stop a little and we smoked. I asked him if he had another condom and he said no. I must admit I got a little upset, but then he looked at me with his big shiny eyes and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere”. I panicked, I just wanted him to leave, I don’t want him there at all, not with me, or anywhere near me. He spooned me and I wanted him to leave, I didn’t want any type of affection. He ran his fingers through my body, caressing every inch of me, he was getting excited but I felt like wherever he touched would light up in fire. He was burning me, I felt like I was going to die, I was feeling too anxious. I turned around and wanted to sit on him, but he kissed me; the worst thing he could’ve done. I didn’t want any kisses, or hugs, spooning, caressing, I just wanted him to fuck me, and nothing attached to it. Or maybe we were too drunk. 
 He came in my mouth, we came at the same time and I felt something warm inside me. Now I had a sappy bastard saying he’s sorry with his cum inside me. He threw his long arms around me and repeated a thousand times that he was sorry. I was catatonic; I couldn’t believe my luck, my fucking luck. He hugged me all night and started talking about him, I was bored, bored as fuck. He then decided to light up another joint and get baked as fuck talking about his ex girlfriends and boyfriends; I was disgusted by the cynicism of this guy, he was mushy, emotional, a pot head, and a cynic. I just wanted him to leave so I could curl up in my bed and think about how stupid that was. But instead, we fell asleep and when I woke up he brought me starbucks coffee and an emergency pill for the next day. I can’t believe this asshole; he paid attention to type of coffee I like, he even brought breakfast to bed! I wanted to hurl, too much sweetness, this is fake, this is all fake. After an hour of small talk I told him that he should leave, he asked my phone number. He was sweet, tall and gorgeous, but I wouldn’t be able to hold on to someone so reasonable.

miércoles, 30 de enero de 2013

For Lovers

The one I loved and cherished is dead. She’s buried or cremated in the hands of the most repulsive being that I’ve ever coped with. In a manner of speaking, my ex lover is lying on the hands of death itself. I guess I’m glad she died, in that way I don’t have to actually grieve the loss of my former girlfriend. As I might have to explain, knowing that someone you actually loved and was a person that you basked in happiness is actually stagnant water makes you feel a whole lot less sad.
I yearn those days that expiry wasn’t in sight; being hold by her was one of the most splendid things I’ve felt. At the end it happened what I most feared, the day was absorbed by darkness and my lover on her confusion tagged her file as ‘felo-de-se’.

I like it when you say that you love me

The ataraxis in this insignificant life is finally disclosed; she’d corrupted the core that was constantly rebuilding itself with any stimuli that wanted to leak it. Her voice makes me tremble and shiver in glee whenever I hear it; it’s that sound, that tone and pace that lifts me up when falling into a down whirl of rubbish.
It sort of feels like burning when her fingertips slide into my thighs, like I want to be incinerated and never get back to life, because somehow I found happiness in this mess. It just feels like the right thing, the right moment, the right person to be with, no matter how hard it can be. For the very first time in my meaningless life I think I reached what I call happiness.

miércoles, 10 de octubre de 2012

Septiembre agridulce

Veinticuatro de septiembre, a las diez y media (en adelante).

Ya habíamos dado muchas vueltas, mi gasolina era poca y me daba mucha vergüenza comentarlo. Al fin, decidiste orillarte y decirme que el lugar estaba perdido por ahí y lo más sensato sería regresar al lugar en el que vivías.

Estaba sentada en la computadora, asqueada del tedio diario y de los amigos famélicos, te escribí por la computadora (suena vago y ridículo). Tecleando cada letra, resintiendo lo pasado, saboreando lo añorado, creciste, creciste, creciste y al fin te escribí. Tardaste en contestar y me puse muy nerviosa. La misma sintaxis de siempre, construcción sin igual, aislado, típico, señero y coqueto.

Conduje con un remolino en el estómago, las palmas sudadas y los labios empapados. Las imágenes son vagas y turbias, pero lo que recuerdo me enardece. Consecuentemente repasaba las fotografías de tu cara limpia y hermosa, para recordarme la razón de ir ahí. Compré las cervezas porque siempre creí deberte muchas cosas y quería lucirme con mi nuevo-viejo trabajo. Más remolinos, más sudor, más empapados, más asco, más entraña. Entrando me mostraste el lugar, frío y lúgubre. Nunca te imaginé viviendo en un lugar así, me señalaste la cocina y la “sala” con una sonrisa angustiosa. Al menos sabía que no era la única devorada por los nervios.

 Después de pláticas confusas y seculares, al fin decidimos vernos. El camino hacia Otay es muy confuso y realmente no recuerdo bien el pre-preparativo-de-la-noche-del-veinticuatro. Sólo recuerdo consejos de G, diciéndome las razones por las cuales no debía verte. Indudables, indiscutibles, pero aún así no vacilé esa noche. M hablaba de lo bueno de no tener que llevar preservativos y eso me ponía más nerviosa porque yo no pensaba en situaciones de ese tipo. Exaltada, me atropellaba los pies el mismo desasosiego, me fumaba un cigarro, tras otro, tras otro, tras otro. Busqué el perfume de mis diecisiete, busqué un peinado bonito, busqué un labial adecuado, maquillaje coqueto, algo que las peripecias de mi cuerpo me dejaran usar.

