Petition for a Throne

You've wanted to run into the arms of a man for so long, but we have never had that. Partly because of me, partly because of the men. However, I've always made sure to get you home safely. Will you give me some credit for that?

When it's raining at night and we just missed the bus, and I stand there shaking because I am cold and exhausted, you start crying thinking that a man wouldn't let you get soaking wet in the rain and freeze to death. But don't I stand there until the bus comes and get us home? It is me who always comes for you. It isn't none of the men who come for dates, it's not The Midnight Smoker, it's not The Regent. It's me. I don't recall any man coming to our rescue, not even when I get so sick I can't even walk. I have never seen a man wanting to help.

I take you to the places you really want to go to, even if I don't find companionship (I've made sure to find it there.) I buy you the things you crave, I buy the sexy lingerie, the matching underwear, the perfume, the lip gloss, those dresses that you like. It is me, not some prince out of a Disney movie. It is me who likes to pamper you. It is me who walks to Sac's to get the pizza.

I want you to recognize me and give me my throne. I no longer want to be a Princess or a mere Queen. For the things I do with my strength and how I've proven myself, I've come to believe that I deserve more from you.

You'll never find a man more masculine than I, unless the Duke of Bewcastle came out from the book. In the meantime, I am the only person with your well being on its mind. The only who can't function without you. I wouldn't even think about leaving you.

But I want to be King. I refuse to you listening to songs where you get to run into the arms of a man. Are you just going to hand me the throne or will I have to plan a takeover?

A Promise to Save that Sensitive Heart of Mine

At times I think that my time has stopped in movement. As if, a chance was offered for me to leave the fish tank and I don't remember why didn't I take on that chance. I look out the window when it's dark and wonder where would I be now if I had left that time.

I've stayed thinking that I could manage others and their issues. Like, I couldn't abort ship when I wanted to because I believed in unity. That incessant thought of standing by beliefs, by systems, by the family, by the people. Having to make the necessary adjustments to comply, find a way for everyone to compromise, and like that feel diplomacy at its best.

I've never been the type to leave anyone behind, and I must've been a Captain before I came here again, because for nothing in the world would I abandon a ship. Like that, I feel that I have been punished as well.

All the realizations that I have had to swallow lately are settling somewhere in my heart. They have been organized, for the sake of being practical, in my mind. But all along I've known where it was going to hit the hardest: that sensitive heart of mine (whom I don't seem to care about.)

It was my heart who was on my mind as I looked out the window into the stars that adorn the buildings while listening to Marc Anthony's "You Sang to Me." One of my heart's favorite songs of all times. I don't think about money issues anymore, I've found ways to solve them each and every time. I don't think about grades, my brain puts me on the highest of Honor Lists. I've found effective ways to overcome my horrible shyness. I've managed to learn, from all the trips and falls that I go through. I have even learned to relax and to breathe into my lungs, to take a step back from a problem and view it from outside, and to see the big picture. But I can't solve my heart's disillusion.

I've looked for companions, but I have only managed to keep it isolated. I claim that it is to protect it, and then I go out there again because my brain can't function without a zest. I don't have a zest if my heart doesn't find a new illusion. So, I force it to go out there as I lay my eyes on someone new again, I know it's not true, but I tell my heart that is the one. Just so that my brain can accomplish finishing a project, starting a new one, and finish a 20 page research paper. All in success. But my heart hurts as I put it back in a cage for a reason or another.

As it waits for that one it has chosen a long time ago. Oh, I mock it and write things about it, picking at it just so that I could put its vulnerability out there and get the praises I do. And it waits for The Midnight Smoker, for The Regent, for real love to come. There, quietly.

I try to ignore it. I raise the volume, dive into a pile of paper, play volleyball, walk into dark rooms claiming that it's time to get dirrty, fence, put things together, while breaking others. Hell, at least I stopped finding myself nursing glasses of whisky and wine. I can only run for so long before running out of breath.

I should've left before they told me that he would never come. I should've left without thinking that I was leaving things behind. I should've put my clothes in my backpack and gone somewhere out of the fish tank when I was going to. My heart wouldn't have felt the way it did when it found out that he wasn't coming. My heart wouldn't have plummeted, I wouldn't have had to spend so many years being so aware of my tragic loss. My plan was to disappear because I wanted to travel all over the place and be a vagabond. I wasn't meaning to stay, I should've waited for him on a beach in Brazil. Maybe I wouldn't have ever found out that he wasn't coming back.

