Hands empty

There is some music that seems more valid and plays upon a part of me that isn't as touched by some songs when I listen without earphones. I feel that same dynamic applies to you. In my mind, you are immense, you are perfection, you are that sweet, intensive voice wooing me into the dark, but the reality is that you are the presence that is fleeting, temporary, and resistant to discussing the stickier parts of a relationship. So with the earphones on I romanticize you, slowly sink back into old habits of waiting for you, pleading for you. Thinking of you without the earphones, I see the backlash I have withstood hoping for the paradise you promise. At the end, my hands empty.

I like your presence in my life. It creates this confidence in me and resilience that empowers me to follow my mind. When you fail to re-emerge, I feel that hollowness in the foundation of myself that hinders me. Its like a foundation that I can't build up because the of the missing pieces of you in my life to build on. I look for other pieces to fill in the gaps, to make me semi-complete but they don't fit. At the end, my hands empty.

In a Terrible State

how is the mind capable of such terrible nightmares?

why do people have to be rude and put others down?

why is there disease, dishonesty, and war? 

why are there no simple solutions?

Evidence No. 10

    Of course, great sex and fun times should all lead to the disgusting possession called marriage. This was to be a wedding day. A civil union day actually. This was the great technicality of a girl having a girlfriend. She had awoken that morning to the sound of her heart roaring at a great speed with her breathing chasing after it. She looked at the body next to hers, which lacked any type of precision. The curves and mounds are tanned arms and face with the blotchy whiteness of a tummy, breasts, and feet. 

Evidence No. 19

so much for having any clear
       idea
stringent pauses
              a calm unwanted, for numerous
                   reasons
impartial to feel anything toward anyone
     some standard used and unweighed
cheat evolution of the theory
             culture extinguished

Evidence No. 9

relatively alert and semi-breathing

as according to all plans, someone must pay the price for a solitude existence, today just happens to be you. how unbearable it must be to continually be reaching about the thoughts of someone else's head than your own

Evidence No. 16

I want out of here. I asked, which got me shot down. A lump of pain has now arisen on the left side of my rib cage. That pang of rejection.

Fleeting

     Can a character be an emotional sucker? You know, leaping from body to body, inducing stoic-ness. You've seen it. Its that pause of someone losing their train of thought or gaze of one's eyes into nothing. Now you know, I exist. My presence has saved wars from starting that you don't know about because they never happened. You've also seen me before and mistaken a glimpse of me as a particle floating in your periphery. Say it: my existence is magnificent.
     One of the greatest sources of energy come from those addicted to listening to music as they conjure hopes and dreams, fantasies. The reason people do this as long is because I keep sucking out their aspiration, purged out of their minds into me, my essence. It's most invigorating.

5/25/08, Laredo

Edge

there's something in the dark. parameters
undefinable let streams of thoughts flow ridgeless
seemingly disguised as plausible dreams.

             first to understand with utter abadon
             and cherish in denial
to be part of this in any measure
                       stars don't examine anything for you, you
         examine the stars to learn something, conjure
  simply finding the capacity of a lie is fun
      enough
             the angular of which I don't remember
               infected roots leading to thoughts, squirm
ghastly sounds ring out, the deed is done

The Ocean in Progress

     Sitting on the third floor of the library. The table I'm siting in faces the wall of glass to the outside world. It's the outside world I have to become a part of when I leave this school. I had wandered the shelves while listening to music on my cell phone. The art books caught my eye, grabbed a couple, and sat at this table. Page after page of art that I could never do nor conjure up creating. Tired of the inability, I closed a book, scooted them away from me, and gazed around the room, half searching. Everyone invested in their book, laptop, conversation, homework. Disappointed that nothing inspires me to do anything, I text some random people. A couple text back, and I don't feel the urge to text back.
     The music and looking around, I was cradled in my own little world, a stranger watching unnoticed by others. I want more out of this little world, a private oasis in the chaos of the world, and reopened the books to appreciate that the art is just an extension of that small universe. Page after page, artwork I could look at and wonder about. One book: this man drawing men, masculine, massively masculine men, turns out he was gay. Flipping through, I should have realized it at first glance.
     Looking out from my little world to the activity surrounding me, I notice a guy from my class next to me, the table next to me. He turns to me at the same time. Shocked by the familiar face, my little world with its delicate walls dissolved, and the vulnerability disturbed me. I packed my things and left the library.
     Walking out of the library, I felt so foolish. Just a face, a familiar face crushed the serene feeling that was filling me. I must have blushed realizing how I just panicked. The sunlight blinded me. A bench under a canopy of leaves became the goal. The long wooden bench, I laid down. Well, maybe I can settle and reestablish my little world here. I let the sunlight seep into my skin, absorbing the warmth. Eyes closed, laying down, entombed in sweet heat.
     I hear someone walk up to another bench near me, in front of me. It's the guy from the library, the familiar face. I recover my eyes with my forearm as my heart starts beating quickly. What is he doing here? We've never spoken. He just sat there. I couldn't calm my nerves. He must be able to see my chest rising and falling. I can feel my face heating up.
     And there we were, quiet and unmoving, my heart rattling around and attempting to escape.

