Restructure

So here I stare at my screen once again trying to make sense why I decided to start a blog in the first place. I read over my first post and think to myself yeah well that was a dandy idea but I don’t really think I have anything to say. For some reason, that desire to tell my story simply vanished; disappeared along with every scar of self proclaimed voice that I haven’t really found. I don’t even think I’ve started looking for it.
But that’s the thing. I deny myself the chance to write down the ideas and feelings that buzz back and forth through my mind and drill the back of it at such a pace that I’m surprised I don’t have a crater at the back of my head. I deny them because writing them down makes them real; my specialty if throwing my feelings away when they become too much. Wash down the memories by pretending they don’t exist. I lie to myself when I say, “Today is the day that I’ll narrate the joys or the tumbles of my week,” simply because I convince myself mid post that my words aren’t worth it or that if I complain too much I’ll turn into my mother.
The thing is, today actually is that day. Today I restructure this thing to something that looks more like something that will look more like journal than anything else, my poetry will still be here, it’ll just be moved to a different tab. I apologize to those who might find this recount of my days as boring, and to my family because they’ll pretty much be fucked over because of this. I also apologize to everyone I mention. You’ll all a part of my life, and I know people will get hurt along the way, but this is my story: dysfunctional family included. The fact that so many of the people I know, know about this site probably won’t help either.
Oh well.
Here goes
Get ready for useless stories every Sunday at around 5

Vent

I haven’t vented for a while and it’s really starting to get to me. This addiction of self-inflicting emotional pain is really getting out of hand and it’s all thanks to (bis surprise) a GUY. I can have my cliche moments once in a while and this is one of them.

I just don’t get it. Do men enjoy twisting the feelings and emotions of women for pleasure? Is it like a sport to them? What is it about driving women towards a downward spiral that they find so exhilarating. I mean seriously, how is having a girl go up and down a horrible emotional roller coaster for about 10 months FUN. Especially a dramatic girl, who’s actually going to get pissed at you because she, oh I don’t know, ACTUALLY FUCKING CARES ABOUT WHAT YOU’RE DOING IN GENERAL AN TO HER. And COME ON, really? The bull crap that you miss her and you want to never loose her. (Well I can’t really call is bull crap I fall for it all the time, but the point is WHY THE FUCK DO YOU SAY THOSE THINGS WHEN YOU REALLY DON’T CARE). And don’t come with the excuse that you feel sorry for her, because if you did you would have walked away when you fought, when she told you she wanted nothing to do with you, but you didn’t. You didn’t walk away. Why the fuck did you stay. You honestly don’t think it’s best for the mental health of the both of you for you to just leave her alone. She’s strong, she can get through it. But you won’t, and neither will she. None of you want to let go because sadly both of you, deep down, VERY DEEP DOWN, care. BUT YOU. Oh you who can only think with that small penis are blinded by a morality you don’t posses are so convinced you have the world on a sting wrapped around your finger that you can get away with having movie night and not paying attention to them. Well you actually succeeded but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again, or maybe it will, or it won’t. Jesus why is this so goddamn complicated. WHY ARE YOU SO COMPLICATED. I’m actually trying to keep this as simple as I can but it’s hard, SO HARD because you except things to be fine. I’m not ok with “fine”. I don’t like “fine”. I want simple no baggage, happy go lucky, with normal *insert some socially acceptable label here* fights and not being terrified of kissing you or actually fucking you because there would be no moral implications involved.

 

I want my best friend back. All of him. And a little more. And I won’t ever get it. Because. He. Is. A. Fucking. Idiot

Didn’t take me so long to crack this time.

Kissing a Fool

How lost must I be that you have me going back to the one thing I swore I would repress form my lips and mind entirely

Maybe it’s better to stay in a dry spill than go back to the torturous task of an art that has been so played out.

I mean it was played out when it was written out 154 times

Yet here I am trying to reiterate what has always been stated in iambic pentameter

In rhyme

In kids poems

In erotic literature

There’s just nothing new to say about the time consuming, death eating, fucking plain messed feeling up that builds up inside me when I see you, when I think about you, when you hold my hand and kiss my neck

Because it’s all been said before

It’s not new to want to rip apart every memory because so help me God even the happy ones make me feel like there’s nothing to hold on to

Because they’re an echo of doubt

They’re a sad excuse of a deranged version of a fairy tail that I can’t help but find in every book I read, every song I hear and every insignificant sentence that simply mean so much to me

Not knowing if you can read between my lines or there’s a subtext in the way you nonchalantly glace at your side when I’ve drifted off into my non-sense once again

And then there’s your confusion

Which confuses me

And confuses you

And then it’s back to me

And then I end up being completely honest about something that I don’t even know if I’m saying correctly because there tends to be a third party nagging at my brain to mix fictional feelings with uncertain truth and makes me bombard the wall you’ve build up to high because you can’t have me being right

At all

Not even about this

The irony being that you’re the one who supposedly feels so sure about himself

You can’t answer the question of what is it you want

Your coward sense of humor and chivalry surpasses your logic

And yet I’m the one who’s complicated

When I’ve managed to put aside my pride and wait for something that you want but doesn’t convince you

Knowing all the same that if the tables were turned you wouldn’t wait for me

Maybe I am crazy

Or just plainly stupid

But I guess you must have been kissing a fool

Dear Karma

Dear Karma,

I am sick and tired. Sick and tired of standing back and forgiving everyone who doesn’t need to be forgiven, of being stepped on, of being shot down. I am sick and tired of seeing everyone else being happy, seeing those who hurt me thrive. I am sick and tired of being ok with settling for less that what I deserve. Haven’t I paid enough for everything I did just about a year ago? What is it karma? You gonna throw things at me till I crack? Well guess what, YOU WON, I’ve had it, and I’ve cracked.

