no one can (love me back)

i used to write poems to myself
like they were written from you

you were never able to love me,
the way i loved you

so i stopped writing,
to not make your love feel less
than what i deserved

i should've run

locked in with the keys in my pocket

You are a lacking human,
and so am I.
Our brains
were wired differently.

I'd still like to be strong,
just for you. Just for us,
the broken ones.

I could be in pieces
and yet all of them
would be trying to
hold you together.

Let me kiss your tears goodbye,
I'll lock myself inside your mind
and hug you back to sanity again.

Although I know it's not possible,
I'll try 'till my last breath.

Baby, don't worry about me,
I don't mind
(losing my mind)
(for you).

but i'm not out of the woods

this is to the evil need
for an ending
to all the hurt,

this is to all the ways i was thinking
of letting go

this is to the tears,
that drowned me

i made it

this is to the hands that held my head together,
when i couldn't get a hold of myself

this to the friends that stayed
when even i wanted to leave

this is to the ears that listened,
once a week, for an hour,
once a month, for a new prescription

thank you

words

maybe you took them away,
maybe i gave so much that there was nothing left,
not even for myself

i starved my soul,
to feed you greedy neediness
which i mistook for love

i adjusted my light,
so it wouldn't blind you,
maybe i should
(have blinded you)
maybe it would have saved me
(having blinded you)

now i'm learning to see
(myself)

looking for ways to empty myself

i used to be full of words,
couldn't wait to get them out of my head,
they poured out of my fingers,

until i swallowed them whole,
never letting them go,
burning inside,
burning me alive

until i combusted,
and couldn't hear myself anymore
until i ate them all,
leaving no room for
desire

i'm far from healed

but i'm on my way

to save myself

Rip my heart out, 

eat my heart out.

Swallow it whole, 

C'mon, give it a little room

inside your chest, 

next to yours. 

I can't hold it anymore, 

It's not mine anymore.

i slowly breathe in,

the scent of your chest,

silently hoping for another day.

'cos there it was

your unconscious beauty,

lying on a strangers bed,
between my arms.

Who could think of such glory.

A while ago,

in another universe,

tears bursted in the shower.

and in a fever dream,

I started feeling again.

for me,

it has always been you.

What a pity.

sorrows of good times

How could I forget, when we were young and believed ourselves broken
Whilst being whole and glorious,
living simple lives with superficial pain.  
So lost, we thought found.

How could I forget, when we were young and believed ourselves broken,
And to think how now 
that we are broken, 
we want to believe so bad we are okay.

                                                                                          

The sky was falling, 

And I was falling with it.

It was falling, 

And I was falling for you. 

And while you drowned,

I was starting to breathe.

Starting to breathe you in.

But,

There were not enough ropes

To keep you afloat,

Or save me
 from the free fall. 

Guess we were both destined to die,

The thing was, I was doing it for you.

From the depths.

As far as
my eye could see,
There was only
darkness.

Filling my lungs,
nesting in my chest.
Tying my limbs
to my bed.

Only darkness,
swallowing me whole.
Only darkness.

Ending it all,
never seemed so easy.
The reasons keep on pouring,
filling my cup to the brim.
And I'm wasted on them,
intoxicated for death.

I am strong no more,
I am whole no more.
Every tear is tearing me
apart.

5AM.

And when the night comes crashing down,

I have to pray

to be able

to get up again.

And fight for air, 

With each breath.

Because my brain,

Is overheating.

And the point,
of all this living
Is getting blurry.

Please tell me,

How do you do

To die a little death

Every night

But beg for the chance of life

Every morning?

Tu silencios,

me dejan sorda.

Lo suficiente

como para no escuchar,

las palabras que lanzás

como dagas.

Lo suficiente como para

volver a coser 

todas mis heridas.

Pero a nuvo round, 

nuevo golpe. 

No hay respiro

entre puño y puño.

No existe momento, 

para recuperar el aliento. 

Urge me to live,
after I killed all the light in me
(all the life in me).

Urge me to live,
before my undereyes
match the night sky.

teach me how
to scream 
all this rage
away.

Urge me to breathe,
and to smile,
and even to cry.

