Together for the Night

We could be magical together,
I know that millions before us thought it too,
But I’ve seen it a billion times in my dreams,
My heart only beats fairy dust for you.

This can transcend all my cynicism
That I’ve buried deep down in
the wells of my veins,
Acting like I’m only too happy
to wait for love
When I’ve spent all my life
evading it,
You make me fearless.

I don’t just want to be a smart girl that
might never discover her potential anymore,
Don’t care about impressing everyone,
Don’t care about changing the world,
Perhaps that was never possible for me,
Maybe I was just born to meet you.

And I know that’ll never be enough for me,
But it’s enough right now, in this moment,
The only moment there’ll ever be
Because it’s the only one that matters,
When every nerve ending in my body
is begging for you to be closer,
To encompass all of me,
Teach me what love is for the very first time,
And convince me that this is the only kind there is.



Sometimes it feels like there’s holes in my spinal cord,
Making it hard to sit, to stand, to get out bed,
Something I didn’t use to know took strength,
Until I couldn’t do it, until I looked at the ceiling,
Thought this was enough because it was all I could handle
And if this was the last thing I saw before I died,
Then I would take it and thank God for His mercy.

But it wasn’t enough, because it’ll never be enough,
A hundred life times and my tongue would still burn
With the ambition to leave this world better than I found it,
Even though I don’t know what better looks like,
I could have discovered it, seen it a thousand times,
And still long for it, still want to hold it in my hands,
A greed that can never be healed because perfect doesn’t exist.

Someone told me I changed their life,
Their way of looking at the world,
And I felt nothing,
I didn’t know what they meant
When they said they started looking through my eyes,
Because I knew that wasn’t an improvement.

It’s sheer willpower that pulls me out of bed some days,
Allows me to smile at my students and encourage them,
Let’s me talk to my friends and allegedly inspire them,
Read the messages from my ex that told me I saved him,
And wonder what the hell there is that they see in me,
That I can’t see when I look in the mirror,
Because I desperately want to meet the woman people say I am.

I breath in and breathe out and long for this to finally be enough for me,
Because I am so goddamn tired of being a child with a Messiah complex,
I just want someone to encourage, inspire and save me,
And I want to feel like I deserve the comfort that that would bring me.



Summer always means transformation.

Every July, I get used to the idea that I’m one year older. This usually means that I spend time telling myself who I am and who I’m not, and who I want to be. Feel the loss of cells that have died and left my body to join the universe once more, feel old convictions flow out of my brain waves destined to join the memory of foolish, childish thoughts I once had. And with new skin and new thoughts I walk back into the bustle of this metropolitan city I chose to be my home.

There was less introspection this summer. My eyes focused outside of my skin, on other people, meeting hundreds and hundreds of people and falling into a never ending routine. Watching people reach the sky and burn out. Happiness ebbing and flowing, artificial niceties passed around a circle of unlikely dinner mates, the burn of alcohol sliding quickly down my throat again and again and again until, impossibly, it breaks through the barrier on my vocal cords. I see of glimpses of who I am without the fear, without the anxiety, without the depression in the mirror. New hair, new clothes, new diet, new habits…new person? Maybe this is what change really means.

At home once more I urge myself to look at the vibrant colours on my walls, my heart light and my spine relaxed, and I realise something. I realise the gift that this summer’s transformation has brought me: I don’t hate myself anymore. It’s the very gift I have been restlessly waiting for, year after year, ever since I became aware of my own personhood.

And…now what?

I don’t know who I am without the self-hatred. I don’t know who I am when I’m not depressed. I see the face I’ve wanted to see in the mirror for years now and I can hardly believe it. But my eyes also stare at the blank pages and my fingers tremble when I write. I want to think my talent doesn’t come from melancholy thoughts because that’s a cruel fate to attach myself to. There’s a yearning in my chest to make my life matter and it’s stronger than my will to be happy. So I force myself to write, to find a voice I actually want to read, because I want this version of me to stay. I like her. I love her. And I don’t fucking care if you hate her anymore.

I don’t care if you hate me.

I’m awe-stricken by the very fact that I can say that and realise I mean it. Feel the conviction of it beating joyfully in my chest, because this is what I’ve wanted for so long. But I’m scared. I’m scared that I’ll wake up tomorrow and I’ll care again. That I’ll be sad and anxious and dysmorphic and paranoid again. And that I’ll pick up a pen again and feel the words flow out of me, smooth and beautiful once more, and the prison guards in my brain will tell me that this is my sentence and no temporary reprieve in the world can really set me free.

So I urge you, if that happens, don’t fall in love with that version of me. Don’t love the girl that hates herself more than you love me, as I am right now. Because it’s sick and it’s wrong and I don’t want to poison my mind with the idea that people only care when I bare the blackest parts of my beings to the world.

