An endless fascination for others is a prerequisite to being a novelist – despite the common view of novelists as egocentric and self-absorbed. The self-absorption comes when you are at your desk writing. The rest of the time, you need to be pathologically curious.
Louise Doughty, from A Novel in a Year

Beautiful Disaster

When two bodies, two souls meet…converse and form a bond, a connection so deep and diverse, they transform. The real beauty is when they intertwine, breathe as one.  The true beauty is when they transform together as two bodies yet one soul and transcend. True sadness is when two bodies become one soul, transform and disconnect. They transcend alone with a gaping hole in their chest, feverishly trying to fill the void of the one that completed their being. So much more than the one who’s hand fit perfectly into another but more so the persons who’s thoughts and dreams escaped your lips instead of their own. The one who’s heart didn’t beat until they found yours. So much more than the one who fit perfectly snug in your arms, wrapped so tight. More than that. More like the one who took you from existing in this life in which you never deemed mundane and made you start living. This is where it becomes morbid. For you both are now simply two people whose souls engaged and faded into one another, for now you have both changed.

Now you must face that once again mundane life alone, alone and transformed. Forever longing for the piece of you that is missing. The piece of you that was uncharted territory. That piece that you never thought existed.  A blessing and a curse, for it you never knew it was there you’d never know what you were missing but then again it would have never opened you up to a world that was so beautiful. To even have such a magical moment for once in your life, even if the moment was fleeting, is rare beauty. To experience that once lifetime is a life worth living. Even if the moment is gone, the memory will forever remain.

 I’m glad I finally saw how truly beautiful life can be and for that I thank you. The fact the now I am not who I once was before you crossed my path and now you leave me to walk alone is saddening. But I will continue to feverishly fill this void, even deeper than before, nothing can stop me. Call me naïve, but whatever fiber of my being is still left I will channel to grasp on to whatever bits and pieces of hope I can find.


I cannot help but feel like an army wife. For I was married to the thought of you and I. But no matter how hard I fought to keep what wasn’t mine, no matter how bad you wanted to stay, you felt it was your duty to serve someone other than myself, other than yourself. You felt you had to go and fight on familiar turf, the one you barely fought to keep. On the ground you at one point wanted to flee, because of how boring it was to live in such a place, you were simply existing side by side along with her. Wanting to leave because it didn’t feel like home, perhaps comfortable but still alone.

So here I am like the army wife I’ve become…in limbo. Although I will never understand why you left, why I wasn’t enough to keep you here on the other side. I secretly wait and hope for your return even though the war is no longer between her and I and resides within myself. This war will most likely not end in my favor, you will not return.

It really does not get easier at all. That “time heals all wounds” is bullshit. Whomever said such a thing must have been in limbo too. They must have searched for words that carried light to brighten a dark moment. Time only lessens the blow that I feel each and every morning I wake. For the first thought on my mind is you and then I remember you are not here. I will not see you later, you will not brighten my day, we will not take on yet another adventure together, I will simply do this on my own.

Time merely stitches up the wounds but the scars will forever remain, time doesn’t do shit for that.

Everything traces back to you. From Long car rides, the familiar empty road ahead,Requinto guitars, timbales and bookstores to u-haul trucks, cafes that go by the name “Narnia” and my longing to dance. It all lives and breathes with you and has now died within me. Constantly scratching at the surface at familiar glance, weighing heavy on my mind it travels to my chest where the hole seems endless. Heavy, heated moments have become such an inconvenient baggage to carry for you are the only one who claims it.

All this beauty, laying scattered across the conveyor belt, unclaimed, waiting for its rightful owner to pick it up and take it home. They travel around over and over again in this vicious circle, alone, left to collect dust after coming home from paradise.


Ahhh, if only I could manipulate.

Manipulate my mind,

Into bold colors and grand shapes that they couldn’t be denied.

So misdirected yet fulled with girth and grace,

that it’d demand enough attention to keep me from your face.

Your face that fills the crevasses of my mind,

No matter how engulfed I am in my own life, your words are all I find.

The words that held enough girth, enough worth, that I will never be the same,

because it touched not only my soul but found it’s way to my heart where it remains.

How bad I just want the abstract to fill my brain so vast, that the thought of you I couldn’t bare to entertain.

Not even if i tried but its simply too hard to abstain,

from the one thing in my life I ever really wanted to sustain,

like grains of sand it slipped through my fingers making me slightly insane.

Clouded judgment never seemed so crystal clear,

opening the demons from the hellish nightmare I feared.

Forming questions into a theory that was concluded,

regurgitating feelings that are so polluted,

of selfishness intertwined with self worth,

without you I will cease to truly live on this earth.

