Thursday, February 27, 2014


 How does it feel? 

How does it feel you ask?

It feels like nails digging on flesh
Like blades cutting on skin
Feels like tears on the verge of breaking
Like eyes closed in pain
And lips wincing in the same

It feels like bad memories
That only hurt
But leave out the certain ecstasy
In the bridged pain
Your problems were forgotten
Your sins where all forgiven

It feels like dark magic
Distant yellow light
And blood spilling gently
Iron tasting on my mouth
Carefully composed lines on human canvas

It feels like glory
Until someone knocks the door
And your heart feels palpitations
And you can’t cover up the evidence fast enough

It feels like tortured emblems
Feels like pain
That’s exactly how it feels.

Monday, February 24, 2014

We are Magic

Sometimes it’s our vivid imagination that creates a story. And sometimes the story just presents itself, idly floating like a feather in the wind. It’s so grand a scheme, so beautifully perfect, so majestic in nature that we tend to think it unbelievable. We don’t pen it, afraid to mar it’s beauty and grandeur by a simple mistake in diction, the wrong use of vocabulary, the wrong scene, a chapter to many, a chapter to few and alas it escapes from the presence of reality, from the realm of time and in the end it’s as if it never existed.
The allusive myth, the creative fable, a fairytale shall we say? A beautiful story, surely too beautiful to have really existed in our world and time, so we let children toy with it, we let them believe for as long as their innocence will hold. We do so because they are the only beings capable of believing without question, without seeing, because they have faith, and they instill hope, and they believe in love. They believe in wonderful stories and saved lives.
If only we believed, as blindly as them, if we could turn back the clock and go back to the times we believed in ourselves, in our future, when no one and nothing could bring us down. We thought as all children do that we were special, that we were superheroes sent out to save the day, we were princesses and fairies and knights that would become presidents, and doctors and poets. We believed in magic, because we were magic. And so we were, because we believed it.
We were resilient, the best fights for our cause. We never gave up. We drew masterpieces, and wrote novels and discovered great advances in science  and we did it all by lunchtime. And then one day someone told us we were crazy, that the squiggle on paper was not a Michael Angelo, the piece story was nowhere near Shakespeare and that no whatever was on that dish was not a great discovery. And we let them take our dreams away. We searched out Michael Angelo and saw that no indeed we had not painted a Vatican masterpiece, we read Shakespeare and understood that Macbeth was better and that only Pasteur and Einstein deserved great Nobel Prizes. But we were wrong, because the story is still writing itself. That majestic one we talked about? It’s still there. It is as resilient as our childhoods were.
So take the floating feather, and finish out the story, make it believable, live it out, write it out so it materializes into existence and we can all read it when our skies are grey.
Make us believe in magic again. Because we are magic. I know we are.

Monday, February 10, 2014


Last night
Dreams spilled
Like the tint from the sky
They seeped
Into the pillow
And out of my mind
They swam in the sea
Paddled to play
Then out came the sun
And ate them away
These dreams of mine
are fleeting

Like Blue breathing

Last night
Hope spilled
Like magic from a dream
It broke apart
The plans we had
And left the future
Dying on the ground
It tore the night
Without a sound
This madness is receding

Like Black concealing

A broken soul
Behind a smile

A story wasted ::

I recently threw out a story I had written a long time ago :: 

They say that every story is a mirror of the writer, of their feelings and their own torments at that time. This one was a glimpse into that moment of my life ... but it's no longer relevant and it's what we do. We create and we destroy. 
But I could not let some of my favorite passages be lost forever. So I kept them ...  here in the pages of nowhere and nothing. I kept them for you to read but mostly because they remind me of times gone by.

Passage 1:s

" There was a sense or urgency, not because they wanted it to end, but because they were so eager, so longing, so wanting. Because they wanted in each hungry kiss, in each yearning caress to bridge the gap of all that had happened, of the time apart, they wanted with ever tingle of pleasure to lock out the world, society, what would happened tomorrow.
Anna didn’t doubt it once, she had been hoping this would happen, she didn’t even think of Josh until she was dressing.

