I believe a writer’s soul needs more than just the ordinary, It needs those passionate moments Past the extraordinary moments in life. Fire.
“Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.”
You’ve never been mine.
Even though we’ve passionately twirled around each other’s bodies and desires.
Even though I’ve witnessed you sigh in admiration at my naked self…
Even though you’ve passionately felt me in the deepest part of your core,
and wished -even if just for a moment- that I was yours, and only yours.
I have never been yours.
Even though I have looked into your eyes and blushed,
because a simple look from you was enough.
Even though you have captivated every part of me, enamoured my soul.
Even after having you tenderly kissed me so deeply it reached my soul.
You have never been mine.
I have never been yours.
This was something I wrote a long ago, found among my drafts.
An Open Soul
Me lees y con ojos dorados viajas en el tiempo.
Sera que te pienso?
Examinas cada palabra
tratando de encontrarte en cada verso.
Tratas de saber si inundas aunque sea
alguno de mis pensamientos.
Cada desilucion te inunda mas el vacio,
ya hasta mi recuerdo te es un delirio.
Que martirio, querer saber si
me has marcado aunque sea un poquito.
Me and my thoughts.
My mind attacks itself
reviving broken memories.
What a way to live
giving into every tear
as an attempt to heal.
It’s never made me falter
Never affected my strength
The warm breeze is nothing but
a reminder of what could have gone next
Memories come crashing in
destroying everything as they please.
A power only anger can give.
I wholly give into myself
longing for that extra mile
that extra kiss, that extra smile
That extra day in our old lives.
(The sun rays lightly adorning
my hair as the wind softly kissed my face.
Your hand in mine.
I feel alive.
One of the first last times)
Your weakness strikes me
like a lighting.
A soul-crushing pain
it caused that not even alcohol
But you wouldn’t know.
“I never thought I would be this person” seems to be the phrase I have said the most this last two years.
I have gone through some pretty serious (and not so-serious) changes in my persona, and let me tell ya fellows, it might be scary how a person can stay the same on the outside yet be so different on the inside. It is -to a point- scary.
I imagine having someone by my side, someone I love, and have them die on me and be born again so many times without any sort of notice, or even slightest physical change.
It comes from within
My peace is bothered by your mediocrity
All the books I’ve read, and all the songs I’ve heard, and all the sunsets are meant to cause a change. They’re meant to alter you in a way… so they say.
All the lips you’ve kissed, the beats your heart has skipped, and all the loneliness and darkness your heart has known. They are meant to make you strong.
And the way the color shines right through your soul, splattered all over the walls, your unknown thoughts. It’s meant to make them fall in love… those holy souls.
I have so many passions.
Ever since I can remember I have written. As a child, I remember filling notebooks and notebooks of what I called “novels“. I would make up stories, I would document things; I would just write and write. I remember the stack of notebooks in my room and how sad I was when my mom couldn’t stand the mess anymore and just threw them all away. I wrote my first poem when my great-grandmother died. I was like seven. It was four pages long. when my mother read it she was shocked and held on to it until you couldn’t read anything anymore. I remember always having a notebook at hand, either a normal one or a sketch notebook, in which I would just draw sketches of clothing, shoes, and even hairdos (yes, hair styles hahaha) I remember all the little dolls I drew and all the little clothes I made up, filling each page with like 20 different items. Drawing mermaids all over the place. I remember feeling happy. I was a kid. Oh, I also love makeup. Like, a LOT!
Now, nineteen going into twenty I find myself feeling…confused. What should I do with my life? What is my true passion? Where should I go? … I started college at seventeen, and even though my dream job was to be a plastic surgeon, somehow the time seemed too much for me and a I changed four months before applying to the university to International Business. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love business. I love being competitive, and I love coming up with strategies and it fills me in a way, but being filled in one way is not happiness. Within the passing years I have realized I have a growing passion for Fashion and makeup, I started messing around with makeup since age thirteen, and whenever I look at an editorial picture or celebrity, that’s the first thing I notice. Regarding fashion, I have started to sketch my own designs and watch fashion shows non-religiously and read and read on fashion and follow over 30 fashion/beauty blogs on Bloglovin’ (not that I ever read them all). But, I love it. Would I dare to put my life on it and base my life around it? I don’t think I’m courageous enough.
I also want to be a writer, Oh so bad. It’s always been a dream of mine to have a published book, but it’s also been a dream of mine to have my own makeup line, and now I would love to have my own clothing line. Ugh, life is so hard when it comes to choosing who you’re going to be for the rest of your life. I guess I’ll do my best at trying to juggle everything, and slowly start dropping things when I realize -by practice- that you can’t do too many things at once and excel at them all.
Which will bring me back to my original dilemma: Which one do I hold on the strongest to?