Posts Tagged ‘pain’

old ways


i was ready
not only to spill the beans
but to spew out bees,
or spoken bullets:

to all my enemies,
flower wreaths
for their early funerals.

I was angry at the world
(and at myself).
a mean thing I became;
a name
not to be called,
a friend
not to be trusted,
a cornered
feral animal
baring my teeth.

i bit the hand that fed me.
i also spit
on the plate i ate from while
i was at it.

but the words
i spoke
carried no truth
behind them.

(they were just heavy on my heart)

it was an ugly facade,
and just this:
a mask
to protect myself
from more pain.

i pricked
others’ skins
so no spear
could prick me:

built an armor
of thorns
to close guard
my heart,
my weary soul
so no foe
(and no friend, unfortunately)
could come near.


stand by me


we laughed in the face of danger,
we rioted,
young wild and free.
we lit our cigarettes
in Molotov cocktails,
we drank ’till the night was day,
the day was night,
the in was out
the end was another beginning.

we labeled this
our adventures,
our experiments.
we called it “living
like there was no tomorrow”,
“rebel yell”,
and excused ourselves
“’cause boys will be boys”.

we, middle children
of white, middle-class, bland parents,
wanted to have “our own story”.

we said that we
were just expressing our individuality,
that this was what molded us,
what made us unique.

thus, we romanticized
our suffering,
thought our mental illnesses,
our emotional traumas
were absolutely necessary:

that this would make us,
in the end,
the next Kerouacs, Poes
and Baudelaires.

we were in the tortuous path
of “finding ourselves”.

we entered our adult lives
not with a foot on the world’s door,
but kamikazeing.

addicted to uppers
and downers,
things to make us,
casual alcoholics,
(not to mention chain-smokers,
pill-poppers and broke)

but “having the time of our
amazing, blessed lives”
on social media,
while on slow-drips
of homeopathic detoxing
to bear the sheer pressure
of being
emotionally unbalanced,
dreamless, jobless,

frail as broken kids.

behind a facade
of cool wayfarer ray-bans,
we were cold-turkeying children,
ego-tripping and jet-setting
to fill bottomless holes
of pure insanity.

’till the first one of us
the one that least deserved,
the one that never asked for it,
the one that picked up our pieces
cleaned puddles of vomit,
took us home, bathed us:

among us,
the one true angel.

thus, we rebuilt.
among the ashes and the stones,
we gathered what we could
from the fire,
and we redid it.


(now is time to be strong
for the harsh times
that are coming.

it is time for me to be your rock
as you were mine)



“grave of the fireflies”

does the lie you hide,
the truth you so vehemently deny,
weight on your mind
as it does in mine?


(have you told anyone?
confessed your sins?
really, tell me…
I’m dying to know)



my bus took a wrong turn today and once again I believed in fate.

due to this mishap, it took me to a parallel street that I haven’t walked down in years. just below the favela, the large avenue extended before me, busy with rush-hour traffic. I crossed amid the cars on a mission… only to find myself at gate 7, the exit where I religiously accompanied you to, night after night, at 10:30 p.m. so home you’d go for the day.

coincidentally, today a mellow, sickeningly sweet melody streamed into my ears through my headphones: a song I don’t seem to know or remember. a powerful memory it brought up, though, as well as goosebumps to my soul, which was already moved.

however, the tree whose trunk I used to be excited to see and to press your body against as I fervently kissed your mouth was, strangely, unlit. a burnout lamp, a blown fuse, I don’t know. all I could see was the bench underneath the heavy canopy of the trees, where we laughed and cried and many times shared hopes, stories and dreams, was also engulfed in the leaves’ shadows, illuminated only by the moon. a sliver of silver shown through the holes, and that was it. I thought it really fitting for the occasion, for just as the path our relationship followed, that little gate that I used to dread seeing (for it meant that we’d have to part ways at last) was also dark.

a security guard standing nearby yawned in his boredom, in slow-motion, as like the years had not really passed, as everything had not really changed – as life was a still of an unchanged past.

little does he know…

I yawned back, by reflex. then followed my way home.

do you think I’d call just to hear you breathe?


