The worst of me?

We should count it

1 I’m envious

2 I’m envious of the way that your words seem to string together an orchestra for which everyone stands up to create a defining silence of applause. 

3 I’m envious that never to the infinite I could kill my masters in the ashes of my victory, those wicked geniuses, I could never surpass them, always ten steps ahead because they lived another time, lived more and had that extra word. 

4 I’m despicable

5 I’m despicable, as I don’t write for my pleasure as much as I want to, more I do it for the attention, that fleeting love that you give me for a phrase that touches the notes of your soul, that leaves me feeling as if I had eaten ambrose. 

6 I’m the worst

7 I’m the worst because I don’t believe I’m the best, I doubt myself more than you all do. 

8 I’m the worst because I always write when I know there is an audience waiting to hear me butcher these writings, I always battle these beats when I know there are ears waiting to bathe in the blood of my screams. 

9 The worst of me is that there aren’t enough numbers to say it, but there are enough numbers to say why I’m not.

TA.

My finger gets stuck on the delete button, today isn’t a good day to write (lately it never is). It feels too routine and demanding like it no longer has my pleasure but that of a ghost that harasses me to write until my bones have cramps.

So all the writings that I think remain in suspensive dots, because whenever I desire to write I hear the crush of my frustration that turns into anger, and I know what to do, but I don’t want to. Because it has become tedious, it has become a wheel that has lost its appeal, and I’m not saying of quitting, God never that, I have too much life put into this.

It’s more that I need that emotional distance that many have taken with me. I need to get out and remember how the air is like without ink, how the sun shines without a cell and my voice without the echo of the critiques. I need not to hate what passions me because I’m puking every time I try, and I don’t like who I'm turning into, I don’t like to despise the only good thing in me. 

So this is an: “Give me time that I’ll be right back” and “I’m taking five, and then I’ll continue”.

TA.

I love you 

[Probably not the way you want]

But I do

[Most likely not as the world define it]

But I love you

Alive

Broken

Real

Raw

Beautiful

Wicked

Selfish

Docile

Submissive

Destroyer and destructible 

I love you like I don’t know you

I love you as little as I know of you

I love you for the smiles you gave me

I love you for your bonfire scent on my skin

I love you for the smile of death at a funeral 

I love you because we had no name

I love you because I don’t have to say it

I love you for who you are

I love you for who you aren’t

I love you because there aren’t 10 reasons

I love you because loving you would be too much and too little

I love you because you are kind

I love you for the way you break and put yourself back together

I love you because I know your taste and aroma but not your essence

I love you for how the sun shines in your eyes and sleeps in your eyelashes

I love you for how I can’t find an end to this list

But

I don’t love you for how you make me hurt

[And at that I must mark our end]

TA

I’ll give up when my bones turns to dust

I’ll surrender when the referee’s lungs turn to glass. 

I’ll call myself a loser when there isn't any other synonym to build me with.

I’ll be carried away by shame when my eyes stop marking the horizon.

I’ll let myself be abused and mistreated by you until you have no face. 

Because I’ll continue carrying this cross until my thorns have thorns, until my blisters have blood, I’ll not give an air more or less even when the sun retires for the year. 

I’ll keep pushing this rock to the peak to leave you in amazement that you thought that everything that you said, did, created a work of ice. 

When, in truth, all you did was to taught me how to roar like mother nature before all this brazenness, because

I’ll give myself for dead when the grim reaper gives me a kiss and hug. 

I’ll give myself for abandoned when my heart cries tears of sweet water

I’ll give myself as last when my feet betray me. 

I’ll give myself done for when the sea becomes a desert and the desert a sea. 

You would have beaten me when my memory becomes the last thing that holds me.

TA.

Macabre

Don’t love me

(Love me)

Do it with the loaded bullet

The lips painted in blood

The excuses trembling on your tongue

The raw knuckles

Don’t want me

(Pray to me)

Kiss me with your fangs out

Say my name like a guilty plea

Sit on my bones with the intention of murder

Look into my eyes with evil on the prowl

Don’t need me

(Torture me)

Come with your slow walk, whistle, and cigarettes to tell me that you love me while you kiss another

Write odes to my name and choke me with the ashes of it. 

