Zero

These words are ticking time bombs,
cursed from my lips,
a hex.

It doesn’t matter if I reach or not:
the apple is always just a bit too far,
slipping out of my grasp
landing in another’s.

I’ve stopped doing the math,
but you should know that with me,
everything I do
adds
up
to

zero.

Red

After class today, I met my boyfriend and another friend in the cafeteria, where he was assigning the two of them themes and subjects for which to write poems.  Suddenly, I was told to grab a colored pen and to write a poem about the color opposite of it.  Since I grabbed a green pen, I had to write about red.  Here’s what I wrote. (don’t get your expectations too high)

Red

you are not faded,
not like the strawberry of your sweatshirt,
gone through cycles,
twisting and contorting — like a Ditto!

You like Ditto
and strawberries;
I leave your neck blushing with spots where my mouth has christened them.
Joy is a fuse, lit by the touch of your chilled fingers
pressing into my heated palms.
It travels along the citadels of hair on my arms,
winding down canyons and valleys of mouded flesh
that I call my body.
Finally detonating with your escaped frantic whispers.

See, you are not faded
like your sweatshirt
or chilled like your fingers,
but a warm bath stewed with everything you are
and while roses wash the surface,
it is the fire underneath —
You —
that I love.

Sometimes

… I just have nothing to write about but I feel like I have to write something as I’ve made the resolution to post something for at least half the year this year.  Sure, I could lazily post something I’ve already written but when even that seems like too much work, hmmm… where do I go to search out inspiration?

I’ve been told to just write.  Anything.  That stimulating your creative juices but revving it up with some free-writing helps, and yes, sometimes it does.  Most of the time, I find I write about the most pointless things though.  Maybe I just have the mentality that everything I write should be premeditated — like murder! — or that I should have a plan or an idea of what to do before doing it — like robbery!  Probably that.

I think I just care too much.  I want everything that spews from my pen (in this case, my typing fingers) to be a golden treasure of metaphors, deep, life-changing themes, and strong enough words that they will make people cry after finishing the last period.  But that’s not the case.  After having gone through a lot of my older material, most of it did make me want to cry — not in a good way.

It was still a good attempt though.  I feel like I’ve learned way more in my last two years at college in terms of writing than I had all the years prior to that.  Probably because I could finally get other people’s real opinions on things rather than my friends who would look at a poem I wrote and say, “This is good…”

There appears to be no end in sight for this entry.  Plus, I have to start doing mi tarea de espanol porque tengo un examen el martes.  Dios mio.  Por lo menos, lo hablo y escribo bien y tengo un novio que le gusta correctarme frecuentemente.

Deseeme suerte!