Spring 2010, Laredo

Sleep Sweet

     You used to be this sort of golden compass. Sturdy, determined, there. Now you are the remnant of a time I was neurotic and aching to have your complete attention. Did I bury a small piece of you in me that has become in the fabric of me? I must have, although I can't recall the feeling, I suppose I felt it, a bump under skin, judging from my past actions. I remember how it broke me to receive no word from you, no pictures in return. I went mad, walking the street of downtown Austin in trembling sobs, wishing to be acknowledged by you, wanting to feel I did have a connection, a link. Nothing to soothe me, resting on the fumes I could blurt out at you, fall asleep, and feel slightly cured from the rage of rejection and my lovelorn foolishness.
     Now you're still hundreds of miles away, state lines away, rivers away, thousands of trees away...the delirious, chaotic intensity I used to feel has lost itself, tangled and trampled somewhere in the distance. I don't feel it anymore. I can't tell if I turned it off or it left me. In the last conversation, I saw glimpses of the darling man I used to care so deeply for, crave so wildly, and long to hear from. I remember being so determined to prove myself to you, to be as intelligent, determined, sturdy. I couldn't reconcile the man I was crazy about before and the jerk of then. Ultimately, it didn't matter because the sensation wore thin. The liberty of not wondering your opinion, imagining, no standards to meet.
     Now you expect nothing out of this as do I...

9/6/10, Laredo

You are my Shallow Hate

gnawing: why would u agree?

linked: I've messed up. I miss the part of you that was sweet & warm, but I'm also slightly turned on by this "I take no bullshit" part of you. It's concise, terse, and feels like this side of you would be more capable to flip and push me to get what you want. My cooperation would be taken, not given.

gnawing: I don't have time for you, and I don't want to hear you complain abt it.

linked: ok

gnawing: Why do you want me?

linked: You want the shallow reasons? Well, no duh, something about you attracts me. You seem capable and logical, like I tell you often, I lack that. On the level of physical attraction (the shallow part), to me, you seem so exotic. I guess growing up on the border has given me that lust for morenos. The deeper reasons? I feel safe with you. I have no fears that anything will be uncomfortable. It kinda scares me how much I trust you though.

gnawing: wat do u think I think abt ur body?

linked: Idk & that's where I'm scared. Most people are attracted to what they look like, so I'm worried you find me unattractive or worse, repulsive. You don't tell me anything. You make no comments, so in that respect, I don't know why I'm here. So I never ask because i may not like the answer.

gnawing: r u crying?

linked: of course, I'm a girl. I feel vunerable & ugly. You're always so confident & sure. You won't stick your body in front of the camera for me to judge.

gnawing: its too much fun to watch you being tormented like this.

5/22/10, Laredo

Hi,

Bitterness has become a well-known visitor of mine. It won't leave. It sits on my tongue. It pounds on most thoughts, clouds the future, and refuses to vacate. The thought I simmer down to most times is "why can't I be better?" That's the blister I'm faced with. Some days I'm glad to be alive, where mesmerizing things exist like thunderstorms, libraries, music; the next day responsibility appears. I always wanna do and don't do. Nothing has changed in that realm of thinking, walking on the college campus one day to the music building, a sanctuary untouched and still to this day unreachable by me, I realized unless something changed drastically I would always live in want and not ever become satisfied, at least, momentarily.

5/17/10, Laredo

Foreboding

It has that boiling sensation. Did I miss something happening? Is something about to happen? That budding sensation sitting, lingering on the edge of my fingertips. A feeling of knowing and not able to name it. Standing on the ledge of that sudden burst. To stay or go. Maybe this is a remnant of something else...

5/6/10, Laredo

Confession of a Part-time Slave

     Converting air's chemical make-up can be exhausting enough for some people. Something drained out of me. I don't know when. I don't know how.
     Somewhere in me, the sting of piss on tenderized raw skin mixed with a kiss. Somewhere in time, I zoned out while licking his shoes like a puppy. Somewhere along the horizon, I became the foot stool his feet rested upon. Somewhere in the rhythm, I began considering under the desk a safe haven. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, I became.
     The oddity of this all is the person who demeans me this way is the same one urging me to in every other way to be a better person. In the real world, the part of me that has been softened this way pushes the rest of me into an actual form of intelligence. A contradiction, I'm sure, but true for me.
     I miss the games of emotions and power. Rebelling to be forced, force him to act. Buttering him up to get a kiss. All of it, all of it. I miss the anticipation of hearing from him again, the time being coy and sweet, and the demented part of me, highly enjoyed the time of tension and red-blinding rage. Something in me loves the thrill of upsetting the one I want most. The games. The struggle to get back on his good side. My own little game of derailing docile, urging, aiming to have him kiss while he pushes me away., allowing my other thrill of trying to get what I want. The struggle against him in this way...
     The games, the games I like to play, Now I need a playmate. 

2/13/10, Laredo