It’s just a bit too late to mend
Old wounds that will not heal
And I’d love to help you out, my dear
If only I could feel
You tilled me oh so deeply, love
Your razor claws, they left me bare
So now I have to thank you, love
‘Cuz as of now, I’ve nothing there
You call me back again for help
With your new affection
But now I’ve lost my depth perception
Skin this thick makes love look shallow [Read more...]
Some days are easy than others
The wind is a constant flow
Sometimes I just want to stare
Admire the motions of vous [Read more...]
It’s the infinite moment. When you know you’ve made a mistake, and all you want to do is take it back. But you can’t. The damage is done.
………….The infinite moment. It’s disbelief at first. Acceptance slowly washes over you like a rising tide, and as it rises, it gets harder to breathe. You feel like your drowning, but there’s no panic. Because for that airless moment, you really wish you really would stop breathing. You pray for it even. But the moment passes and you inhale. And as seconds unfold, you witness a nightmare come true.
…………..Disbelief makes you question every action you made, every passed event. You deny the truth like it was a lie, and you review everything in your mind over and over, trying to find something to prove it all isn’t real. Over and over, from the beginning…
Chestnuts, roasting on an open fire
Jack Frost nipping at your nose
———-Somewhere across the sea, there is a land not many people know about. It is a land plagued with famine, strife, and sickness. Because of this, the people of the land live very sad lives, devoid of any real meaning. People here never smile, and because of them, the sun never really rises.
———-In this land, where orphans are as plentiful as leaves in the fall, there was a boy. He was an orphan like all the others, yet different in one way. Abandoned as a child, the boy did not know who his parents were; he envied the other children who could at least mourn parents they knew about. The boy always wondered if his parents were really alive. Had they died? Or did they just abandon him? Did they even love him? As far as the boy was concerned, he was alone in the world.
———-Then, one night, the boy had a vision. In the dream, he met an angel: she was a beautiful creature, with wings as white as snow, kind eyes, and a warm smile. The angel said to him, “Come join me in the land above the sky.” For once, he felt warm; for once, he felt safe; for once, he felt happy. But then in an instant, her words melted away, and he watched as her image faded into the shadows of his mind. When he awoke, he felt lost, cold, and alone. He needed to find the angel, because he was certain she would love him. He quickly set off on a journey, certain that his desires of warmth and happiness would soon be a reality. [Read more...]
———-Here’s a random point that will be my point. I think it could be said, that really, life is like watching TV. The different things you do are like changing the channel. That’s all life really is, just changing the channel, just changing the channel…
…
1776
Maybe the essay is self indulgent. Everyone knows that writing in italics can make what you write seem deep. And if what you’re writing in italics is too abstract, people will speculate a hidden deeper meaning behind it. Remember: abstraction=art.
…
Find me, fine fellow,
send me your warmth
or whatever it is you carry
behind you.
It is nothing but my arms,
I carry nothing behind me.
Too heavy are the palms that hang
below my waist.
I am numb of the warmth
you ask of me. [Read more...]
Yesterday
I made your favorite,
enchiladas de camaron,
but I sat alone at the table
starring at your plate,
the one with the gold trim,
the one you always ate from,
the one I had to be careful with,
the one that used to be
your grandmother’s
before she died.
The Mickey Mouse salt shaker
is still where you left it,
there is no use for it now,
I can hardly taste
the difference between
salsa fresca and salsa borracha.
Your eyes,
bright and blue,
stare back at me
when I wash the dishes,
when I watch television,
when I go to sleep;
picture frames of you and me.
The old black lady,
that neighbor you never liked,
the house with the pink stripes,
she still walks her white poodle,
waving to catch my attention
when I am trimming
our rose bushes,
“Hello there Damian!
How are you boys doing?”
She forgets
you
are not here anymore,
but how do I forget, lover,
if still I sleep
with your side of the bed empty,
keep filling your side of the closet
with new clothes,
thinking that you
will walk through that door,
throw your Mexican boots
on the ground
and walk into the kitchen
to see what’s cooking.
If I were straight, and my eyes blue,
Then I could have had a life with you.
It would be glorious like the wings of angels.
Yesterday I prayed three Hail Mary’s
So that I wouldn’t go to hell, and more.
I woke with a beaten expression:
A dream of getting beat for wearing pink.
My brown skin is tattooed on me though,
In me,
And the laughing dead know it.
You littered my path
With your blond curls,
Your long legs. And the eucalyptus
Leaves were crushed by the bottom
Of your bare feet, over and over again.
What of me now?
Like a hummingbird fluttering
Through the blue, I found you.
I sit here all alone, rocking back and fourth,
Imagining what could have been,
And of what it really is; unmatched us.
But I am gay, and my eyes brown,
The idea of you and me drowns.
I am a man that loves other men,
So I will continue waiting for them:
The needing and needing and needing.
Fellow English speakers, I come to you with a dilemma that is rapidly approaching emergency status. As you know, I enjoy criticizing people. Almost equaling my passion for snark is my love for grammatical accuracy. However, I have recently become aware of a situation in which the collision of these two hobbies has produced near-catastrophic results.
I fully understand that we live in a world in which an animated paperclip is a stand-in for a proper educational background. I have come to accept the fact that try as fiercely as I may, I cannot convince cell phone companies to ban texting “lyk3 d1$ WH3R3 NuMb3R$ @r3 73tt3r$”. These are the concessions I have made in the face of technology and rapidly declining literacy. It has appeared that the desecration and pillaging of the English language have focused upon a new target: the adverb. Reading through my Facebook news feed, the pinnacle of trendy minutiae I never cease to loathe, I’ve noticed that very few of my friends enjoy the “-ly” word ending. Instead, they choose to pepper their verbs with modifiers sounding something like this: [Read more...]
The heat always rises in waves here
Do we chant from sunrise to sunset?
A minute to an hour
A day to week
A month to a year
A lifetime
Our voice will echo
We should never greet the moon in silence
What stories will they print
on the blank pages of naïve minds?
Will they tell of the lingering ghosts who
with worn soles once marched, still march?
How long must the ground shift beneath our feet?
Must our bones snap
until our spines are no longer straight?
Must our knuckles bruise
until our fist can no longer clench?
We are stuck in place, blood boiling on crumbling hot pavement
And the bitter smell never fades.
When will their hollow stares no longer evade us?
I wonder
I hope
I march
Our histories and futures are immersed in the dirt
Footprints before us mark the scalp of the Earth
and should we stray from our path,
we only need to look to the maps
drawn on our palms, lived by
our ancestors.
