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35 / M / Gay / Single
His journal posts
Jul 20, 2008
Mexican word of the day TISSUE
Hey vato if you don't know how to do it let me tissue!
Mexican word of the day BUTTER and LETTUCE
I want to marry my ruca butter parents wont lettuce!
Mexican word of the day INJURE
We were playing poker and my dad won me and he say injure face!
Mexican word of the day HORCHATA
You can keep talking your shit horchata fuck up!!
Mexican word of the day JEWISH
I asked my vieja for a blowjob and she said jewish!!
Mexican word of the day RECTUM
I bought my ruca 2 cars, but the pendeja rectum!!
Mexican word of the day HIGHWAY
i turned around in bed looked at my vieja and said "highway put some makeup on cabrona, you scare me!"
Jul 8, 2008
I can be sappy too...
Case in point...my poem entitled :
When I am around you,
I Cannot explain the feel of touch,
Or the image of hope seen in smiles.
But you release that warmth I long for.
Do you feel the same ache?
--keep on hoping--
Everlasting flames envelop us
--never let it go, for it might disappear--
You promised you would stay
--awake I am, asleep I dream--
Dreaming, I’m dreaming…
--I need to tell you, I want to tell you--
let me utter my secret
--or I shall never let it go--
vixen in my heart
you are my oil
under the covers I lie
or Al Tocar (At your Touch) here in English and Spanish
How can I explain what is hidden deep within my soul?
How can I explain that? My heart.
When your hands caress me, my body falls into yours.
When your lips brush up against mine, my body lights up with the happiness of you.
And when my eyes fall upon your face, my sight threatens to leave me,
Because how can one see their God, and see anything else after that miracle?
Do you Understand?
Do you Understand that at your touch I die?
At your touch I live?
At your touch I am content?
Don’t say a word, because to be honest, I linger in your silence.
Here we are, alone but together.
Together yet somehow alone.
And don’t ever stop touching me.
Como te explicare lo que esta escondido dentro de mi espiritu?
Como se puede explicar eso?
Cuando tus manos me caricen, mi cuerpo se cai entre el tuyo.
Cuando tus labios besan los mios, mi cuerpo se alumbra con la felicidad de ti.
Y cuando mis ojos caen en tu cara, ya mero se me va la vista.
Porque como puede uno ver su dios, y querer ver algo mas despues de esa maravilla?
Entiendes que al tocar me muero?
Al tocar, vivo.
Al tocar, estoy feliz.
No me digas nada.
Porque en realidad,
Me encanta tu silencio.
Aqui estamos solos.
Solos y juntos.
Juntos, pero todavia solos.
y nunca dejes de tocarme.
:) oK no more poems I swear. :)
Jul 7, 2008
Emily Dickinson was one of the first poets I ever read. I love her work, and while some of it fits the patterns that most modern writers embrace, I believe the message behind her work can go a lot deeper than that simple format, iambic pentamenter or some other pre-ordained rule that writers use a crutch to their writing.
Take for instance this poem....titled "REMEMBER"
Remember how this feels;
To be f*****d by someone who cares,
To feel my breath upon the back of your neck,
My arms wrapped around you,
Encircling your manhood in fists,
Holding your sex so I can have your attention.
Let your memory learn how it feels to cum,
With me inside you.
Remember, because next time
It won’t be me.
Remember the kisses on your skin,
Falling upon valleys of soaked flesh.
How they trickled on sweat to
Crevices never explored or entered.
Points new to you,
Existing only because I let them.
Remember how your eyes opened for the first time into manhood.
Remember this for next time,
They might not bother with tenderness.
Remember how membranes can fold back
To reveal utter truths about you,
Things your folding skin hid reveal themselves in nights of bliss
To men who could care less.
Remember how teeth can bite without breaking skin,
How I can provide kisses not with my lips,
And how my tongue can taste
Your unborn children.
Remember that, for next time
They won’t swallow.
Remember how your face contorts in painful pleasure,
How thoughts get lost in erotic dreams,
Leaving blank slates upon your walls of memory.
See how your body can shake with lust,
Vibrations from the core.
How your hands reach behind your back to seek out my neck
And give me a backwards embrace.
Remember how to bend over and submit,
For next time, they won’t wait.
Remember this, next time your eyes cruise warm bodies on the boulevard.
When tears fall onto dirty wooden floors, as you get splinters on your back.
When sweat is useless on clothed bodies,
When screams are made into pillowed ears,
When tongues are caught between teeth shutting up your cries,
When they don’t kiss goodbye.
You F***ed it up.
It doesn't conjure a pretty image, but one of hurt and betrayal. It doesn't use flowery language to hide the truth of the situation. The anger is evident, but so is the emotion and the power behind the words. It gives you a story, and an ending.
I guess my whole point, is that sometimes we forget how powerful words can really be, and we as writers must be able to embrace all forms of writing. And yes, I wrote that poem. :) Like it?