My goal of writing a post every Monday has become a complete failure. What can I say, me and deadlines just don’t mix when it comes to inspiration. I don’t know what is happening to me lately that I can’t get inspired. Maybe it’s because I feel under complete control and words can’t seem to flow through my inner core up to my hands to express the feeling of utter helplessness and fear of simply thinking. That, or I’m simply coming down with a heavy does of seniortis and I have no interest other than Netflix, and that’s not a very good source of inspiration.
But seriously, I feel straight out of the book 1984 where even having thoughts that are remotely out of line are punished. I can’t have a conversation with someone without being careful with how I word things because I might be taped. Psychological trauma has forced me to think things and say things I wouldn’t say otherwise, to act differently. As I write this post I’m terrified that it might come back to haunt me, but I have to figure out if someone she has found my one true escape. I do realize all this sounds outlandish, straight out of a bad suspense movie, but I can’t help but feel my heart and opinions being mangled by the one person who swore would protect them. Screw healthy formation, if you want someone to follow your set opinion as to how they should act, make them fear their own existence.
It’s become such a pull on me that I’m afraid to fall in love, because I know no one will ever be good enough, no one will ever bring back the sense of safety that she’s taken away.
It’s no joke that as I type these words my heart races in utter anxiety that after this post I’ll be annexed from my first amendment right.
“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.
Not to him.
My carnaval un 27,
Became el diablo cajuelo que me atormenta,
Cause you pull me in with your color,
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.
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 feel numb
To not care
And then, you’re strong
In this context “strong” meaning empty
Cause you’ve hit rock bottom
No one can ever hurt you again
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
It’s not every night that one of your best friends calls you to tell you he has a gambling problem.
I picked up my cell just like any other night, usual phone call from someone I consider to be my older brother. He didn’t even say hello and just blutered out a hasted phrase, “I have a gambling problem and I just lost everything I had left.” I’ve never felt my heart sink so low so fast, and not only because of his problem, but because I found no words to say. That had to be the first time that I didn’t – and I still don’t – have any advice to say to someone I care about in regards to facing their problem, and the frustration is unbearable. Yes, he is an idiot and yes, he brought this on himself because he has no reason as to why he would need to gamble pretty much his life, but he did. And I can’t do anything about it other than worry.
There is no feeling that compares to hearing genuine fear on the other side of a phone line. It’s kind of feeling chills down the spine, but with a sinister connotation and a taunting from every hair that raises from the neck that seems to laugh and say “There’s no hope for him anyway so why do you even care?” Unfortunately I can’t bring myself to not stress about his issue, but at the same time I know it’s something he has to deal with on his own.
I’m still shaken by his voice. He’s 18! He shouldn’t be worried about debts to well, certain kinds of people – and I really do hope he exaggerated that phrase of my overactive imagination is getting to me. All I can do is wonder how he fell so far and how the hell can I help to pull him out of something that could end up suffocating him. The saddest part is I know how he fell, sadder than that is that it’s probably my fault as much as any of his douchy friends. He was never one to have much, but all his friends do, and as much as he convinces himself that it doesn’t matter, I know he cares. Apparently betting and gambling was the only logical way for him to make enough money to be on the same level and the asses he calls friends. The things I’ve said to him haven’t helped at all either.
I’m not sure what he got into exactly and I’m scared for him.
And that’s all I can be.
You know how they say life flashes before your eyes right before death? Well today my life in school flashed before by eyes when I walked in as a senior. I really do hope that this does not mean that senior year will be the death of me.
Maybe, it’s the death of my life as just a child, now I’m stepping up to being a child with just a bit more on her plate. Maybe it’s the death of my indecision, considering I have to have a decision on pretty much my life in about a month. Or maybe, it’s just the death of me because I’m pretty much going to drown in all the work I’m going to have.
Or maybe I should just murder all my horrible thoughts right here and look at my next year in a positive manner!
Yeah well, maybe not.
Fear makes me think of the worse, so when the worse doesn’t happen, I’m happy with what I get. Just a little fun fact about me and my self-content trick.
All I know is, I’m a senior today, in three months I’m 18, in 4 my applications will be sent, in about 5 or 6 I’ll know where I’m going to college and after that well
Welcome to the resurrection