“Oh Anna, do you regret it?” her lover asked.
“Today?” Anna questioned unsure
Anna shook her head, “It’s the best thing that has happened to me, it has made me who I am. I live because I love you.”
“And Josh?" they asked.
“I love him too, he is kind and gentle, he loves me, he wants me to be the mother of his children, he forgave me about you, he is willing to share his name and money with me, I love him I do” she said looking away, “but as hard as I tried I don’t love him as much as you, I don’t love him as intensely as you, as passionately as you. When I’m with him I think of you but when I’m with you I never think of him”

“I love you too, I will always love you” Rain said
“Say it, ask me to stay, tell me not to marry.” Anna pleaded
“I can’t you have to go and live your life”
“Kiss me goodbye” Anna said.
“But Ill see you tomorrow”Rain answered.
“Yes, but tomorrow I won’t be yours anymore, tomorrow I will be no ones”
“No your wrong, you will always be mine, always my little Anahi, “ Rain assured her.

Passage 2:

“How dare she do this,” it was more than reproach, she threw the letter on the parlor table. there were tears in her eyes with one hand swipe all the decorations on the table fell to the floor. They made a terrible clatter, she tipped the large flower vase and walked slowly to the couch. She was so overwhelmed, nothing made sense. She poured a shot of scotch, then another one. The liquid burned as it was going down. She could not stop crying, the worst part was that she understood, completely.
“I hope your heart breaks,” she told Anna when the time came to confront her. Anna stood motionless, resting on the black gate that led to her grandmothers drive way.
“But I understand how much a promise can weight”.
“My heart is broken,” she said softly, “because it still loves you”
“I know” Rain anwered.
Anna extened her hand and opened her palm. In it rested the diamond ring Rain had given her many moons ago.
She took it, softly and smiled.
“I love y..” the words trailed off. Anna was hushed by a silent and tender embrace from her former lover. It was short, gentle and pristine.
Anna wanted to take it back, take it all back. The promise, the pact, the letter it hurt too much, it was as if someone was tearing her heart apart.
There was not time to talk, Rain kissed her on the cheek, “take care” she said and walked away. She didn’t turn back, it took her strongest will to keep looking forward, she let the ring slip onto the ground after a few blocks. It made a small clink, perhaps it would make someone happier." 

Passage 3:
Guinevere went away to study, when she came back her fiery red hair, had become burgundy and her mischievous eyes had become peaceful.“I want to dedicate my life to God,” she told her family.
“How so?” Anna asked not imagining the answer.
“I have joined a convent” she said smiling
Elena took in some air.
“You have?” her mother asked.
“Yes, I have.”
“Well if it’s true, you must learn to forgive first you must talk to your mother” she said refer-in to Guinevers other mother, Rain.
“You are my mother” Guinevere argued.
She joined the sisters, Guinevere was a complicated name, and so she took the quisentenial name of Therese just like Therese of liseux, like Teressa de Avila, like Mother Theresa. Like the patron saints of an ageless church Guinevere seemed to be redeeming a sin that was not hers.

Her mother Anna, who was still a beautiful lady, became a good Catholic. She always wore black, and her dark long hair got lost at times, she wore no jewelery and as she crossed herself in mass every sunday a single pendant sparkled. A cross, given to her by her grandmother many years ago.
She visited Guinevere often, until the years took their toll and she preferred to stay home, looking out the veranda onto a city that had seen her grow up. She sat there rosary in her hand, shawl around her shoulders, tea on the table, just like her mother and grandmother had once sat, looking onto the Mexico of their memoirs.

