like it’s not a fleeting feeling.
Holding on, gripping tight,
my fault is that i count on it like it’s certain.
Nothing is for granted,
harder to keep learning that.
Cutting at my own wounds,
like I got paid today for it.
8 cups
The same things
I keep on gripping.
So hard to stay, and I pay such a high price when I leave.
I started making more money just so that it hurts less than last time.
Maybe.
Drinking ages you, well-
so does the fighting and flighting that I won’t put to rest.
It’s me in every one of these situations that I keep wanting to get out of.
And drugs get you high,
only if you’re not down.
Tired of the fight, ¿what can I do differently?
I am still trying to know.
I see it in their eyes, when they are trying to escape reality so bad.
It only pulls you harder into the one you got.
My throat was cursed at birth.
I must rewrite a language I can speak and others understand.
Hyper critical and sensitive to any sharpness.
A mix for destroying the things I love most.
Because somehow I thought loving meant repairing the same old structure until it’s beat enough to endure a storm.
It’s not.
Collecting the same old souvenirs,
acting out so that the lesson is taught,
shooting back at me.
I guess I hoped for forever, scared of being abandoned each time,
my body will not remain and so ¿why would theirs?
I’m trying to love without the distress of knowing it won’t be here when I stand at the grave of what once was.
I’m tryin to appreciate the time we already had.
Drowned myself in avoidance today, so I can sleep tight.
I could be held but I reject the offers all around.
Instead I’ll do it by myself.
I could’ve opened up and allowed myself to be a 528- today I failed.
Falling into the void, going underground.
The pull is real and it’s dark.
Hope I won’t regret it later.
Self forgiveness for the sins,
I shame myself before committing just to guilt myself.
Been here.
I do it out of a weird conditioning of indulging in the sadness.
Get me out of my head and bring me to my body.
The last thing I wrote when I closed my journal and then our paths crossed.
My path with you is something I want to explore before I write you love letters online; I did before, it never alchemized.
It was everyone’s to see, and I never said it myself.
Even when I did, I chocked on the paraphrased- bruising instead.
When you asked me while I was filled up, your words were clear and strong.
I know you’re reading these now, and maybe you’ll stop; But this will remain my blog and “Why wouldn’t I read what you write?” is still the hottest thing I’ve ever heard during the act.
Our patterns keep the score, maybe my favorite truth.
I’ve said it before and I mean it.
It comes and it lingers, we don’t heal alone.
I think we carry our last relationship into the next,
and just like cycles of the planets, they’re not all starting the same day.
Some close before others and they overlap each other.
I move on but I’m patient where I’m still untangling.
My body hides a story, my repeated actions don’t.
Tried and still confronted by.
Tóxica.
I want ownership rights and a chain all around.
Locked myself in your bathroom, the mirror is pointing at me, I’m starting to see the factor- I’m always here with me.
When I see my shadow, I know it’s not whole, but I still played the algorithmic afflicted songs; And now, I’m just sad that the culture is so okay with it- Why do we let pop stars get so down in it?
I drank the beer and tucked myself into your bed.
I’m still going through my suitcase.
I’m not sure what’s truly mine.
My conditioning is more telling than me saying “that’s misogyny!” and your reaction is your own.
I don’t like stereotypes, and I feed some myself.
Learning to be righteous, a performance of the self.
I know you said in a way I’m performing for your gaze.
Do you do it too?
You said we both do.
Learning to be righteous, do it without punishment.
Guilty is what I felt when I liked the pleasure that you gave.
Purity is dual, but I indoctrinate myself,
even when I did not understand it well.
So, with the chains and the attempts to create better philosophies,
I still fall and trip because I realize I’m fed by the World I live in.
Every door I walk, I hope I see it better.
Give me more awareness,
I will open up.
Right now my reflection is hitting wounded crevices,
I performed it in the bathroom, just to let it out.
I consume the fruits my ego craves,
afterwards I get sick of how they made me.
Allow me to unpack,
staring into my own eyes before I strike.
It’s not our love that could kill,
it’s the space I give it.
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