Unloveable

of all the things that i am, the worst must be that i'm unloveable.

i don't think im ugly,

stupid,

unattractive,

dull,

awkward,

annoying,

....at least not most of the time.

"A gallon of clorox just found its way into the pool.

I splash for rapid cleanse,

in hopes of getting out alive.

I need to live.

but these battle wounds from all these games have left me untouchable,

i'm dying and the only thing that can save me is the hand of an unlovable. just like me."

Afterlife

"Love isn't enough"

I'm watching the jersey shore and the relationship between ronnie and sammy is disgusting. I believe their in love yet i also believe that their love is poisonous. Please someone slap the shit out of me if i fall for poisonous bullshit love.

I would die for love. Sacrifice my physical being for my spirit to have a chance at love. But the type of love that set's me free, not the type that cages me and punches me in the gut until i've cried and cried.

Love isn't linear nor singular. It varies, that's why love is an unpredictable game.

no stress

things are gonna work out. after speaking with tasha i feel a sense of relief. i'm going to enjoy the the last 10 days of summer that i have left by doing what i do best. write. hang out with friends. laugh. listen to music. read. and writeeeeeeeee some more.

i'm done being a hopeless romantic. it's pathetic and at the current moment so unnecessary since love is not in the air.

haha

ok... i'm getting a little pathetic... this needs to stop

hahahah

but seriously... im gonna surround myself with positive energy and entertain myself with positive things

:D

brb so ashamed... lol

Save me from myself

"And it hurts to want everything and nothing at the same time"

I'm sitting in our backyard under a tree attempting to meditate and energize my spirit by spending at least an hour outside with nature. I can't relax. I can't stop mourning the love I never had. Why as artist do we torture ourselves? Is it because we know that a broken heart inspires our most impressive work? Or because we've come to realize that love is a torturous/gratifying thirst? Or is it because if love wasn't torturous then I wouldn't be an Artist? Torture-Artist. Artist-Torture.

I'm sitting in my backyard listening to my "when the heart hurts" playlist on itunes. Reading "Desert Blood." Writing in my journal and blogspot about how love is torture. Why must I dwell? I mean, I'm not a melancholy person. I'm quite the opposite yet being deprived from human contact and playing lazy in my house, the only energy left in me just wants to be an artist whose heart and spirit only wants to mourn love that was never love.

Why must we mourn love that was never love to begin with?

Maybe because the love that was reality was never filling and if we mourned something that was never filling it would be a waste a time. Mourning love that was never really love, is the type of love that fills you up to maximum capacity and that isn't a waste of time, as mourning something that fills you up transforms you. The only risk is that transformation does not guarantee a step closer to happiness, just a step closer to multiple realities.

I need to start writing about the happiness of love...

summer

summer is torture... it's a time where broken hearts bask in the sun, slowly melting away

games

I'm tired of all these games.

Games and Love.

Sadly they go hand in hand. But why play games? These fucking stupid foolish games that always gets in the way of passion. Every game has it's players. And even though it's embarrassing to admit, i'm a player in the game of love. But how do you stop it? I'm so tired and frustrated. But maybe that's the point. These games set the foundation for either a tragic love story or a happily ever after.... maybe? The chances are so high. Tragic love story or a happily ever after or maybe even both? The thing of about the games that are played in love is that we never know how its going to end. Whether there will be any winners, losers or a prize. You will never know, and thats the scariest part about games and love, you never really know.

Pain is necessary. Especially when it's pain inflicted by love. That's the only type of pain i yearn because I always know that years, months, days, hours, seconds later the pain will transform into the sweetest thing i've ever known.

love

We're always going to be lonely. That's why love exists because love is never constant, it's always running.

:D

i'm happy. i'm really happy.

Are You A Bottom?

Are you a bottom?

Hey boo! How you doin’?

