“cuando yo te beso,”

Ten things you’ll hate about me:

1. I pride myself in knowing so much about your culture. Fuck with me, I dare you.
2. I really love cursing. It’s a great way to express myself.
3. Drinking with friends is such a sweet pastime.
4. Sometimes, I confuse myself. That doesn’t mean you can hold it against me.
5. I like arguing with hard-headed people because they’re wrong most of the time. They’re just too thick to realize it.
6. I hate half of the people I know. But, you’d never know that.
7. I’m really digging this whole college thing. Bring on the parties.
8. I’m fat, and it’s crazy.
9. I have a really loud and obnoxious personality, but that doesn’t encompass all of my character. Sometimes, I like to be a little on the quiet side, too.
10. I’m a very sexual person.  A lot of you don’t know the half of it.

“y solamente tu y tu y tu,”

“me importas tu y tu y tu,”

“My love for you is an exothermic reaction,
and your love for me is an endothermic reaction.

Please don’t make fun of my biochemistry reference…
it’s the only way I could describe it.”

“la culpa no la tuve yo,”

I want to talk to God but I’m afraid because we haven’t spoken in so long.

“acariciame la cara,”

I’m going to be drawing nude models in my art class. I hope that it’s young women and not men, young or old. I’d hate to spend any amount of time sketching someone’s ballsack.

“pescaria las mis dolores,”

Only a true devil breathes fire.

Si la mar era de leche,
yo me haria un pescador.
Pescaria las mis dolores
con palavricas d’amor.

“vengo a dormir contigo,”

“la culpa no la tuve yo,”

I wasn’t disappointed in the end.
I already miss it.

my cause is noble, my power is pure.

And I can end the planet in a holocaust, in a holocaust, in a holocaust.

untitled i

I like being alone, where I am all I see,
where I hold my own hand, and rub feet against feet.

I like breathing, and exhaling to live,
not knowing where to end it, and much less to begin.

I like my blemishes, deep and overwhelming,
my scars, my cuts, my hairs, my blessings.

I like my smile, though ragged and crooked,
and broken and dim but ever-so-resilient.

I like myself, my ins and outs,
my fingers, my thighs, my mouth.

I like inside parts, warm and pulsating,
like my beating, skipping, beating heartache.

I like my past, shaken not stirred,
clear and haunting and liquor-blurred.

I like the smell of smoke on my skin,
the stench of menthol rising from within.

I like my father, and his chinky eye,
who he so generously made mine.

I like my mother, with her Nazi boot,
and her curious Aryan eye, my curious Aryan eye.

I like my mop of hair,
I like my mop of hair.

I like it when I laugh,
because I hear the skies tremble.

I like it when I dance,
because I humble mountains.

I like my lonely sighing,
moaning, groaning, dying.

I like being alone, where I am all I see,
where I hold my own hand, and rub feet against feet.