“A definition of love”

I know you lie
But I forget
Isn’t it sweet how we walk on a tightrope
While I ignore that you are several steps ahead
(I am a hundred steps behind)
Isn’t it beautiful how I see it all
And nothing at the same time
I give all I know how to give
While I keep overestimating all that you do
You do
And you do it for me, to me
I believe so
Isn’t it fantastic how wrong I am
I stand
shaking
But I ignore the shaking
As for noticing the tremble is equal to be crushed too soon
Oh, I prefer to do it later
Like real procrastinators do
Honey, you are flawless to me
And I will forgive you unconditionally
And I will forget whatever that makes me suspicious about something being wrong as long as you look at me
I think I love you
But I have never fallen in love before
Oh, not like this
I think I love you
Or is it just that I love seeing everything and nothing at the same time.

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Un año y cinco meses son suficientes

“Adelante”, diría. “Hay espacio para vos ahora, suficiente espacio, y estás invitado a quedarte indefinidamente. No, no hacen faltas las niñerías y obsesionarse con el pasado. El pasado, querido lindo, ya pasó. Ahora, podemos columpiarnos energéticamente en esta habitación, mirarnos a los ojos y simplemente hablar. Que por qué tan simple, dices. Vamos. Yo soy así de simple. Necesitas darte cuenta de una vez, así avanzamos. Y necesitas deshacer la imagen errada que tienes de mí, dejar lo mental al principio y sentir que este segundo te llama a estar aquí.

Oh, sí que te perdono, no lo dudes ni un segundo. Te perdono todo, chico, niño, hombre (¿Te consideras un señor?). Y mientras seamos sinceros, no vas a encontrar nada menos que sonrisas, y paz. Bueno, por lo menos ya sabías que a mí me encanta sonreír cuando estoy (¿Es eso, de hecho, lo que te empujó a estar aquí hoy?)… Hola, chico”.

Nosotros, esta especie.

Somos gente goísta, y con “somos” me refieron a ti, digo, a todos. Somos gente cobarde, y me refiero a ti, digo, a nosotros otra vez. Si me preguntas, te considero un inmaduro, un egoísta, un cobarde, un descuidado arrogante y un inseguro oculto bajo demasiadas capas, justo como me veo a mí misma. Y si me miras, vas a saber que me molesta lo que dices porque no lo dices como a mí me place -Si es que logras que te mantenga la mirada-. Aún así, debes saber que te respeto de pies a cabeza por mostrárme todo esto, por mostrarme cómo soy, cómo somos, y a dónde vamos con esto, te respeto por ser nada mas, y nada menos, que humano.

Comprensión

Me doy cuenta que he insistido tanto por tener una comunicación verbal porque no he querido aprender a entender por acciones. Ni a aceptar otra cosa que no sean palabras. Los chicos huyen sin decir una palabra. Las mujeres somos más audaces emocionalmente, más intrépidas para expresar vulnerabilidad. Algunos chicos saltan en parapente con mayor facilidad, hay otros que juegan con fuego y se lo colocan en la punta de la lengua. En vez de cambiar lo que ya es, en vez de controlar lo que escapa de mí, en vez de cantar y pensar sin salida alguna sobre lo que siento, mejor lo dejo ir. Me ocupo de mí. Leo a Walter Riso, leo a Emily Dickinson. En vez de intentar cambiar lo que ya es, en vez de idealizar, soñar, describir, esperar y tener la incógnica, mejor acepto lo que es. Los chicos prefieren no hablar.

This brown-eyed boy…

Dear enigmatic lover
We love each other very much
But we don’t seem to get along
Not lately
And I have found myself craving being alone
And then imagining “us” being very close
Dear stupid lover
Are we meant to be?
Had I met you in other lives before?
Did you fell in love with me a century ago?
Dear brown-eyed lover
You have such a gentle touch
But I’m missing it each time a little bit more
Can we truly look into our eyes once more?
Perhaps we’d stop this nonsense fighting over appreciation and control.

Dear honey bunny, you were lucky, was I lucky?

As you drank mate, full of dust
A pair of hands
Accustomed to work
As you listened to rock or some songs unknown
Your worn out jeans,
and a yellow shirt
As you touched wood
and smelled it too
I had scrambled thoughts
about to pronounce I love you.
We were far from being close.
Though I thought I knew.
We were never close,
But all I wanted was you.

