Sunday, January 18, 2009

sang softly to God.-

As I, all through my short existence have known not to give all my heart,

Hell, not to give my heart at all,

And still… but still.

Toss it away,

to throw it away, seemed so effortless,

seems uncomplicated,


pirate treasure,

who is to throw It away,(?)

to sink what is already beneath,

to dig, underwater, even,

Value unvalued,

Contempt by some, some, some..

All, all, all..

But necessary to let go,

To want to,

still no thief,

bicycle or not,

none crave it,

not badly;

confusion strikes.

(I rather die alone than to give this treasure of love to a pile of words,

or white walls,

to empty intentions,

to silent nights,

less than craze touch,

or uninterested eyes,

to the none existing kind words filled with intentions to act on,

to the indifferent all,

to the whatever’s,

to the okay’s,

to the sorry instead of the please or apologies,

to the indifferent all,

and the equivocal normal act, when sorry is rightfully due to be said;

I rather die alone than to give this treasure of love to empty dirty streets,

to a none deserving king,

Even if he came from my own dreams;

someone out there must hunger a love-filled-heart,

even if it came from a sullen girl,

or a cornflake girl,

a flutter girl,

..a strange little girl,

or simply came from just a girl...

I am just a girl,

who rather dies,

I shall,

alone if necessary,

rather die;

People ask,

it is still the same answer,

Alone, thanks, and bye-bye)

Confusion stroke me down again,

lying next to me,

this empty bed,

Hands, feet, lips, thorax, and head,

Gone cold, gone lone,


Tic-tac-toe, gone off cuckoo.

To yearn the unknown, impossible, they said, they say,

impossible not wanting love, they said, they say,

but I can not say what I long for,

except to give it away,

confusion slapping a cold head around,

a cold head with a (a little far down to the left) filled heart,

to get by in icy nights,

even frozen nights, I mean,


space turned a problem,

intense turned a problem,

passion turned a problem,

talking turned a problem,

desire of love stopped,

stopped wanting it,

That, those, them, him,

the lack of room is to blame,

as I can not demonstrate forms of love,

to a one I can not trust, talk, touch, ..

who rather dies than to be loved,

who rather dies than to be loved by just a girl;

Impossible to give such full heart away, or shapes of love

other than the precise, evident and natural conceptions, depicted by just being alive,

as I do not have some,


to give all that is hidden, closeted and color coded inside this full heart of mine.

Space turned a problem,

like my new closet, no room for my shoes,

but I need to walk,

there is dirt, blood, sickness, broken glass,

many diseases in the pavements,


and floor,

yet I need to walk,

habilitated a special place for them,

out in some other place,

Something that heart could not take,

for it would stop keeping me alive,

I would not take it.

Wondering, still,

Where am I suppose to place this filled heart of mine.(?)

I needed to walk,

But I have, so many times,

walked away,

And now I’m tired of knowing the expected,

waiting to happen, patiently

something that I already know,

unable to do such trembling masochist thing,

Know, know, now and like always know,

just by the way one walks, I said, I say, still...

when is bound to be sore, sour, broken or gone,

disaster-prone: even worse if I stay than if I go,

I need to walk,

Heard many times “you always walk”,


Tired now,

Exhaust of walking through that door,

Exhaust of walking right through the sore, sour, broken or gone,

Of the incapable to show any kind, aspect, form of affectionate behavior,

Not to mention: love.

With a filled heart,

that confusion prevents me from giving away,

then you see, it is a dear loving friend of this girl,

she or he or it loves me deeply and selfishly,

like a mother would,

confusion is a friend, I see,

she or he or it protects me from what I want,

for knowing, through this cold head held by a neck,

when it is sore, sour, broken or gone,

that is when she or he or it advices me to go,

get the foot wear and take a walk,


‘til the horizon shows yellow grass,

as there must be a one dying to have this full heart of mine,

who will know what to do with it;

I say it tonight: this full heart of mine needs love, tenderness, caress, truth,

needs a one,

someone’s heart which can actually reciprocate.

Need a one to balance my body again,

Let it out to let it in, like the song said, says, still..

I shall keep waiting, and hoping and wishing,

without the kissing,

And walking away from sore, sour, broken or gone,

Until one can reciprocate this full heart,

hidden in my chest.

Do not know what to do with it, but to let it out,

I can not let what it is sore, sour, broken or gone, in

Since my love is love,

And my passion burns,

Burns, burns, burns..

Even myself,

Something that will not change,

Not for now, not for one,

I'll keep being just a girl,

who is not worthy of time, attention, affection,

not to mention: love,

from one who ran out of ploys,

his time, attention, affection is
sore, sour, broken,

not to mention his love: gone

interest in his love is now gone;

Love is love,

It is a package not to fragment,

And since my love is love,

it is all or none,

I am all or none.

Sang softly to God, to

“please please please, let me, let me, let me,

Let me,

Get what I want this time”,

Since my heart is full,

now my veins, brain, lungs, and liver,

seem to be doomed.

Sang softly to God, to

“please please please, let me, let me, let me,

Let me,

Get what I want this time”,

One’s heart that can reciprocate,

One that wants to reciprocate,

That is all I ask for.


No comments: