Shame

I grew so used to loving roses

that now the shimmer of thorns seems enticing.

I go out in the storm, hoping

thunder strikes me.

But only rain touches me. Falls on me,

soaking me in shame.

I am ashamed, for I long for thorns

to prick me, for the darkness 

to grip me. For the train

to hit me.

Deseo terrenal XXVIII

Dime, ¿qué sucede cuando

desde el cielo despejado salta
el relámpago?
¿Qué sucede cuando la grieta de su impacto
clama a la lluvia, pero el cielo
se ha vaciado?
Las estrellas nos están mirando
tan callado
y bajo techo yo les conjuré tanto
desdén, tanto.

La Luna en el espejo
solo va transitando,
acostados sobre el pasto
les rogamos tanto
a los astros.

Pero yo tampoco puedo
prometer la lluvia, solo soy
un ser humano.
Y cada estrella es solo gas
expirando.

¿Con qué derecho le reclamo yo al cielo
que me entregue mis deseos en mano? Oh, mas
¿con qué derecho los astros me señalan
el sendero iluminando?
Salgo a caminar solo cuando
las nubes se han arrebujado,
sujetando
mi candil siempre en alto.

God

It humbles me to know that, as overcome as I am by my love, it is not special. All the stars above have seen it millions of times before, it is not new. Each tree and each stone I walk by recognize me as a lover, thinking: there is yet another. So many creatures have carried this very torch before, and right now, even - I have so many siblings in love. Every poem I write has been written before. Everything I dare to dream has been conjured up by the captive mind of another sleeping beau. We are millions - we who know of rapture without God. Except that is not true: we do know God. God is love itself. It has already taken our souls. For eternity, I presume - I really do not know. Maybe the option to have my soul back is there, but I would not choose it. I do not want it to return.

There is no coming back from knowing God. There is no other faith that could be taught to me that I would be able to hold. All who claim to be gods are but spirits that wander the world, looking to not be forgotten. They are no more than me. They are no less alone.

I am godlike, for I carry God ablaze in me, eternally, like a star. It sparked inside me, inadvertently, lightning struck. Its embers were already glowing within when I was born, and after I dispose of this body, they will continue to burn. It transcends my humanity, my mortality - every little cell that conforms me, is ruled by it. It is above me, it is before me - I come after. I am a prideful individual, self-absorbed, and yet, I like it this way. Love can have my ego and throw it into the ocean for all I care. Love can let my ego drown. I am a willing slave to love. It was never an accident: I chose it, wholehearted. I chose to love, this much, this many, this long, this deep and hard and raw. Love is the rope climbed up by my soul from Hell to Heaven. Love is what unifies all the lives I ever had. Love defined me, and the world around. It created us all. From love we all spawn and to love we shall return.

Hot

All my life I longed to be hot. It took me

so many years. So many years.

I had to go through my depression first. I lost

so many kilos. So many kilos. 

Not that fat girls aren't hot. They're hot as fuck. But I thought

that me, in particular, could not.

I spent so many euros. So many euros

buying myself pretty clothes. I learned to favour

every curve, I made them swift

to turn in a quiet car. I learned to tame 

the wilderness in my body, even though 

I loved her so. I plucked so many hairs, so many

hours out the clock just to be

hot.

It took me so long to be the hot girl. The girl you dream of.

The girl you timidly, secretly cum for, in the dead silence

then look awkward in the eye in the loud.

I finally made it. I was so intimidatingly gorgeous, the kind of girl

that makes your jaw drop.

Only then I realized that I didn't want that job.

Letting go of the hot girl in the mirror, the girl

to whom I would submit my soul if she didn't already

have it inside her skull - it hurt.

I had to tell her myself, that she had to go. I had to watch.

Sometimes, it's your birthday and you recieve a wonderful gift. Everybody is so excited for you to open it, because

it has so much worth. They spent so much money on it, so much work.

But it's not what you wanted.

You can fully see its value. You can tell how precious the materials are,

how much meaning has been poured inside. It's beautiful, breathtakingly so. It's not that you don't find it beautiful - you really do. It's just...

that it's not for you. You wish someone else had it.

You're too embarrassed to decline this gift, so you keep it for years, you show it off, you know it's something anyone would be proud of. You almost believe you are from how hard you try to keep the farce. But deep inside you know that it doesn't belong in your home.

Every time you look at it, it's a rose that pricks

you with venomous thorns.

They never gave you a receipt. You can't return this gift.

It has your name engraved on it, so you can't sell it nor

give it to someone beloved.

You want to get rid of it, once and for all.

You can only break it. Throw it onto the floor.

And when you do, it hurts. Because it was incalculably precious, unique, something that never will repeat

in the history of this world, made with so much hope.

It's impossible to not feel like a bastard, like the worst

even if you do it out of love. You need to release your trapped soul

from the mirror, you smash it into pieces and don't even think of the many years of bad luck to come.

So many years.

To become hot. Just hot. 

Like I always wanted.

Silencio IV

Estoy esperando a recibir el permiso.

Son papeles importantes.

Me levanto temprano, pierdo el sueño

porque necesito firmarlos

personalmente.

Estoy esperando

que me lleguen documentos.

Todo el día pendiente.

¿Y si

me olvidé de

fotocopiar algo?

¿Y si

se extraviaron

permanentemente?