tengo una relación contigo,
si, contigo que te has ido.
si, con la que nunca está conmigo,
eres fuente de locura
se ha vuelto una tortura
imaginarme haciendo el amor,
construyendo con el vacío la obsesión
no estás pero me peleo,
te exijo en el deseo,
discuto, busco la venganza
aguanto la tardanza
te hago daño,
me siento abandonado
luego acompañado
me incita la ansiedad
te convierto en realidad
te acaricio con tal intensidad
que siento que me arde la piel
eres una obsesión fiel
que me arrebata, tan leal
imbricación fractal
de pensamientos, esperanzas, dolores
dulzura en los sinsabores
ahogándome en la feniletilamina
endorfinas, y dopamina.
ahogándome de ensueño
raquítico destiempo
el tiempo y sus ironías
tridente que se sumía
hasta el punto de no tener salida
un dolor que astilla
las noches con estrellas de mentira
un suspiro que se confunde en la ira
que me descompone que me aleja
que me enoja y me despeja
que debilita y me deja rendido
y nuevamente te pido
un beso desde el altar caído
de mi decadencia, nadie me ha leído
nadie me ve, nadie sabe
cuanta obsesión me cabe
cuánto tardará en acabarme
en rendirme y matarme
o será que ya estoy muerto
y no soy más que un recuerdo
que nadie tiene, y menos tú tan lejana
tan imposible, tan extraña,
tan recordada, tan inalcanzable,
tan mía imponderable,
tan mía en esta relación
que se incuba en la imaginación
donde te amo y me peleo
donde te odio y te deseo
donde me perdí por un beso.

Novia por un día

Caminaba solo… alrededor bailaba
el karma juguetón
la musa de la ansiedad
la musa de su soledad
se despidió.

No le dio tiempo de enojarse
Para que, no supo despojarse
de su amor, fue un sabotaje
desde que inició,  promesas recibió
alimentadas de autoengaño
Que lindo hubiera sido… si hubiera sido

Al menos el cuaderno se cerró
Hace tiempo que lo dejó
Abandonado , esperando, esperando…
La musa del cuento,  la musa del relato,
Del poema, del deseo
Celofán del ensueño
La musa que prometía
La musa que no cumplía

Tomo el teléfono diciendo
Basta de tonterías
Me rento una novia linda
Caminaba solo… el karma le hablo
Y se compró novia por un día

The wrong shell

The picture of you old, on the screen,
first love memories sitting in front of me,
in my mind.
Your hair was playing to cover your eyes;
remember that restaurant?
Me?  I can’t forget that smile,
a future surrounded by the past.
It’s gone, swallowed by all those hours
and many of my mistakes.
Jokes in the doings of fate…
Should I have embraced that first time
that was never sealed with a kiss?
Should I have stayed without the tenderness,
the bliss of touching your skin?,
It was denied by age, by wrongful events.
Can love be strange enough
that wouldn’t demand one caress
or many for that matter? 
Your picture of many seasons on another place
The same smile,
the same eyes,
the same everything,
but not the same face.
Not the same feeling,
but a yearning that wanders
“what if?”
Maybe it is because love is or was bored stiff,
I see you on the screen…
Should I type “How have you been?
Did you found happiness?” 
That kiss that never was
took a piece of me, and a quest
begun,  “what if”  “what if” “what if” 
A brain misplaced.
We were buddies and not sweat hearts.
How could I have guessed
that you were trapped in the opposite shell?

Angel loan

She filled my days
She came to me lent by angels
never to be mine,
a loan of lively hope

Of this heavenly gift
I have no words to portray
young girl, young lady, young woman
time went by like a lightning ray

It seems like yesterday
when I heard her sing, only once
she was embarrassed, I was proud
mosaic memories of her smile

when she turned fifteen
I taught her how to drive
I was a nervous wreck
But her laughter eased my fears

she used to dance with a silly face
swinging her hips like “I told you so”
Her laughter soothed my doubts
And in those moments my troubles were gone

Now she is grown
opening her wings preparing to fly
she will go to someone else’s land
and then, in silence
watching the moon,
I will hear her laughs in my soul
for she is an angel on loan

A poem written by a friend

Child abuse

by mactownlady

my name is bethy
i am three
my eyes are swollen
i can not see.
my little feet hurt really bad
its because of the burns of daddys cigar ash
i'm a bad little girl, daddy always says.
thats why my butt stays so red.
i press my self against the wall
to try and make it down the hall.
shhh be quiet don't wake daddy!
oh no! i spilt my sippy cup! he's not gonna be
i think the belt....
had left too many whelps.
i heard them say i couldn't take it anymore.
thats why i dropped to the floor.
it doesn't hurt anymore and i feel free because
my name was bethy...
i was three...
that night my daddy murderd me.

trust issues

Fear builds walls of what houses are made of
Some will open the doors to let someone in
Some will close them to keep others away
Some houses don’t have doors


Was it the game,
or this melancholic hesitation?
Liquid touch on the skin,
and the inevitable frustration.

My name is now lost.
They nurtured my pain,
so I escaped from the ordeal
I wasn’t ready to pay

Yes, I must have corrupted
that innocent expectation…
Conned into growing faster,
a maze of misinterpretation.

Disrupted screen philosophers
giving life to one’s darkness
with a pack of lies labyrinth,
only to conceal the madness.

I offered an open heart.
Born with an unwritten mind,
filled with the wisdom of gods
only to be fed by all those lies.

A part of me now understands
why did I lose that basic notion…
Misleading learned truths,
money, power and distinction.

Here I am, trying to feel love,
"not to feel alone" misconception,
overrated search of yet another
spoiled sense of perception.

So, what is it that I want?


I hate.
Frustration in a prayer...

I wish my fists were enough,
I want to challenge life...

(not mine but nature’s)

Have a sense of where things are fair,
but destiny is tough
when hands scratch for cents and dimes
(An illogical god has been sold)

I pray only to self-deceive my impotence.
I can’t understand sickness in the mind
and the roll of jungle law on my land.

True creed remains as an ambivalence
What is good or right?

(The Books were written long before our time)

A contradiction to what now is at hand:
Love = build. Sin = destroy.

(and in between everybody is lost)

So this brings me back to those laws of the jungle...

(more or less nature’s)

Get what you want (need), that which is sold.

(media slaves)

No matter if inside you feel annoyed.
Cover yourself from shame with a golden bangle

(isn’t jewelry dumb, really, what’s it for?)

Happiness is just an invention of fairytales told.

Keep thinking that prestige, money and power are your goal...
And in the process...
get a divorce, cheat, step on others’ toes

(the jungle law)

History now proves that children’s inheritance is to become better than you.
Building destruction is something I can’t stop...



For you

For you I could try to tame the words,
and let a poem grow.
Take a piece of my mind and let you go,
but you will always be in my heart.
Pretty blue eyes.
There is a place for us,
---------- It is where our dream grows,
----- Nobody can take that hope
---- As long as we can feel love