Urge me to feel life, 
after I numbed myself
into oblivion.

am I truly alone 

or are you waiting for me, 

as I am waiting for you.

are you dreaming of everything 

and expecting nothing 

form the world,

like 

me?

are you putting on a brave face, 

while your insides burn like a forestfire, 

like 

me?

are you searching for the meaning

of your heart beating, 

and your own breathing.

like

me?

are you drowning at night, 

just to breathe fresh air in the mornings, 

like 

me?

or are you thriving? excited for what it is to come.

deluding yourself 

into believing that you actually matter

in the scheme of things

unlike 

me.

remission

I need to lick my wounds,
cut my stitches,
Rest and be full again.

I need to comb my hair,
wash my face.
Nurse myself to sanity again.

So let me rejoice in my misery,
Nurture my sadness away.
It will be painful to watch,
but it will jump-start me again.

The floor is trembling

and so are you.

Your structure is breaking,

leaving rubble everywhere.

Yet when you look into a mirror, 

you look just the same.

In the scheme of things, 

everybody is moving foward, 

yet you seem stuck on the same place.

But baby,

do not ever forget:

the moon is always the same,

and so are you.

Be brave. 

How many things that you love,

are gonna transform into things

that destroy you?

How many things that you are,

are gonna be the ones that

you end up hating.

How many new excuses are you gonna find,

to despise yourself?

to hurt youself?

to kill the joy within you?

Hace un par de meses atrás, cuando comenzó todo el movimiento de#NiUnaMenos, decidí llamarme al silencio. Decidí ésto porque necesitaba ideológicamente entender el movimiento, porque veía reflejado en las redes sociales las mismas preguntas que yo me hacía, esas preguntas que se volcaban bajo el gran "#NadieMenos". Mi problema radicaba en que veía la legitimidad en la crítica, pero también veía - no, mejor dicho, VIVÍA, la legitimidad del reclamo. Decidí llamarme al silencio porque no me gusta opinar sin saber - o quizás no me gusta no tener la razón, vaya uno a saber.
En estos meses entendí algo que llevo conmigo a cada discusión en la que me encuentro sobre éste tema: una lucha no deslegitima a la otra. Pero para llegar a luchar juntos, para bajar la escalera de la mano, primero tenemos que estar parados en el mismo escalón.
En estos meses entendí que una forma más de machismo radica en hacer sentir culpables a las mujeres por reclamar por sus derechos, reprocharnos calificándonos como egoístas, ventajistas, misándricas. Todo ésto porque nos rehusamos a aceptar una realidad, un día a día en el que debemos tolerar que dejen reducidas a otra bolsa más en un basural.
En estos meses entendí, que si vos no luchas por tus derechos, nadie va a luchar por vos. Estos son mis derechos, mi derecho a estar viva, a estar sana, a ser libre. Durante estos meses viví el discurso de tantas personas que creían que el feminismo era buscar ventaja sobre los hombres, viví el discurso de mucho hombre indignado que la mujer reclamara el porcentaje mínimo de representación en órganos políticos y organismos públicos, se indignan porque queremos que se refleje igualitariamente la composición de la sociedad en los órganos que deciden sobre nuestros derechos, sobre nuestros cuerpos. Mientras ví una Corte Suprema compuesta por 4 hombres y 1 mujer, pero no ví a ningún hombre quejándose por eso. No debe haber juristas buenas, quizás.
En estos meses entendí que va a haber más indignación por una pared pintada que pide justicia a que por una mujer que murió por heridas causadas por una violación; quizás si nos hubierámos encolarizado por igual hoy habría menos víctimas, pero nosotros tenemos la moral selectiva.
Entendí que hay gente que éste grito desesperado al canto de "por favor, no nos maten" lo van a catalogar como la "de moda". Lo van a disminuir porque estamos en tetas. Mientras, nosotras seguimos muriendo. Basta de silencio.

  #VIVASNOSQUEREMOS

W-hole.

Strayed away from the world, 

she stopped caring, 

stopped thinking she had chances. 

Soaked in darkness, 

her soul wasn't able to find a goal, 

for her to keep breathing. 

Her own lonliness was pulling her down, 

into the (w)hole of oblivion. 

Her ominous future awaited, 

for her to wake up.

TBH

She opened her eyes, 

and realized she wasn't happy.

But couldn't let go, 

because she doesn't give up. 

Thank god he did. 

At what time 

Do we stop 

Lifting each other up,

And bringin

Each other

Down?

At what time

Do we start destroying

What made us happy.

When does the line

Get drawn?

With a T from Toxic.