News flash you cosmic piece of worthless belief, I don’t think it’s fair that those who hurt me get to be happy after doing everything that they did, and that I’m still paying for hurting him. I know I hurt him, jeez, every person on the planet knows I still feel like shit, and yet I haven’t gotten my chance to redeem myself, to show that I’ve changed. I can’t seem to catch a fucking break in a world where, honestly, the only thing I have going for me is that I was born into lucky family, who in retrospect isn’t even that lucky because I have to deal with two 5 year olds who happen to be my parents.  And it’s not lucky anyway because I feel like shit for having what I have, it’s like a cursed label, but I’m getting side tracked here.

I honestly need a break. I want to be more than content with where I’m at, I want to actually be happy about something, not just be happy simply because I still have a shred of my sanity. So here I am begging you, me the proud midget who never asks for anything is begging YOU the bitch of the royal superstitious mindset TO GIVE ME A BREAK. It can be a simple week where my love life, sport life and academic life just seem to fall into place, and then you can go back to your malicious ways.

And it’s not just me. I know people who are so dead inside because of you that they have lost all faith in anything ever getting better. I know people who because of you, have gotten much more than what they had coming. It’s like you enjoy prying on the already messed up to drive them deeper into their madness so they can keep fucking up and you can keep doing what you do best: screwing people over.

Honestly, you either need to get your act together or leave me the hell alone.

Oh and tell your friend destiny that she is more of a bitch than you because after all that I’ve done defending her and believing in her and what not, she’s jut put me in a plan that my mother doesn’t agree with, and it’s just really messing things up for me.

With great loathing,

The hopeless romantic

 

 

 

P.S. If you decide to build up a storm when my Syracuse application is being reviewed and I happen to not get in, I will find a way to annihilate you because that would be just going to far.

 

El diablo cajuelo que me atormenta

“Porque nadie se tiene que dar cuenta”, 

He said with that wicked smile,

That got me every time, 

And melted me away,

Como burbujas en una pecera,

Que desaparecen mientras te ahogas. 

And he keeps me down, 

Doesn’t let me slip away,

Making me believe that I was safe between el merengue, 

Y el suspiro,

Not realising that I didn’t matter.

Never did.

Not to him.

My carnaval un 27, 

Became el diablo cajuelo que me atormenta,

Cause you pull me in with your color,

And power,

But scare me with it just the same. 

Y si te veo en La Vega corro,

Cause I can’t take another blow. 

So I loose myself in the rum,

Y escucho una bachata en tu honor, 

Cause your memory I can’t let go of.

From childhood comparsas,

To movies en el malecón.

From stolen kisses that felt right, 

To intentions that felt wrong. 

And those secret glances en La Romana 

That let me forget I was raised in la Pedro Enrrique, 

And reminded me that I’m more that who I seem to be,

But made me forget that who I was, and hope to sill be is strong

All on my own. 

 

Pain is relative

Dedication: To my fading self worth

 

Pain in relative

And as it burns through your memories

It becomes a part of you

A scar that you know like the back of your hand

Chemical burn that you learned to caress

And is always there when you’re alone

Cause the skin is so vile

And the scar is so great

That no one will want to hold you with your crippled emotions

And the solution would be to deal with it like the dead

Going back to those few moments

Very few unforgotten smiles an whispers

But you think it’d be best to deal with it like the living

It’s the solution of the strong

Because you have to be stronger

You can’t let the burning desire

Of crashing into vice consume you

So you deal with it like the living

Having it square in the face

As a reminder

A reminder that redemption won’t save you

And damnation is imminent

Damnation caused by your desires to be

And live in a way you believed to be beautiful

But in fact is just a tunnel thats getting narrower

And there’s no way out of it

So you drown in the vinegar at the end of it

To nurture

To feel numb

To not care

And then, you’re strong

In this context “strong” meaning empty

Cause you’ve hit rock bottom

Congratulations

No one can ever hurt you again

Revolution of the Hopeless Romantics

As I take a stroll down memory lane 

I run into the corner of nostalgia and broken hearts 

And run into the ghost of the past 

That leads me down three sharp turns 

And I end up un the end of Bull Shit Ave.