There’s beauty in misery, I know. But I want to think that’s not the only beauty worth admiring.

Guard Demons

The literati mafia

All my old demons are scratching at the door,
The loyal guard dogs I can’t seem to lose,
They’re begging for treats ‘cause they’ve been so good,
I can count on them to remember the same dark roads.

There’s alcohol in my closet and on my tongue again,
A half empty bottle hidden in one of the boots,
Because my mom’s old tricks are my only inheritance,
Haven’t you heard vicious circles were meant to continue?

But I’m not as young as I was last time,
The clock keeps ticking and my heart keeps beating,
And it’s not that I’m out of time but I’m out of patience,
I’m much too old to keep acting like a teenager.

Oh, but the dogs keep barking and I need to feed them,
Before they rip me to shreds and let me bleed out,
Because I can’t be sane and I need to…

Ver la entrada original 100 palabras más



He compared me to a dragonfly
Slipping down, down, down.

Fucking poet. Fucking imbecile.
I’m a motherfucking dragon.

In all the star charts he’s read,
The lines of my hands,
Tarot cards mindlessly strewn,
He didn’t see all the rocks in my path,
The miracle of my continued existence.

I’m afraid of everything, sure,
And stand up to every one of those fears,
The wind makes an impenetrable wall,
That I penetrate every single day,
And never have I ever given up.

My heart beats hard in my chest,
Ambition pushing me higher and higher,
Every obstacle I cross built to defeat me,
And yet I keep slipping up, up, up,
I’ll reach Jupiter by my next birthday.

Sun in Gemini, adaptable like the wind,
Mars in Leo, fire for energy, survival instinct,
The mystic sign clear as day on my hand,
I’m as intuitive as him, probably more,
Soul sensitive to liars and tricksters,
And maybe he was trying to help?
But I know I would have been able to tell.

But my skin’s not that soft anymore,
Threaded together with barbed wire,
Designed to hurt those who aim to wound me,
I know I’m here for a reason, a good one even,
I won’t let anyone make me think otherwise.

Set Him Free

The literati mafia

i lead him,
hands intertwined,
to the lake,
tell him to drink,
that he’ll be
happy once more.

but he won’t,
self-hatred and
self-destruction is
as much an addiction,
as pills washed down
by dark liquor.

addictions blur
the already hazy lines,
is this a craving or
is this a need?
will our hearts
stop beating
without it?
would that be
such a bad thing?

who would i be
if i didn’t hate myself?
who would he be
if he got off the carousel,
and started living life?
would we still be a we?
should we even co-exist?

i tell him to drink,
but he won’t,
and that’s it,
i can’t make him drink,
but that’s not enough,
not for me,
selfishness and
selflessness swirl
together because I
need him to be happy
because he deserves it,
and is that such a crime,
to want to make him
the happiest…

Ver la entrada original 72 palabras más

If Only


Give me a compass
And let it point to my true north,
I’ll climb mountains, swim oceans,
I’ll run marathons, fly spaceships,
I’ll do what it takes if only,
If only;

It doesn’t point here,
To this very spot where I’m sitting,
With tears staining my cheeks,
Feeling a loneliness so tangible
It’s suffocating me as it forces itself
Down my throat and toward my chest,
Seeking a home and somewhere to spread its roots.
If only;

It does point here,
Because it’d be heartbreaking to find out,
That every whispered thought I’ve had is true,
I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time
For everyone in my world I thought loved me,
Everyone I thought would love me back,
No matter what, forever and always, the end,
Love knows no distance too far to overcome,
Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to know me either.
If only;

If only, if only, if only

It fucking breaks when it touches my hands,
Feels all the longing that threatens to split me open,
Recognizes all the pain that people think doesn’t exist,
Because I don’t know how to translate my feelings for them,
I just know that I’m just a memory and they are my world,
Every family I have too far too hug, too foreign to talk to,
Friends scattered around the United States like a scavenger hunt,
A best friend that’s an ocean, a continent and another ocean away,
A love that could-have-been, should-have-been, never-would-have been
Tethered to the same place our potential rests, undisturbed but not forgotten,
And my mother, God, my mother, I hope both of you are together,
She’ll have so many questions for you, I have some of my own,
Like is it my fault I was unable to be at her funeral?
Because it feels unfair and I need someone to blame,
And blaming an entire government feels too much like playing the victim.

If only I could take back every kiss, every hug, every good-bye,
Become a statue in everyone’s life, infallible in its permanence,
If only I could have had the present be enough for me
So people wouldn’t act like I was exchanging them for my future,
If only my belief in my myself didn’t come at such a high price
That I sacrificed saying goodbye to the only person I’m sure loved me.

If only I cared as much as everyone thinks I don’t,
Then maybe this wouldn’t hurt so much.