I’m chill, just fabulous as always, you know

So I was wondering…. Someone like you,

Tall

Thin,

Well dressed,

Skinny jeans,

Well-groomed hair

(Don’t talk about my hair)

I mean,

Fem,

All Jeweled up,

Mhmmmm

So are you a bottom?

You presumptuous, self-hating, hyper-masculine, stupid motherfucker

NO I AINT NO DAMN BOTTOM! Ugh

Are you a bottom?

Out since 12,

Sexually active since 13,

Seven years of…

Are you a bottom?

Never given the top or vers option,

Just cornered to the bottom capacity.

Are you a bottom?

Older brown man at the post office,

He was 25,

I was 14,

Riding through the ghetto streets of H.P,

We pull up,

Living in his parents garage,

He sets me down,

He never asks,

Just assumes,

I lay in silence and play the role.

Are you a bottom?

Men for sex now. Com

White top looking for Latino bottom,

I reply,

He replies,

He picks me up,

29,

And I am 16,

His pale skin rubs my brown back,

“que suave”

I giggle at his stupid attempt to speak mi lenguage,

I bottomed,

He topped,

And for the next four pale faces I bottomed,

And they,

Exotified,

Objectified,

And Topified.

Are you a bottom?

Never asked and never assumed,

22,

And I was 19,

He rubbed me down,

And never butchered mi lenguage,

Kissed my forehead,

All the way down to the tips of my toes,

Wait….

Am I the bottom?

Shhh,

Baby it don’t matter,

Close your eyes,

Breathe,

And go with the rhythm of our spirits making love.

Are you a bottom?

6 years,

And I will never be a bottom,

Nor a top,

Vers maybe,

But fluid always!

Are you a bottom?

Pale face of 21,

My brown face of 20,

He calls me “papacito”

I call him racist,

NEXT,

Mexicano de edad 20,

Yo Chicano de la misma edad,

He doesn’t dare to ask,

Nor assumes,

I lay, never in silence and never playing the role.

Are you a bottom?

Hey boo, how you doing?

I’m chill, just fabulous, as always you know,

So I was wondering,

Someone like you,

Tall,

Thin,

Skinny jeans,

Well groomed hair,

Oops! Sorry I won’t talk about your hair,

I mean,

Fem,

All jeweled up,

Mhmmmmmm,

So you fluid tonight?

You inclusive, conscious, self-loving, street smarts, motherfucker!

I’m a free bitch baby!

I’M ALWAYS FLUID!

sinners and lovers

Dance until your heart wears out. That's when you know you've found your lover because he has taken your breath away

white boy can be a comadre

"i can't love enough for the both of us"

"If love was everything. If love could conquer everything, I would conquer your addiction for you..."

she think i'm CUTEEEE!

"Don't toot it and boot it! You fucking stay and love me" -Crenshaw

Loving Like A Mestiza

For someone that has never had a lover, only fuckers, I sure the hell write about love all the time.

This song is beautiful. Two wrongs don't make it right. It's about loving and respect. Having manners and negotiating the contradictions of love. I'm a mestiza lover. Loving in the borderlands space where as a survivor, love wasn't introduce the conventional way. Father and son relationship extended beyond a platonic to a sexually abusive way of parenthood. Father's aren't suppose to love that way. I'm not suppose to experience love that way. I was a mestiza lover. Loving my father and hating him with just a pen and paper in my defense.

I came out at the age of 12 and started having sex at the age of 13 with older men that never loved me. I knew they didn't, but knowing that they didn't love me never stopped me from dreaming they could one day. I was a mestiza lover. Dreaming of a world where I wasn't the only queer Chicano. I knew they existed but I would only see them when I closed my eyes. The duality between the real world and the world I dreamt was blurred. Both worlds made up the voice inside my head that stopped me from ever cutting too deep with the razor.