Five or six years later, I find that I'm not necessary to keep the show running. That there is no way that The Regent will save my heart from that heartbreak, and The Midnight Smoker is not the man I thought he was. As a matter of fact, no one have been the people I thought they were.

I was relieved because of the things I insisted on finding out. Nursing my ego. But now I feel it in my heart, missing what it never had. I'm afraid to tell it that it will never happen. That love is like my belief in God; something you believe in firmly, but will never have an opportunity to touch it and feel what it is really like. And that maybe I have chosen to be without it just so that I can accomplish the things that stroke my ego. But it is love who never chooses me, love who abandons me each and every time.

When all this finishes, I promise I will find us a new home and we will travel. We will go to the mountains and to beaches, and you'll learn to fly a helicopter, and go whitewater rafting, and go bungee jumping. We'll learn to shoot and archery. We will learn new languages, meet new cultures, and help more people. Oh, and we'll see the horses too, we'll get on their backs and ride into the west!

We are going to replace the way we get to feel that zest. I'm replacing it with my need for adventures, real ones. I promise. I think we'll take over Venus from there.

There Goes Liam Wulfric

People who like to establish themselves as singers, will never come to you and serenade you like I do. Even if I don't sing as well as others, I know what songs explain you when you are tired and silent. I like the depth I see in your eyes when you think that you have nothing to give. It is when you speak of truth and wonder and that's how you give a lot to me.

Maybe you are right, not a lot of people will miss you if you were to go and never come back. If I tell you that I would miss that thing in your brown eyes the most, and to avoid the missing part, I would ask you not to leave. Would that mean a thing?

How I would miss talking and not talking to you about the things that I never want to talk about, but it's so easy to tell your ears. I would want to sing to you while we walk down the street, even if I forget the lyrics to the song, I'll improvise something and surprise you like that.

It's your turn, surprise me again, tell me that you have thought that it would be impossible to live without a singing cricket. Forget all those characters I always make up, this is about a very personal me. I want you to stay, not because of what I see in your eyes or because I talk to you and look forward to seeing you, I want you to stay for Liam Wulfric.

There I go, putting subtle importances out there in the universe, only to turn around to think of myself as shy and not brave. As I never tell you that I am beginning to budge.

But you and I know that the song is almost over and I am no better than the rest. Holding on to you while crying when we finally wave our good-byes would be the better part of me in action. But most likely, I will smile again, while you turn around and walk away from me. I'll watch you disappear into the past waving a smile and a hidden tear in my right eye, while finishing singing the song that describes how nice it was meeting you.

...I like it when you are tired and silent. "I have nothing to give you" he says, but the guy has named love and heartbreak after me. I think that's a lot and more than enough...

Ideas from Luna

Because they offered the same kind of relationship. They all want to fuck, but in the same position every other night, until it falls to once a month. On my calendar, I have my period once a month, it doesn't apply to sex.

An Idea
I have an idea, let us play a game for two.
It's a story where I get to do things to you.
Those are the things you haven't imagined...yet.

It's starts subtly,
like the tip of a feather caressing down your back.
As relaxing as that.
Like kisses behind your ears,
sensual like that.
A massage,
on that same back.

Breathe the atmosphere in deeply and let me cover your eyes.

Now, listen to me...

Let the game begin.


The Sad Capricorn

Go on and whisper in my ear how you want me to kiss you again. Say it over and over again while you caress the eagle before it flies away. Stroke me and keep pretending that you would love me even if I don't kiss you ever again. The kiss that moved you inside.

I've always wanted to make your kind desperate for me.
Turn around and use you, sad Capricorn.
See how those eyes fill with tears while they turn away from mine feeling desperately naked, vulnerable, needy, but most importantly, sad.
I want to see that. I'm here to make you feel that.

You told me that you would tame me. If I trusted you I would believe you. But the men in my life have proven to be worse than unreliable, they have proven to be incapable. And your kind has proven a huge capacity that lacks in care.

You say that I'm insatiable and unreliable; I know that I'm capable of using the strength I don't seem to have. As you have seen, I like the pleasures you've scarcely ever seen, but that invaded the quietest of your fantasies. And you freeze in practical terms when I speak like that and do what I preach.

It is necessary to care for the savage you are going to tame, because it takes the patience that one only finds in love. But like the story out of Erotica, I will break you into that world. I shouldn't show you because I don't love you, I just want to use you. But that journalist in you insists on investigating to put together that story or maybe solve the puzzle you say I am. Either way, I know what that is like.