“Fate is cruel,” she told Guinevere once, “it’s funny that after all that rebelling, after all those years and all those sins, I would be here a fervent devotee just like my mother”
“God always reclaims his lost children” Guinevere answered.
“But you know, I still love her, and I hope God will forgive me”
“He always does” Guinevere said again.
“And you should too,” Anna pressed, “Go visit Rain, forgive her”
Guinevere shook her head, it wasn’t until Jessica died that she called her mother.
She had to, no one else would.
“She overdosed,” was the simple answer she gave when Rain asked.

“I’m coming” Rain said.
“We expected you to, Anna will be here for the funeral only.”
Nothing was planned, and yet the two ex-lovers did not meet.
Guinevere extended her hand to her own mother, “you can call me Therese now”
“Theresse,” Tatiana repeated the name softly, rolling the s in her tongue, “what a beautiful name”
“Thank you”
As she turned to walk away, Rain called out, “Wait!”
Guinevere turned.
“Can I hug you”
Guinever hesitated, Elena was coming in the distance.
She nodded.
Rain did so, she hugged her, a mothers embrace. She held her tight, tears rolling out of her  closed eyes. Then she kissed her daughters cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Guinevere whispered.
“For what?” Rain asked, “I understand, I understand it all.”
Guinevere gave a slight nod and kissed Rain on the cheek.
“I never read your cards” Guinevere confessed.
“I know” she said.
“I never even opened them”
“Hush” Rain hushed her daughter and nothing was changed. That afternoon after the funeral Guinevere returned to Anna’s home, with Elena and they sat quietly sharing a cup of tea, reminiscing in their memories, holding back the tears.

They never talked again.

Monday, February 3, 2014

I want it all with you :: A proposition on love

I have loved you, I have always loved you. Somewhere along the timeline of my life, in the beginning of my days I knew that it was you. It was always you. I have loved you, and I want it all with you. I want to fall asleep and wake up by your side. I want long, tumultuous fights where you slam the door and I throw a glass; and, I want wild make up sex. I want to read you stories of my past and I want you to tell me what you did before me. I want to know everything about you, how you drink your coffee and how you like your tea. I want you take care of you and have you cuddle with me. I want to dry your tears and I want you to calm my fears. I want to marry you, and have children with you and grow old with you. I want lazy Sunday mornings and hectic weekday afternoons. I want to whisper that I love you each and every single day. I want you to belong to me, in every possible way someone can belong. I want a ring upon your finger and a mark upon your soul. I want to cook with you and bake with you and raise our kids with you. I want to teach them hope, and history and love. I want to heal each and every scar you have, and I want you to help me forget the past. Yes, I want it all with you, the moon and the stars, the wind and the fire.  I want it because I love you. I have always loved you. I have loved you since the dawn of time. I don't know how I know, but I know. I know we are meant to be, true loves bound my fate. I want it all with you, a lifetime with you. Do you want to take a chance with me?


You're beautiful
Like a sunrise waking
Like a handful of dreams
Cast upon the ocean
Like fair winds and sunshine
You're the first breath of a child
You are a lilly in the open wild
A basket of hopes
Hiding in my chamber
You're a feather in the wind
A petal on a never ending stream
You're a rainbow in a dream
You make my world stand still
Bring the good days back, if you will
You're a high note
In a symphony
A stroke of magic
You're a ravaging work of art
Wild flowers on a cart
You're caramel candy
In between french macaroons
You're a beautiful
More than I can ever be

Pagan ::

She's an angel

And a witch

She's magic potions

On a dish

She's a sorceress

With a broken heart

She's a sinner

But she's a saint

She's a stroke of rebel

In a faithful soul

She's a walking contradiction

A pagan

but she prays

Child of the moon

Brought up by the sun

Yearning for the darkness

And walking toward the light

She's an angel

With dark wings

Fire igniting at the seams

She's God's daughter

But she dreams

Of the day she's free

To be what she's meant to be

Black and white

Without fear of hell

Bound like a bell

With a string around her neck

The troubles of the world

weight heavy on her shoulders

So she's a pagan

But she prays