Right where it meets with Honesty Hour Street 

I’m faced with a huge cement bunker 

At the top in huge letters it says

“Institute of higher love”

I walk right up to it high and mighty 

With my heart on my sleeve 

And my dignity hanging by a thread 

Holding on to my independence

Can’t loose it in the mind games 

Can’t loose myself in the secret glances 

Or in the hand holding 

Or in the full words with empty meanings 

I can’t loose myself 

Cause I’m burning this place down 

From the inside 

And watching the false hope and promises of all the aching hearts 

Burn up in the smoke of the revolution  

Reality Check

There is one reason I truly hate TV and cinema: their romance stories.

It aggravates me how those talented writers from hell come up with the most perfect story lines and scripts, and leave girls like me with preconceived ideas about a type of love that can only be found in fiction. The reality of it is, romance in dead and so are those extravagant acts of love that came along with it. Now a days, if a guy decided to order take out after sex is a romantic act that’s supposed to woo us away; and the idea of a guy chasing down a plane with a motorcycle and asking the love of his life to marry him is so far fetched that only a teen drama writer could think it up (I actually feel pathetic wishing it would happen to me).

The reality of everything is, that if you fall in love everything will blow to pieces. If you’re not in the relationship with the person, you’ll always be waiting for it to be like the movies. That big realization that your supposed to be together, which usually happens when one or the other is about to leave town, or marry someone, or die. Then, miraculously the other person makes it in time and no one leaves town, they marry each other, and no one dies. If you are together, then the girl will always be waiting for those big affectionate details that we all read about; she will be highly disappointed to realize that those big affectionate details will never happen because well, all great romances are written by women, and men have no sense of what actual wooing is.

I hate it when my mind goes all pessimistic on love – I love love – It’s just that I’m tired of thinking that it’s like the movies and books and shows I see. Even if two people are perfect for each other, that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen (and no amount of chocolate or alcohol can fix that, trust me). Even if things seem like their “meant to be” and everything feels perfect, doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen. And even if you can actually imagine being with the person, it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.

Sometimes I wish I could write my own love stories and watch them come true before my eyes, words aren’t that powerful I guess.

I’ll be just fine

So summer is pretty much over, and that’s a bust. And yes, yes I know I haven’t posted a single thing all summer, I’ve been busy that’s all.

With what exactly you might wonder?

Well, actually having a life for once without having my every move I make be handled with the greatest care by my loving mother.

I actually got to date someone! I hadn’t been on a date since my breakup last summer, and it reminded me why I don’t date in the first place.

It also confirmed that there are some men out there who don’t only want to get physical, or just won’t at all; who would actually want them is beyond me, but that’s just my opinion. Don’t get me wrong, the guy was sweet and cared for me, but I think by the end of our not so steamy month together, I almost went into a diabetic coma.

What can I say, I don’t do sweet cliches and I do think the physical component is somewhat important. Ok, maybe very important.

Look at me I’m even sounding like a guy now.

The highlight of my summer though, I would have to say was actually two things. One, writing my ass of in class (yes I took classes in the summer, judge me) and realizing that, when I graduate, I’m gonna be just fine shipping myself to college. I might even be happier than what I am now.

To be honest I miss my tiny dorm room – even though it was the size of my bathroom – and all the conversation that went on in it. They went from mindless babber to actual moral decisions.

You see, a friend of mine broke up with his girlfriend because he fell for one of the girls at my dorm. She put up a fight, and we she finally gave in, when he finally got her, he cheated. I honestly think I’ve never had such a deep discussion with a guy in my bed and not have it turn into something else.

Another conversation happened one night at about two am. It was with one of the girls in my suite. She was heartbroken because her boyfriend had just decided to breakup with her, and the only person she knew she could talk to was me. I was touched at the thought that this girl I’ve known for only two weeks could trust me with such personal issues.

I became close to people – really close – for the first time in a long time. I guess living with the same crowd for a month does that.

That experience I truly believe can only happen in dorms and college, when we are all flung into each other and pretty much need to build those relationships ASAP.

I got to meet people along with their ideas and complex views on such simple things, that helped me open my own opinions towards things I never really thought about.

I got to meet the city of Boston, and probably where I’ll be living right after high school, which is coming to an end on June 7, 2014.

A Summer to Remember

Like any teenage girl on her last official summer break -I’m a senior in August – I want this summer to be one that stays in the back of my mind and actually do something with it. I’m leaving for Boston in a few days to give my self “a taste of the college experience and find out what it’s like to be on my own”. As psyched as I am about independence, I want to do so much more. That’s why I’m sending letters to random strangers.

This is a community of writers, and I’m sure every writer here wants their words to actually mean something to someone other than themselves. That’s why I suggest everyone to go to moreloveletters.com

Here, you’ll find requests to from people to write letters to friends and family who need caring words to brighten their spirits and lift their day.

Well, thats enough promo for one post. I do recommend it though.

I can honestly say that finding this site has really given me something to think about and something to do. This is the summer all upcoming seniors are supposed to think about what they want to do with their lives, where they want to apply to go to college, who they want to be. I’ve been in the dilema of sticking to my horses or my pen for many years now, as as much as I love my horses, competing is not going to change the lives of others or do any good to the world.

I’m a writer, expressing my self and putting ideas and opinions out there is what I do. Might as well specialize in it to see if I can make a living of my big mouth and unfiltered pen.