So I will remain to float in and out of dreams,

that will never evolve into what I wanted them to be.

Lost and Found and Lost

Sensory overload and gravitational pulls,

the universe speaks to me, I don’t stop even though I should.

I let it drag me by my feet, opening wounds skin deep.

For it never gave me a chance to heal,

overpowered by my emotions I cant help but feel…

the perfect fit of our hands intertwined,

words overused, lost but I still try to find…

your lips under the limitless sky,

which is now swallowed up by darkness, I sit here and cry.

For I have seen the wondrous colors of the world so bright,

now dark dismal and grey, I still try to fight.

To hold on to that piece of me that was born when you were around,

that dies a little more each day in your absence, I just want to be found.


Your features are embedded in unfamiliar faces and are recreated and projected into familiar places. Past conversations are recreated and played in silence, the words so loud they are not only maddening but deafening. Your touch lingers in yearning that the contact of any unfamiliar object is repulsive. Everything associated with you reenacts in my mind, heart, body and soul making my thoughts compulsive. Reality no longer suffices, I’d rather take my chances on seeing you with my eyes closed. Feeling the warmth of your breath when all my senses are closed. Shutting down as a mere defense mechanism to save me from falling again. Blocking me from saving myself, yet again.


Beat on my body so it feels as tortured as my soul,

so the scars thrust deeper into this dark black hole.

The words that slipped into my eardrums and set my insides on fire,

different than the burns that marked my heart beating silently to desire.

Never again did I think my mind and heart would be intertwined,

resurfacing a nightmare I thought I left behind.

Only this time coming back stronger than before,

no matter how high I stacked the bricks behind that locked closed door.

This will forever remain unfinished,

because whatever what left of me has simply diminished.


this poem is simply of my love undefined,

this poem is now me…refined

Not an excerpt for you to read,

simply just an expression of things done & seen.

Eavesdropping so lightly on the tip of my toes,

Trying to discover something unknown.

It made me sick, this physical feeling…

When does the emotional battle come in to heal me?

An angel that once had the power to fly,

Fueled by your love she flew so high.

Shut out, broke down, you clipped her wings,

Battling herself she finds comfort and sings,

The same tune..but without you..

it doesn’t sound the same,

For the meaning behind it.. is now simply a name.

Searching not for security but just her definition,

The goal is just merely to have some type of ambition.

To still strive forward for she’s been shut down,

Her smile has sadly diminished into a frown,

I will not let you turn my life upside down,

The only thing that has changed is now your not around…



This white sheet haunts me. Once filled with black feelings stretched across in shapes of letters that held so much weight. So much pain. So much beauty. And now, it’s blank. Like its fucking mocking me, to remind me of what I once was, so colorfully gray. So filled with hollow bursting out at the seams from every angle and onto this now blank sheet. Pondering if in any way shape or form that this has become a reflection of myself today.

I usually don’t think about it anymore yet it doesn’t seem as bland as this white blank sheet.

You know, the one I’ve been telling you is haunting me, mocking me.

Only when liquid poision and smoke fills my lungs, does this sheet speak. Only when the deafening silence has found time to consume me. When everything is still. That’s when I give myself the opportunity to fill this void in which I always thought was you. Now in which has been replaced by my goddamn fucking blank sheet.

I am at a constant war with myself. Even when a piece of me has won the battle, there is still a piece of me that is lost. Lost in this blank white sheet.

Only recently have I realized maybe what provokes me are the endless thoughts I cannot escape to a soundtrack in which I pollute my ears with. It’s the pain in the music that silences me and brings upon these black letters that contrast this blank white sheet.

You know, the one I’ve been telling you is haunting me, mocking me.

Only when the silence comes along do I hear you, do I try to remember, myself. Whatever remains. Only then to I try to pick a part myself that has remained in pieces. In which I feel have finally been glued back together. Yet everytime the silence takes over, I break myself down again like building blocks and try to put each block back together the way it was, and I try to remember where every piece fits, and to what model of myself I’m aspiring to build again. Because when all the pieces lay across this sheet, its built back to a part of me I can never seem to escape. It just happens that way.

This sheet is not yet as blank as it was when I just started a few minutes ago. Yet the black remains black. The pain I still feel. Yet the hollowness has subsided. For now. For I’ve been built back up, plugged in, glued together thank god. Why then do I keep badgering myself, I am my own worst enemy. Not this sheet.

This fucking white blank sheet, you know..the one I’ve been telling you is haunting me, mocking me.

This white blank sheet, when painting it so colorfully gray…is my own worst enemy.

My own worst enemy, in which I created.