I never saw you there,
But I thought I did
Pictures racing through my head
And a vivid language too
You never spoke your mind
But I believed you did
Your taste rushing through my tongue
And the word “mine” too.
You never looked me in the eye
But I was sure you did
The disturbing feelings inside
And the uncertainty too.

amateur carpenter
and skilled artist
i never cared about labels, but now they’re coming handy.
enigmatic introvert
and frustrating doctor in society
who would’ve known that unscrambling you would be easy if I had just separated you into pieces.
persuasive liar
cold-hearted boy
self-centered jerk
who never cared about real love.

And if this poem seems incomplete, it’s because it is an accurate representation of what you did when you left without proper consideration.

BONUS

carpintero aficionado
y artista experimentado
nunca me importaron las etiquetas, pero ahora interesan.
introvertido enigmático
y futuro doctor frustrado
quién hubiese sabido que descifrarte sería fácil si tan solo te separaba en piezas.
mentiroso persuasivo
chico de corazón frío
patán egocéntrico
a quien nunca le importó el verdadero amor.

Say it to me.

Don’t you like kissing my lips when you walk through my door, knowing their exact position, knowing how exactly they taste and feel like?
Don’t you like waking in the middle of the night, just to take a deep breath, turn around and hold me tight?
Don’t you like having me by your side when it’s just a regular day, with rain?
Don’t you like speaking up your mind to me, while thinking the whole time that possibilities are endless?
Don’t you like being in love with me?
Are you in love with me?
Isn’t it sweet how you talk and, at the same time, I am the one you want to be with?

Mishua’s sweetness and love

Is it to be loved and love the biggest accomplishment in one’s life?
Because my little cat have recently died
And through all the unexpected feelings,
All I could think was
“Thank God she was loved, taken cared of and spoiled, and thank God she loved others very much”.
And I thought the same thing about pets that died before.
I recently read a book that said death was a creator.
A creator that, like love, can’t be a science
We can’t make it a science.
We can’t… we don’t know… things.
And Allan Watts questioned our desire to know, to have control of things and ourselves.
This little cat was herself all the time, she didn’t expect much from people,
But when she asked for a caress and she was denied such affection, she’d insist a bit more and then leave without getting offended.
This little cat didn’t base her emotions nor her freedom in how she was treated.
She was herself and would welcome you home and stayed by your side if you had welcomed her as well.
She’d spend hours exploring spaces and need no one’s permission to do so.
She’d do whatever she pleased and need no one’s approbation to do so.
And I just realized I want to live like this little and precious cat.
To be, to let be, to love, to be loved.
And I just realized, I don’t want to base my emotional stability on people’s affection or thoughts, nor care about others’ approvals.
I think I’m finally grasping what it means to be oneself.
To be oneself, to love, to be loved, and to not overthink what other people might think, is to live.

be aware.

I’m glad to look at you, in retrospective, and not stopping myself on the way your lips and hands move. I’m ecstatic to the feeling of not finding pleasure in memories, our memories, my memories of “bubbling” cells. I exhilarate at the thought of not admiring you in any way. And I find joy in knowing that if you ever make an appearance, I won’t talk sweet, nor hold my self back. Here’s why: You’re a dumbass, an insensitive, coward, cold-hearted idiot. And you deserve that someone says it to you if you haven’t said it plainly to yourself yet, and I have the right to say it to someone -to you- who lightly disappeared after sharing a whole fucking year with me.

Fluir

Solo respóndame esto: ¿Lo disfrutó? ¿No olvidó, al menos por una hora, la universidad, la casa, su mamá? Yo lo vi, usted estaba ahí -Yo gris por fuera, viva por dentro-. Todo el dinero que gastó, ni lo dudó por un segundo antes de hacerlo, ni se arrepintió por un segundo después de hacerlo. Y cuando yo no estaba, ¿Me tenía en algún lugar de su mente? ¿Alguna vez no pensó usted en que ambos somos medio iguales, algo introvertidos? ¿No pensó en sus límites, modelos preestablecidos, estándares? Yo sé que sí. ¿Fui yo alguna amenaza para romperlos? Tal vez sí. Tal vez si yo no hubiese estado tan “gris” por fuera, tal vez si no hubiese sido octubre el día en que usted vino y tal vez otras cosas, entonces yo hubiese recibido una llamada en enero o febrero, o quién sabe, la primera en tanto tiempo ahora en noviembre. ¿Lo asusté? ¿Demasiado joven para sus conceptos preestablecidos y expectativas de la vida? Usted me sonrió, lloró, desapareció. Si lo disfrutó, mire el libro, mire los papeles, mire las fotos, míreme y sonría. No hay ningún mal pensamiento, ningun resentimiento, ninguna amargura de parte de mi persona. Lo disfruté. Usted también. Déjelo ser.