I like to believe that
nothing ever happened between us.
I chalk it off
as a really bad dream.

but then it comes.

it comes back to me.
it comes in dreams,
in flashes,
as I stand in line at the bank,
as I sit alone in front of my computer,
as I read a meaningful quote.
it comes back in images behind my eyelids
and floods me,
makes my toes curl
with momentary pleasures and happiness,

a fleeting, passing chill of joy,

only to, moments later, make my mouth cringe
with the sour taste
of regret
and shame (really!),

anguish, disappointment,

and an unstoppable,
bashful shame.

dolce (new year’s eve eve)


another year goes by.
a terrible year
as rated by peers
(and, apparently,
anyone with a sane mind).

the boot to the butt
we give it.
celebrate its departure with champagne
and joyful goodbyes!

but it wasn’t so awful,
this year, in my mind.

heartbreaks are never fun
nor easy,
death of loved ones,
and separations
are always sad.

but so much did we learn
in twenty-fifteen,
so much we discovered
about ourselves,
our souls, our essences.

deep we dug
and there we found
long lost things
-so precious-
that were deeply asleep…

so we woke them up and merrily
we played together,
putting our hearts to good use,
our mind to good thoughts:
we were the best
we could be for all who needed.

and god, we reflected
and pondered much
about our age and humanity.
about society… what all meant.
and as iron sharpens iron,
so did we sharpen one another,
embraced one another.

so, a selfish year it wasn’t,
for much kindness we found
to give when others needed,
many hugs we shared
when the night was dark
and tears were abundant.
much close we stood
when the bomb blasted
in the perimeter of our peace.

together we stood
in the eye of the hurricane
and that was beautiful;
it was a lesson learned
in the direst of times,
a message that resonated
even when the air was heavy,
even when the world was heavy
with the weight of its people’s hearts.

we fought a war and we won.

so may another year come
[maybe with slightly lighter learning,
one that doesn’t feel like we’ve been punching knives],
bringing the sweetness that comes
from learning to be a different person,
a better person,
that is alone but not lonely,
that raised oneself but trusts others,
that faces troubles with an open chest,
that sheds old skin to be born anew,
that burns necessary bridges,
expelling bad people from the spirit’s branches
and that is,
at ease with oneself.

realization #4


It seems I am no longer able to enjoy the mixtape that I made for you.

the Bukowski hour


when I was a child,
I heard that my uncle was an alcoholic.
at first, I didn’t know the meaning
of the word alcoholic
so I asked my mom
and she pointed out,
on the way to school,
the old men on the bar,
chests bare,
swollen hands, red faces,
drinking shots of hard liquor,
8 AM in the morning.

so, that was my definition
of an alcoholic,
formed at the tender age of 11.

little did I know
about alcoholics
someone goes away,
someone is left behind,
a heart is broken.)
I grew older
and despair was
all we knew,
and relief was
at the end of a bottle.

little did I know
that there are all kinds
of alcoholics
among us.

little did I know
that they can function
and that they live
and breathe
(seemingly normal)
and that not all of them
are at the bar.

little did I know
that you can be
but also
a young-person-with-no-hopes-or-dreams alcoholic,
a poser-grad-student-that-wants-to-be-a-poet alcoholic,
a little-pick-me-up-in-the-morning alcoholic,
a can’t-deal-properly-with-trauma-and-won’t-find-help alcoholic,
a whiskey-in-the-coffee-before-work alcoholic,
a won’t-go-there-if-there-isn’t-booze alcoholic,
a ruining-family-reunions alcoholic,
a burns-all-bridges alcoholic,
a takes-no-prisoners alcoholic.

little did I know.
little do I know.

316th day of misery


I just crave a human touch



you should know that we are not normal natural creatures. you should know that we may speak animatedly, but that we live inside our heads, creating illusions, and are constantly living among our fictions. you should know that that’s why we seem childish at times, serious on others, and often look aloof in our reserved moments. you should know that we project our fantasies and our desires on people in these incredibly cinematic ways and that we won’t accept anything below the standards we’ve created, even though reality never lives up to our expectations. you should know that we are dreamers, constantly broody and philosophical, and that us, ourselves, are our own biggest disappointments and frustrations. you should know that we are reckless sometimes, and careless, and that we live for what is intangible, unattainable. you should know that, to us, desiring is most of the fun and that, once we get it, we move to something else, always unsatisfied. you should now that we are vain and fickle and distant for we are forever bored with things. you should know that we get angry and spit bile, vile, only to be sweet on you when you least expect it or when we most need it. you should know that nothing is constant and that even though we love to promise forevers, we fail, we leave – one day of joy, one day of miserable unhappiness.

you should be advised that us, humans, are a very strange folk full of manic hopes and yearnings and that discretion when interacting is advised.