Please tell me what it's like in Heaven.
Is it better?
Are you finally getting what you always desired?
Is everyone there as an angel?
Or is there room to become part of the galaxy?
Can you hear those who love you up there?
Can you show me someday?
Can I really,
Do Anything I wanted
To do what I love,
Just because I love it
When does passion fade?
Can that come back?
Is it natural for that
Passion to go for
I told myself that I could learn
To be content being alone all the time.
I do now.
I told myself that I could prepare for whenever the universe
Says there's no spot for me beside you.
That there's no one to dance to Ahora Tu
Or ”Eyes, Nose, and Lips” to.
That I can learn to live without soulmates if that wasn't for me.
But another part of me aches for that someone.
That someone I can love perfectly imperfect.
Someone I can call my Bachata and Blues.
Someone to argue and later makeup with,
Someone who is willing to put up with my stubbornness
The same as I'm willing to put up with theirs.
For now I think I'm still too young
And too drained.
Originally written July 14.
My grieving for you
Should not be something wrong.
Crying for you should not be an exaggeration.
Should not be overdramatic.
When I started to cry, my feelings were hurt.
I was told that I could not cry for you.
Half a year passed since you left
And I miss you dearly.
Tattoos aren’t labeled as ‘troublemakers’ we see on television.
Tattoos aren’t “non gentleman like” or
“Non lady like.”
Tattoos are permanent body art.
And art have meanings behind them.
Like the person wearing them.
Dispersing for what feels dreadful months.
Nows the time I start using antidepressants.
I thought about them and I might actually need them.
I’m sorry for bringing grief to Lettrs’s feed.
Tell me I’ll be welcomed again.
Lots of love
They think somebody’s forcing venom inside me.
They don’t know the demon is my own figure.
They said I’m young and still learning.
I told myself I should’ve known by now.
Again my vision gets blurred, again my voice cracks mid-sentence.
Again I say “I shouldn’t have come.”
They lose temper.
She wanted to live because self love.
She wanted to die old of age and happily.
She wanted to live because she had no guts.
She wanted to live because she made a deal even before she was born.
In such sort time she evolved into her current form.
She didn’t think the reason was their death because she didn’t want guilt thrown.
Maybe this form is her destined trut...
What do you call...
Making your loved ones satisfied...
By sacrificing your own happiness?
She told me there’s passionate amor and lasting pleasure when we’re together.
She also told me there’s mindless lust and pleasantness when they’re together.
It wasn’t until hours before I broke the silence and I take a gulp of her with all my heart.
“It’s okay. I still love you too.”
Now my mind tortures itself playing the good that could've been
I want to jump off the roof.
Not hoping the jump will kill me,
but more likely injure me and my ''selfless'' attempts
when they are proven to be selfish.
I think about when my brother asked me,
"Do you need to see a doctor Angie?"
I think so. But he didn't know.
"Do you have anxiety?"
I don't think I do. He didn’t hear when I said nothing.
“Do you get depressed?"
I don't know. I think it's all perfect illusions. He didn’t know...
Because I couldn’t tell anyone.
Because I have no strength.
There is no chemical abuse. And there won't be any cocaine snorted.
I have been told that during your twenties, you'll be fucking up the most.
But I've had enough, enough of this fucking up.
I've had enough putting on scenes.
I can't concentrate because my feelings want to pour out.
I can't remember any simple important reminders
Just because my lazy ass won't do it.
I managed to bite back tears. For the first half that is.
Then, I already knew I fucked up when lying.
It wasn't until the work schedules were already mailed
Made me fear it was too late for requesting short vacation off.
Not the vacation was for me, but thats what made my te...
He thought she was the one.
She did love him, but not the same way she uses to.
When they married happily, they divorced happily.
Since then, he has been flying solo and with his best friend of decade.
As soon as his friend came over one night, they both knew the night was Friday and neither felt like going out.
Before they bid goodbye he realized his heart stayed open for his friend who loved him so much.
The friend who backed away a year ago for his happiness.
The one he enjoyed sitting on the couch, eating stuffed crust pizza and Coke late night on the couch.
The one waiting around the cage around his heart.
“I’ll see you next Friday right?”
The friend sm...
Happy Mother’s to AlL Mother’s
Out there even my own.
Feliz Segundo Día De Madres Amma!
I can’t wait to raise my children with the same knowledge and love and wisdom you taught me.
My first night terror came.
Four deaths occurred for unknown reasons.
Returned home greeted by fifty 9” millimeter bullets on the front yard.
All aiming towards and away of me.
My nephew choked almost twice.
My mother left in the dark night with someone faceless.
Face wet before turning her head away one last time.
Bullets were still there like they were my apparition.