Estúpida, estúpida, estúpida, no dejaba de hablar de las mismas estupideces de la escuela, de mí, de la escuela, de la escuela, del trabajo, de muchas estupideces. Pero no podía dejar de verte, hermosa como siempre. Hablaba y las palabras se tropezaban en mi garganta, haciendo nudos en mi lengua, demorando mi respiración, trastabillando cada latido y con un tifón en el estómago. No quería parpadear para no dejar de ver tus ojos abiertos, medio somnolientos pero igual de magnéticos que siempre. Tus labios pintados rubí, con los bordes despintados por el saboreo de la cerveza. En algún momento dejaste de hablar, cuando te dejé hacerlo, y nos quedamos viendo con las narices bien cerca y tu aroma impregnando mi ropa.

Pensé que iba tarde como siempre, aceleré hasta que mi carro cascabeleó. Miraba el reloj, 5 minutos tarde, 10 minutos tarde, cuando llegué te busqué en el estacionamiento, no estabas. Te marqué y nunca supe dónde estabas. Intenté engañarme y escuchar música para distraer mi cabeza y mi estómago. Nunca engañe a ninguno de los dos porque las nauseas me mataban y la cabeza me estallaba. No podía dejar de olfatearme, de peinarme y peinarme, retoqué más de quince veces mi maquillaje pero no lograba verme perfecta. De pronto te vi, estabas al lado de mí, con una sonrisa a boca cerrada. Sentí como mis pupilas se dilataban y mis hombros se relajaban. Rebusqué y rebusqué pero nunca encontré la razón cuando te dejé ese verano a mis diecisiete.

 (La pesadez se me ha escurrido por las noches, las noches en que no estábamos, ya no soy la de antes y tú tampoco, hay que dejar vivir a los monstruos que poseen nuestros cuerpos)

Te amo, A.

martes, 22 de noviembre de 2011

This heart tastes vinegary

I’m lying in bed and I feel your latency. Somehow, you carved your name in my core and you engraved your fingerprints in my hands. If I look up, all I see are your freckles like a solar stain in my pupils. Is like lucidity is slowly drifting away with the hours spent which now are discolorations or blisters in the room. I’m being bombarded with replicas, voices and emanations. There’s this grief-stricken look that I cannot get rid off and the sickness that my body carries is imperceptibly disgorging my soul out. And just when I think that I’m breaking through the twinge an ambrosial aroma bashes me until I hit rock bottom.

jueves, 13 de octubre de 2011


Ya han pasado años después de tanto dolor. El dolor que laceraba mi diminuto cuerpo hasta llegar a mi corazón y desarmarlo, para acunarlo y sutilmente sedarlo. Cuándo yo le decía a ella que la amaba, que no importaba cuantas pastillas necesitaba para vivir o cuantas veces intentaría lanzarse del tercer piso, yo la seguiría adorando. El problema era que nunca tomó en cuenta lo que le decía, nunca le importó enteramente lo que Carolina de cinco años podía opinar. ¿Qué tanto amor podría dar una niña de cinco años? 

A medida que el tiempo transcurría y se deslizaba de mis crecientes palmas, sentía como no necesitaba decirle que yo estaba ahí para ella. Y poco a poco se fue escurriendo de entre mis dedos, hasta que un día no tan frío ella se fue. Sé que no es fácil recordar promesas, pero duele que no las cumplan. Ella prometió ayudarme con mi carrera, con mis hijos y probables terapias. Cuando se fue pensé que me visitaría más seguido en mis sueños. Creo que olvidó por completo a uno de sus hijos. Mientras la morena se peinaba, yo intentaba ayudarlos a todos. Anestesiar heridas que pudieron tener, dolores que les afligiesen, o tal vez ropa sucia que lavar. Pero de cualquier forma, ella se fue, la pelirroja se fue sin contar todas las manchitas, sin decirle por última vez cuanto la amaba y sentir al fin su último rechazo.

Ahora que te tengo a ti, un pequeño huracán. No entiendo como no pueden amarte y decirte lo que en realidad necesitas escuchar. Al hablar se envuelve un velo de anomalías que revuelan en tu lengua, convirtiéndola en un simple gas. Nada traspasa el velo, nada traspasa el velo que he  creado. Un velo que sella mi contacto con el exterior, y en este capullo sólo existimos. Y si llegamos a morir, sería simplemente justo y exacto. 
Al hablar del supuesto afecto, solo es inmundicia. ¿Cómo puedo decirlo todo?
Hablando de la misma madurez, soy la misma. Soy la misma persona intentando decir lo que siente, acompañada de un compás de comentarios ásperos y sin sentido. 

N o   p u e d o.

¿Y si nos vamos?

Antes de que me dejes, igual que ella.