Monday, April 30, 2012

I could place this bow in my tresses and pretend that I am demure.
I could cover my skin in elusive symbols and pretend that I am impervious.
I could cut my hair too short and wear my grandmother's clothes...
Who gives a shit?
We are all just pretending.
Theatricized versions of some fantasy ideal,
Nothing is real.

I am sick of you.
I love you.

We are all so confused, fractured, fragmented, and broken.
Oh, what will make us whole?

They say you should find your other half.
Does that mean that everyone who is alone is only a fraction of some being? 
Who are you if you are not whole from the start?

Oh damn this persistent fog. Damn these itchy pantyhose and lipsticks. Blushes, blotches, and bullshit. Damn it, am I writing to impress? Writing to de-stress? 
WHO is my audience? Is this not too, a performance?

This is thoroughly capricious, malicious, and yet delicious. 
I am sitting here typing acrimoniously thinking mostly of you.
Mediocrity, duality, insincerity. These are all things I hate most  dangerously because I embody them.
I do not want to pretend. I do not want to depend.
Oh sweet nothingness, how dangerous you too look. 

Ideas will drive a person mad.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

The Tortured Shape of an Iceberg

Maybe I am loquacious. 
I cannot deny I love to converse.
Perhaps I am not as well versed. 
Perhaps what I say is not what I mean,

I lay down and read some poetry in bed,
If you asked me the truth
I would lie instead.

You hate me for the cross on my chest
Nobody said you had to love me
Slain by your own choices
Your tears dried up inside you like
nectar sucked from a cactus. 

I lay down and read some poetry in bed,
If I asked you the truth
Would you lie instead?

The silence between us is deafening,
A chasm of ice
Echoes in my ears like a resounding gong.
Answer me, answer me,
I am tired of being a ghost.

I lay down and read some poetry in bed,
If I asked myself the truth
I would know you are dead.

Time has spread its long fingers across us
If we saw each other
We would be blind.
I'd search the secrets of your crisp eye,
The tortured shape of an iceberg.

I lay down and write some poetry in bed,
If I asked myself the truth
I would know I am dead.

Now I may drift to sleep
With peaceful certainty
That it was you,
Not me
Who cannot say what they mean.

I lay down with my poetry in bed,
I tell myself the truth:
I need you out of my head.

-Julia Serena, April 30 2012

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Constantly conflicting emotions: my greatest enemy is being tied down.
I crave adventure, I crave freedom. I also crave knowledge.
Life is a game. I've been dealt the wild card. 

Wild cards by  Manny Raquel

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Porque por más lejos que estés,
por más preguntas que hagas,
no importa el lugar donde estés,
donde tu vives es aquí... en mi corazón.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

O dark dark dark

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,
The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,
Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,
Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark....

-T.S. Eliot

Monday, April 16, 2012

I am young and I have so much yet to learn,
But oh, wouldn't it be nice for just a moment to forget?

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Happy Easter!

Despair is conquered by hope.
These bunnies are cute. 

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Song of the Brightness of Water

From the depth—I came only to draw water
in a jug—so long ago, this brightness
still clings to my eyes—the perception I found,
and so much empty space, my own,
reflected in the well.
Yet it is good. I can never take all of you
into me. Stay then as mirror in the well.
Leaves and flowers remain, and each astonished gaze
brings them down
to my eyes transfixed more by light
than by sorrow.

-Karoly Wojtyla

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Kill the Envious Moon

You threaten to be
Everything I'd like to see.
So I'd like to see you,
But you're in my head.
I'd like to see you,
But I think you are dead.