Chase me, stalk me, between streets and make me cross the highway without looking out. 

Praise me 

(Lie to me)

Listen to my voice

Find the loophole

Notice the punch in the sweetness

Cough the alcohol of my smiles

Hasten your walk in a lost pursuit

Stutter pleas

While you watch me eat your heart between joys

TA.

I want to tell you that even in the distance during war between galaxies I hope you’re well I hope that all the damage that you’re not mentioning comes of age That you learn to rely on in bonds thicker than blood of the womb To take a breath and To notice that still after the never ending night light always finds its place.

TA.

Today I was in a storm, of those that when you erase the drops from your face, you think you are erasing your skin because you no longer distinguish between the rain and you.

It’s of those that you laugh because the poodle floods your shoes, and you are grateful that you wore socks and not powder, even though it’s summer and the temperature is higher than you on tiptoe. And it’s of the days that the day is dark, but the clouds turn purple every ten, five, one, second. 

It’s of the days that there are more cars than people and fewer cars than traffic lights, of the days, that our mothers tell us: “Put the kettle on, turn the TV on, cuddle your cat and let the day pass, so you are safe and sound” It’s of the days that door must collect dust. 

But, today I was under the rain passing my wet jacket through my eyes that couldn’t distinguish the sidewalk from the street, I felt like a car without windshields. I felt tired when I had just walked a block because the wind was cutting into the nerves and the drops were tears I never wanted. 

Nevertheless, the weirdness in all was that I felt good, I felt light-footed and with ever-changing music in my mind. I thought about kisses in the rain, umbrellas against the wind, hidden tears in these riots, in hurried steps and jumping into puddles. I felt that I was under the tempest of the world, that nature was screaming: “I EXIST, I STILL EXIST, DON'T FORGET ME” And I listened. I listened to the howling, the pain, the joy, and the courage, I listened to the moisture that clung to my body and welcomed me and begged for salvation. 

I felt it in the wind that was the caress that I could never describe beyond company, in the leaves that decorated my hair as if they called me from its roots. I felt that when I was in the midst of the storm I did not look for romance because she was pain.

TA.

My wish is that you never forget that your existence is one in billions, that your name thousands have it, but no one pronounces your vowels as you do.

My biggest gift to you is that you never forget that brown eyes are like dandelions, yet all the routes, paths, avenues, and adventures that guide you are the colour of the earth and tell me what colour is that?

My hope is for you to be naughty, like the kid on her first Christmas that stays after midnight waiting to discover the magic because your heart is going ba da bump for wanting to see that amazing act and I want you to have a night with an accomplice that makes your heart go bu rump for being your new first Christmas. 

My faith is that when we separate, forget ourselves and get lost, you’ll be a giraffe and keep your head up, that you’ll be of shoulders without the weight of the world and can kiss your own tears away, that you learn to say no and choose yourself every time that hurts saying goodbye to them. 

I have this promise, this knowledge, that in all the universes, times, and memories you are unique and irreplaceable, and you must never forget that this is worth more than all the gold, diamonds, and stars in all the worlds.

TA.

What a son of a bitch you are

You play with my heart like a guitar without strings

You play as if it was kindergarten and all the cards were at your disposal

God

I hate you more than the hate that God says to have for Samael

Because you are, I dare say, more tempting than him

And you’re a corruption for which I’ll still go to recovery for

Because

What son of a bitch you are

With that you always smile at me with those words that leave my knees like jelly and I wouldn’t want to deny that I love you for the thousands of smiles that you have given me. 

But neither can I deny that you make my joints ache in the way that they have started to crack from so many expectations that you like to destroy, and I like like like you, but I can’t can’t can’t because if I concede I’ll crumble. 

So, what a son of a bitch you are because you are so marvelous that I leave you my heart without a doubt.

TA.