Can one become a bad writer?

I’m at lantern light without nails and purple lips, thinking in this fear that haunts me every time I read myself. 

Can I be the first worst writer of all time?

The faker of my time?

The scammer?

Maybe while everyone evolves into greatness, I regress towards stupidity

It's possible, we are human beings

It wouldn't be the first time 

Nor the last

It's written that in the balance there must be a disgrace, and it may be me 

Perhaps my doubt, which is my fear, is correct

I wasn't selected by the Gods, I wasn't given the gift, nor blessed in the name of the Father or the Mother, I was a beggar that mutilated here and there. 

It's possible that the question of:

Can I get worse every year?

Has an affirmative as an answer because it can't be be be that every time I read myself I feel that I’m reading a sentence.

TA.

It's a secret, but I believe our bones were made to meet:

When I sleep my back always feels hollow, my feet feel awkward and my lips feel blue. 

Because you see, I have this insane theory that you are a puzzle that was separated from me at birth. That through seas, land, and time we have been getting lost and found, but now that I can’t see you, nor have you, my soul shouts for you. 

My bones are constantly protesting the lack of your arms around me, my tongue throws tantrums for not knowing how you taste, and my hair becomes straight for not feeling your fingers. 

And it's that my secret of death is that I know in the life that remains in my organs that when my lips find you and kiss you. It will be like the click of the vault, like finding the keys in the pocket of your jacket and like seeing with glasses. 

And that at last, I'll be able to have a restful night because my feet will have a north, my vocabulary will have a name, my eyes will have its landscape and my heart will have its safe haven. 

TA.

It isn’t that I didn’t see you, it's that you didn't tell me

I know it's selfish I know I know I know

But my mind is cross wires

My tongue is a tongue twister

My body is nervous

and everything I say, am and do is a mistake of what I want

So

it isn’t that I didn’t see

Is that I didn’t believe

Because your words were chess rules that were in domino and I didn’t know where we were going with all the ups and downs you gave me.

And a part of me we always know of that almost we were capable of reaching, but your lips were a lagoon where your actions were screams. 

And I don’t want to blame you where I’ve failed, but I want to kill you where I have cried because I could have loved you yet all we weren’t was a fog lost in smoke. 

And it’s easy you could have beaten your chest, bitten my skin, shouted our name, kissed my sins and said: “This we are and this we’ll be” But you choose your riddles that you hoped I solved when you were several broken mirrors

And

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

For not seeing and for seeing

For hearing but not understanding

Because you spoke, yet you were prior to hieroglyphs

you were undiscovered languages

And I could see the faith in your eyes

But feel the uncertainty in your words. 

TA.

My advice for accepting unrequited love:

Beginning: If he loved you, he would be deleting your tears while his lips tremble the apologies that his heart squeezes. He would enumerate in his gaze all the reasons as to why you are D day, ground zero and the ninth wonder. His fingers would caress your hair in search of your brain to tell you that there was never a fault in who you are, but that he was too blind and stubborn in his taste to see your precious love.

Middle: If he wanted you like you on your knees in church praying for him, then he would be with eyes as ravens and bones like monks. He would be reciting poetry from your drunk speech and describing the beauty with which you throw tantrums. He would go mute and deaf for every time that you said goodbye, he would be blind for letting you pass him by while he told you to wait for a second while he left somewhere else. 

Climax: If he saw how you are left breathless and without ways to call him yours, because of how he always leaves you almost there, a call, a text, a friend, and a sister of being his world. He wouldn't be saying until tomorrow, he would be chaining his wrist to yours and saying: “Never leave me, that I fear without you and your shadow” He would be sitting before you in the corner waiting for your return since he longs to not waste a second without your centre. 

Death: If he cared about you, he wouldn’t let you feel the pain of breaking your ribs, cutting your veins, separating your heart from your arteries. So that you can delete his name with fire, as to forget how it was to love someone so breathtaking but so blind.

TA.

Asshole

Go fuck yourself

With your delicate gaze that resembles the key to my vault, and you don’t have to open your mouth to know that you have the questions to what my mind wishes to confess. 

I despise you, I truly do, with your laugh that travels through your fingers to the nerves of my arm and leaves me thinking and fantasizing about how it would be to hear that sound every time that lightning strikes. 

You are the inferno of my humanity with the way your arms travel through your body to crash against mine while you whisper for us to have from five minutes to a lifetime in bed. 

And it’s unfair, it's cursed, bitch, fucker, I hate you, I love you, I despise you, I like you, you are beautiful, you are grotesque, you are everything I ever wanted and the pain I never wanted to name. 

With the way that your scent crosses from your clothes to mine, in the way I love to discover how the blush of our passion travels from your cheeks to your feet, and it's that I hate, hate, etah, etah your slow kisses during dawn that are like a butterfly looking for pollen, travelling from ribs to knees from eyelashes to fingers. 

And how I wish you death and life when I look at you and there isn't any other world that isn’t yours and for which I wish that only you and I exist for all eternity, and you are the worst in this universe, but thank God you are mine.

TA.

You want to know how I broke:

You insisted that I fought, every time that I tried to breathe and compose myself, you only repeated that I had to fight. That I shouldn’t stop because everything had a value so tell me: Where is the value when it’s midnight and my eyes can’t dream?

Explain to me, how is it that I beg you for a hug but you push me to war? You say that I’m almost there, that I might win, and every parent sacrifices their child for a greater good that even they don’t know. 

So please tell me

if you insist that I shouldn’t give up

What do I win?

What is the victory in this march that you keep insisting on? When my bones are tired of feeling the cold of the coffins of my family. 

And, do you want to know why I scream at you while I’m dying?

It’s easy, when I begged you to please see how my lungs were thorns in the soul, that you saw how I spent my fight in the first five hundred fights with you and everyone, which turned me into an illusion of the desert,

you just gave me a speech of how to win while I was looking for air.

TA.

I’m lonely

but I'm not a wolf

I’m rabid

but I'm not a dog

I’m surly

but I'm not a cat

I’m everything

but I'm nothing

and maybe I could explain

but better to avoid the complications

and perhaps you have the mirror to explain myself

but my skin has three new lines

and is that I'm a smile bathed in blood

but you say I'm beautiful and never tragic

so I ask myself if I’m faking it? or is this me?

but you never answer

and I will like to go into a screaming competition so that someone has my echo

but this maze has left me with my shadow and the coldness of the push that never returns

Thus

I’m human

but I'm not alive

TA.