I'm not the one who should tell you to stay.

But stay.

I'm doing all my rights, wrong.

But stay.

I might not get back up,

but stay.

'Cos every goodbye feels like a punch,

And every punch feels like love.

And I can't quite go on.

And this is our ever tragic love story.

We must play-pretend.

Aquel fragor ensordecedor me tomó desprevenida,

El estruendo tenía una dulce combinación de tragedia y realidad,

como si mi cabeza hubiese estallado,

finalmente.

Algo roza mi hombro,

toca mi nuca,

siento presencias y presiones.

Me mira, con sus ojos llenos de odio,

y logro reconocer una silueta,

en el reflejo de su iris...

...bastante parecida a la mía.

Atrapada. Ahogándose.

Try again.

Es increíble como uno puede desarrollar un total y completo miedo a sus palabras.
Aún no encuentro el momento en el que empecé a evadirlas,
el momento en el que, no sólo empecé a evadirme sino a callarme.

Es que mi voz de la conciencia
ya evade hasta el lenguaje de señas.

Estoy atrapada entre las mismas redes de siempre,
solo que ahora sus cuerdas presionan un poco más,
cortan un poco más profundo.

Me encuentro entre la espada y la felicidad,
y aquí estoy, corriendo.

Tengo sed de vivir,
pero lo único que tengo alrededor
es el whiskey del auto-boicot.

Cuando este bajo va a pasar a ser un alti?

D.

I like to look tortured. 

Because I am tortured. 

I like to look happy.

Because I am tortured. 

I am more than the fog. 

This won't get the best of me. 

I am more.

No estaba lista para crecer,
Pero al fin y al cabo,
¿Quién lo está?

La realidad llegó como una cachetada,
Que mi cuerpo no pudo aguantar.

Algún día,
Renaceré de mis cenizas.
Hoy, mientras...
Lamo mis heridas.

Ya renaceré.

Well Will see, won't we?

I hope that, 

some of the things I write (to you)

will eventually fly around the world enough, 

for you to hear them

read them, 

be them.

I hope that, 

one day you could be as infatuated with me, 

as I am with you.

And every possible imaginary encounter, 

that I dreamt of, 

sucks in comparison to the real one.

And maybe, one day, 

my words will travel around the world. 

But you won't want to come looking for me.

And I won't complain.

Alas! 

I hope, 

that 

I haven't just, 

dreamt you.

(Not) Again.

Hey genie, you there? 

Can you listen? 

Could you please set me free, evil genie? 

I want to feel the warm haze of the sun in my neck. 

Because I'm tired of being unhappy. 

 But I can't help myself 

And admitting it it's the first step. 

Right, genie?

The weird type.

She was the definition of tragic,

magic,

and majestic.

She liked Sylvia Plath poems,

because sadness meant purity to her,

and she craved purity.

She liked sleeping with the curtains open, 

just to enjoy the morning light. 

She was the rain, 

and the sun.

But to me, she was a hurricane. 

And I was just latching onto the floor, 

getting the chance to witness her.. 

Cálido.

Pequeños miradas escondidos, 

entre cortinas que acallan.

Y ojos que todo lo dicen, 

a lo largo de un campo de miradas.

Y sonrisas de oreja a oreja, 

mientras nuestros cerebros intentan diferir.

Un apretón de manos, 

cálido como el sol, 

y en el medio, mi corazón..

...frío y traidor. 

Las formas difieren, 

Aunque los corazones son los mismos.

Están latiendo?

O es que no tienen sentido?

Un toque cálido, 

junto a una conexión estelar.

Todo ojo lo vé, 

pero toda voz lo calla.

It may take us years, 

but we will get there. 

And I will get to you. 

I won't promise you a forever 

'cause I do not promise things I can not give. 

But I promise one thing: 

I will fully give myself to you. 

'Cause that's what I do.

The thing about individuality is that you do not have to care. At all. If you want to be whoever you think you are, thats OK. But that's not gonna stop assholes, who think they have a higher right to make fun of your choices, your stories, your fate; that's not gonna change anything. Pull your chin up, and don't be afraid. Fasten your seatbelt, 'cause you are in a hell of a ride.

P.S: At least, you are being happy whilst they are being miserable. 
        And that, my friends, is the biggest win.

Pertenezco al agua, 

a la tierra, 

y por ratos, 

a tí.

Me entrego, 

y me prohíbo. 