In the 'real world' I was battling with insecurities from my father's perverted way of loving; my mother's short tempered, depressed and verbally violent way of loving; the older fuckers that objectified my body and would love me by having me suck their brains off; my eldest brother whose love had abandoned me after a drunk night of driving. I was battling but something about living in the 'real world' was still gratifying. Maybe it had to do with my dreams. I would dream that on father's day I would have a father to celebrate with. That he wasn't doing time in prison because his hand ran freely all over my sister's and I's bodies. I dreamt that my mother told me she loved me every day and when she would arrive home after work I wouldn't fear for my emotional safety because she was glad to see her children. I would close my eyes and picture a line of men just waiting to love me. They didn't want to fuck me. They just wanted to hold me inside their arms and remind me that I'm beautiful just the way I am. Lastly, I would dream that I stopped my brother from ever leaving us. That he found a job and no longer needed to travel to vegas for a job fair. I might have been dreaming but something inside, at the core of my heart told me that them dreams could be my 'real world' one day. I was a mestiza lover.

I was a mestiza lover.

I am a mestiza lover.

When I am mean to you, I am mean because i want a reaction out of you. I want you to care about the words I'm throwing at you. Care because i care about you. The only thing about this is that after a while, being mean hurts too much to bare. Usually when the pain becomes unbearable you have just gotten started and usually unwilling to stop. I am a mestiza lover.

Loving like a mestiza means that I carry my heart on my hand and pass a piece of it every time i shake someone's hand or caress their body. I will love forever. However, loving forever means I put my life on the line. Subject-Object to exploitation, violence, discrimination and abandonment. Loving like a mestiza means everything and nothing. Loving like a mestiza means every second is a role of the dice. Always shifting and always loving but never guaranteeing.

Apart

"Para de sofocarte. El amor debe de darte aire, no cortarte la vida."

Goodbye my lover. May our hearts only possess the ability to remember how we made and could have made love under mother moon. If we meet again, years from now, we'll fall in love and make up for all these wasted years. But meeting again is a stretch and a possibility that's hard to accept.

con amor,

tu luna

it's coming in less than 9 hours

I will soon be 21 years old. I'm expecting a lot but like piale would say "don't expect anything." So i am not expecting anything.

I know what I want but do I really know, when what I want is something i've never had? When i was seventeen a psychic predicted that I would fall in love with my lifetime lover at the age of 21. Apparently in my past life i was a gay man with a life partner, however at the age of 21 we wouldn't be together anymore because of society's homophobic ways. My partner committed suicide and I never loved again.

She also said that I would become a famous writer one day. That when I would die I would be remembered for my writing. The thing was, at the age of 17 i was insecure of my writing. I never felt good enough and my creative writing was kept private from the public world. I would write poetry and use a pseudo name of "John Smith." Talk about the whitest most masculine pseudo name i could have picked. lol. Now that I am 20 years old and only hours away from turning 21, there is not doubt in my mind that I will be a writer for the rest of my life. There is nothing more gratifying that putting down in words the ways of my heart, body and spirit. Writing has saved my life. From the time I was eight years old to the present where I go nowhere without my love book. Writing is my oxygen. And like oxygen, I can only live without it for about 30 seconds before my body begins to weaken.

21 will be the year that I learn to love another man. And the year of my best writing

Gifts and Love

Truth

My truth. My truth that is always mine but rooted in my relation to others. The truth about love is that it is never constant, always torturing, and most likely something you can't live without because love is like cold water on the driest day.

How do I know what love is if I have never fucked someone I loved?

Maybe love comes in fragments and I've only had a handful of pieces.... or maybe love is really not love, but an empty box with beautiful wrapping and nothing at the core.

Two Days Left

Love and Death.

If I were to die, I would want it to be because of love. The good kind though. Not the kind that becomes an obsession that your life comes to an end because a lover has caged you. But the kind where you're physically incapable of loving that the only way to continue to love is to liberate your spirit from your physical being. That's the good kind. The kind I hope puts me to sleep.

love

"I WOULD RATHER WALK ON THORNS THAN TO FALSELY LOVE YOU"