Terrified enough buying mediation, isolation, safety in temple.
Which I only committed out of fear.
Discharged and woke, their was fear at the pit of my stomach.
Hope for reality for beautiful evening and absolute feared to death.
I felt as if someone were about to kill me.
He was my inspiration.
And for myself I kept writing.
He became my motivation.
And I kept writing for him.
He is nearly fading.
And my creativity faded.
Dying didn’t seem like the way to go.
Living didn’t seem like the right moment.
What do you do if you don’t want to live anymore?
What do you do if you don’t want to kill yourself?
She decided herself,
“I don’t wanna live no more.”
All these letters I write,
All this passion I put in writing after dark,
That end with the same three affectionate words.
I wish they didn’t exist,
Just like you-most likely don’t exist.
That’s it, that’s all I can do.
They can only take action of what my voice wasn't assigned to.
As I breath daily, I think I can come out the purpose of something.
But now my weakness is that I cry for nothing.
I allow trails speed down my chin
Just because I have no traps to store them behind the lids.
The emotions on my smolder heart is my biggest weakness.
The things done hammered bruises over delicate areas.
The things its heard smothered with hot nicotine on the bruises until it became delirious.
I can cry at anything without any acceptable reason.
When can I freely recite what we say is wrong?
When can I isolate myself w...
He waited holding back strongly the entire drive home leaving his books in the passenger side.
The slamming door thrown by his hands stopped on footsteps that lead to the the attic.
His low budget office.
Her hiding spot.
Her most favorite place.
His that soon became theirs.
Retrieving his favorites and running up.
Triangular, tiny, scrappy, paint chipped off, hidden with framed pictures.
A ravens desk with a Manila lamp and dozens of cleansed decorative used plastic coffee cups.
His office. Her first place to look for him in His
sanctuary. Their sanctuary.
His gaze stops down at the spot stained with clay petite handprints when she tripped from running...
Today’s Self Battle.
Mind: That’s enough for now, you should stop.
Heart: Just a few more.
Mind: Only one full day validation.
Heart: I just feel so lonely.
Mind: You’re nothing but ashes anyway. Let’s get to work.
(Both begin writing.)
“So beautiful in a wedding dress..”
Heart: I’m still in control.
One night she wants to lose herself in love and lust,
Engulfing her in his embrace, pulling her closely.
Ghosting his lips over hers,
teasing the erotica excitement within her.
She wants him with his pepper kisses to cool her burning cheeks.
Heat on the sole of her palm steam his shoulders before moving onto his face.
Keeping her eyes shut each pause for breathing.
Light nibbles on his lip,
Leaving the overdose thoughts twirling around his head.
“Baby, I want to die trapped in your chest. Show you how I love each and every part. If being with you is a crime, I’d accept thousand years of prison life.”
Over one letter he wrote out of his emotions
My eyes wanted to well with a few tears to shed.
Over dozens more dated older really touch spots softly within them.
Over another that had a beautiful photo of trees,
The cracks all over my heart begin crumbling again.
How do you feel what the writer is feeling when you
Are not the writer?
How do you feel any emotion over words from a stranger.
How does the writer use their words to make reader feel what they feel?
How does the writer use words to hope the reader will feel?
How can the writer have the reader hope for more written?
Would you call it obsessive?
What can you say about them?
And how can you ...
True love to her meant a Mother's love, then self love.
Next a love where all beloved family members
Gather around, in the living room, outside, the kitchen
and children playing on top of cloud nine.
Lastly, the true love of a bond that brings, fate, passion, and togetherness. All that with a God.
Her mother still loves her, the family still loves her.
Their last reunion all in black, tossing roses into a
perfect rectangle. Aging gaps unable to be filled.
She continues to miss him especially.
The complete self love is either lost or was never really there.
Her heart isn't worthy enough to gift, and everything that was with God had all gone sour. Much ...
She admits every time,
as she reads them every day...
She fell in love with his words.
Losing two loves of her life
In less than six months.
She woke up today.
And she felt dead...
And she wished to remain asleep
That never used to happen before...
Mi Tía Rosy,
Perdón por no a verte en tus segundos finales.
Perdón por no llorar suficiente lagrimas.
Mis recuerdos para ti no son suficientes pero sigues en mi alma.
Ahora no tengo nadie que me consuela el corazón.
Me odia más a mi rotado corazón por a doler ahora por ti.
It’s not fair.
No quiero vivir ahora.
Quiero estar con ustedes.
She keeps getting kicked around.
She keeps finding bruises in a place she is never able to touch.
She keeps pulling herself up for Earth is still moving and man is still breathing.
She’s lost her then confidence.
She’s lost her self love.
To where it makes a massive bruise down the middle.
She’s losing vulnerability in her writing.