Respiro, 

aunque a veces me olvido.

Aunque el mundo, 

sea mío.

Pertenezco al agua, 

a la tierra, 

y por ratos, 

a tí.

I'll take my slit to the grave.

I kissed his neck, 

and his sweet crooked smile

fired up my brain.

Young love is so intense,

that sometimes can burn faster 

than a wildfire.

But the thing is.. 

He lit the fire, 

and left me burning.

Conciencia.

Flip your hair, 

and kiss the golden floor 

you walk upon.

Tic, toc.

Tic, toc.

Don't eat that, 

Do you wanna be noticeable?

Don't.

This is one way trip, 

one egotistical one, 

called fame.

Blame it on the media, 

But at the end, 

you were born to choose.

Did you eat that?

Persígueme, 

durante la lluvia torrencial, 

durante el calor más innegable.

Durante años te he buscado, 

persígueme.

No me dejes marchar, 

porque aunque no lo admito, 

por las noches te necesito.

Te estoy esperando, 

persígueme.

Dr. Maya Angelou - Love Liberates

Love, liberates.

¡Otro feliz día del escritor!

Aunque ya no escriba tanto, ni tan seguido, 

hay algo hermoso en descubrir que las historias en mí cabeza, 

aún no han callado.

Sea que escribas o leas, 

sea que hables o escuches.

Todo el tiempo estamos creando historias.

¡Feliz día del escritor!

Aunque ya no escriba tanto, 
y sueñe menos.
Aunque el suelo no se mueva, 
y aún me sienta inestable.

La latente decepción, 
del hombre que nunca existió, 
no me hace arrepentir.

De los besos que dí, 
De las lagrimas que derramé, 
De los "te amo" que suspiré.

(YO).

En el ring,

las manchas de sangre en el piso, aún están calientes.

En el ring, 

mi cuerpo tendido en la lona, 

está caliente.

Mi respiración entrecortada, 

me aturde.

Pero la pelea no ha terminado, 

y ningún round ha empezado.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

¿Quién es el adversario?

“I want to quit. Not performing, but being a woman altogether. I want to throw my hands in the air, after reading a mean Twitter comment, and say, ‘All right! You got it. You figured me out. I’m not pretty. I’m not thin. I do not deserve to use my voice. I’ll start wearing a burqa and start waiting tables at a pancake house. All my self-worth is based on what you can see.’ But then I think, Fuck that … I am a woman with thoughts and questions and shit to say. I say if I’m beautiful. I say if I’m strong. You will not determine my story — I will.”

- Amy Schumer

Me pierdo en las horas, 

y en la conciencia

de saber que no puedo

parar el curso de mi vida.

Técnicamente.

Los números se suman, 

junto con los meses.

La excusa de ser adolescente, 

la excusa de no entender-me, 

se va poniendo vieja.

Ya no tenemos todo el tiempo del mundo, 

y sin embargo es todo lo que tenemos.

Hace mucho que no escribo.

¿Las emociones se volvieron simples o mi vida demasiado desordenada?

Quizás el hábito de la tristeza, 

se hace difícil de mantener, 

cuando soy tan feliz.

No tengo piedad

por los ajenos,

porque cuando 

yo fui ajena, 

nadie 

me 

tuvo 

piedad a mí.

Aunque,

Ni

yo

me 

tengo

piedad.

↕↕↕↕↕↕↕

Aunque las palabras tenían su significado cotidiano, 

en su boca sonaban más importantes.

Cómo ese primer te amo, y ese último adiós.

No me concentro hace años, 

porque mi cabeza sigue calculando para dos.

Y soy una dividida en mil.

La intensidad que sostenía junto con su mirada, 

podía levitarme, 

Pero todo lo que sube,

eventualmente debe bajar. 

I believe, 

I'm not standing on this ground, 

 breathing this air, 

 smiling all this smiles, 

to fulfill your expectations. 

You're welcome.

Nunca le pidas a un escritor que lea en voz alta sus creaciones,
es como pedirle que diseque su corazón en vivo.
Y perdón si te digo, 

que todo lo que escribo, 

una vez que sale de su nido, 

me parece nocivo.

She was a unfinished song, 
her eyes spoke louder. 
The redness in them, 
buried me.

She meant well, 
but her heart was on her sleeve.
To ready to leave, 
I left her.
Playing dumb - for me - was always easy.