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...
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.
I only yearn for you, to leave.
To leave now stranger.
To begin with your new life.
To begin a new love of passion
All I hope is that you flee
To a big city,
To New York
Or Chicago maybe.
With your intelligent mind
And focus on being fully satisfied again.
Find something that will satisfy you all your life.
And new romance.
That will take time though.
May it take years for you to be given someone who will truly return the fiery passion you had.
And deserve the beautiful sentences that most people wish for.
Writing new letters of how your yearned journey has perceived you.
How can I dream about you loving my flaws?
How can I hope you’ll learn to love the emotions on my sleeves?
How can I wish for you to show me your tears if I won’t show mine?
How do you see me worthy?
“The same way you love my many flaws. The exact same way you call me ‘Perfectly Imperfect’
To wake up to a notification that he was impressed with my most recent letter.
Makes me feel satisfied as a fan of his months before.
When it shows his name, I know he’s written more.
This time about three.
I only gave two hearts
Because one of his pain made me feel the bit of sentimental.
The eyes that wanted to well with tears over a stranger.
Feeling awful for him.
I know that I, a twenty year old is worse than
A nine and seven year old.
I think I’m only crying because I know I’m not going to change because I realized I can’t.
I think I’m only crying because
I wear my emotions on my sleeves,
I only cry for nothing
Then I willingly take blame on myself and the ashes of my smolder heart.
I only want to write and go to bed to rise early with my loving “drug” before the sun.
There are days where I think I will die of old age....
There are days where I feel like
I will be taken sooner any day now.
That never used to happen before.
Typically my favorite kind of proposals are when both sides propose to each other, like Michael Arden and Andy Mientus.
In another point of my love story,
I’d be the one to propose first,
Whether on a day at work where we met...
Or maybe at home in the dark of the night just us with my dogs.
While I let the dogs outside, he left to where our room was located.
In the room out of nowhere, as he is naturally,
He makes the twentieth very adorable gesture/saying,
He whipped his head over to someone immediately shutting their mouth and eyes widened realizing what I had let slip out. The longer we stood without knowing what to ...
Small Talk With Inner Demon
“What are you going to do?”
“Are you going to cry?”
“Are you going to throw a tantrum?”
“Are you going to commit suicide?”
“Are you going to change someday?”
“...I don’t know.”
“So what are you going to do? You can’t run away. You can’t disperse away. You don’t have the will to end your life. Dying won’t fix anything. You know better than to sell yourself to drug abuse. You shut yourself out forever. What are going to do now?”
She opens up Lettrs.
Originally Written Feb. 15.
In the uninterruptible
My spine shivers sweetly while yours
Tainted by crops of red and scratches.
Drinking long gulps again.
Your teeth nibbling my crook above my collarbone.
Mine wetting your abdomen in languid manner.
Long forgotten is his spell,
Instead the night filled with your pasional lust.
Sitting in the same position again,
But this time your fingers locked around my lower back and I in control.
Feeling your legs quiver.
Just by the way your chest rose up and down rapidly,
Taking several sips again I curl on top of you.
“I still love you..”
Reading the final paragraph of one of his letters, formed a lump in my throat that I had to swallow down.
Although they were meant for a stranger they still touch my heart.
Although they are now something of his past,
It makes me wonder how someone could be cruel enough to take his words like that for granted?