Sometimes, I want to willingly come to you because I feel that you don't understand what I'm doing to you. But I tell myself that I'm perfecting my game. Be ready when the real deal comes and win. I wonder how far you will let me go. I really do wish that you don't let me reach the point where I don't return, that you would tame me instead. That is all I need.

What will I get from you? What I want? What I need?

Tell me more about that kiss you want again. Describe to me how I kiss and that you have never kissed someone like me. Tell me about my art and the things you want me to do to you. Tell me. Go on, compare me. Tell me I'm the most insane, I like to hear that I'm crazy. I like to hear I'm the best. Tell me how I turn you on. Tell me once again.

I know it's not in you sad Capricorn, but it is so Aries to take advantage of the state of mind you are in. Stop your whining and stroke my ego. Stop and let me use you. Let me be, because I am. And you, talk about that kiss you want from me.

What The Legendary Solitaire Doesn't Want to Say

At this time, I call out to you. You who have sworn devotion to me, to me...and only me. I want to go to you.
I'm thinking about the beauty of what you have felt for me, and how it has made me feel at times. I'm thinking of how I have never doubted your words and how I have turned away from you more than once, more than twice, more like seven times.

I'm thinking of you.

You who conforms himself with the simplest of my smiles. I've wanted to say to you that I understand. Look at me, I do understand you. I know how this all feels. It stings with passion and you try to cure it with pure rum. Wake up the next morning, giving away your rights to drink and your will to love. Only to pick it up again [at times, like these].

The addiction you can't walk away from.

Come, let me serve you a glass of rum and tell me more about what you feel.
You don't deserve it, right?
You have opened your heart to me so many times,
and I've stepped on it,
I've spitted on you,
I've told you to go away more times than reason can recognize.
As your mind hides away the agony of rejection.
And you think of me and swear that I will never meet one more devoted than you.
More than you who thinks about me when rain taps on your window pane.
And it hurts beyond recognition,
in the darkness of your soul.

I'm looking at you.

I once loved like you do me.
I loved to the point where there was no return.
I loved so much that I haven't forgotten
and so much that I don't want to remember

It is scary and almost a sin to suffer from emotions as strong as love.
All your desires becoming as helpless as a kitten in the middle of a storm
when you are left behind.
You think yourself good, you think yourself bad,
think yourself ugly,
never enough and always rotten.

And then you forget that face that drove you mad,
taking the last memory of what you held so dear to you.
A face, that face. The face you wanted to become.
Once again, you turn to God
in disdain,
why you.
In vengeance you pray,
to take everything from you,
but to make a vixen out of you.
It took me to steal and break hearts,
without tolerance.
Wanting to see in the eyes of others,
the darkness of my own soul...

That is not about you.

Your eyes came barging in,
when you knocked and I did not answer.
When I intended to give you my kiss of death,
your kiss brought me back to life.
You evoke gratituted in me, and that
my frog,
I believe could turn to love.
How I would like to mend what I have done to you,
and give you the greatest of joys.

But you must understand,
this is my heart and I am fighting for you not to be in it.
I would like to fall in,
for you to mend me,
to rest and fall asleep in your arms.
But every time I turn around ready to love you,
I find that I have an incapacity, an inability that leaves me standing still
with a force of steel
lashing out at you.

But I call out to you and your ability to evoke the innocence in me. At times like these, I call out to you and tell you I need you. How I need for your eyes to break my fall, for your kiss to bring me back to life, and for you to never let me go again.

It is only to your door,
where I bring my beaten self.
Without shame,
I see how you look at my wounds,
without pity in your eyes.
Just love, just love, like that love I once felt.
My soul is bruised,
the air has chilled my skin and frozen my heart.

Love me, love me,
my frog.
Love me until you drive that demon out of me,
save my soul,
and put me to rest.
If only for tonight.
Even the Eternal Solitaire knows that true love brings peace and rest.

Now,
tell me the story of The Legendary Wildflower:
the character of steel,
perseverance of a soldier
and the heart of a child.
Traits found in this woman you love so much.

I've said what I wanted to say,
but keep telling me about the story of The Legendary Wildflower.

The Good Witch's Plea

The woman standing in front of you is more than a bitch, she is a thief.
More than a demon, she is whore!
She will give you the love that only you have dreamt of.
She will hit you like sunshine after a snowstorm,
and become the spring following your winter.
And she'll let you bask in the nature of wilderness.

You'll think you want that. Funny afternoons together chasing dreams for two.
A fantastic story of that crazy wild child you have just met and find very easy to love.
While she unravels the most private of your fantasies,
discovers what hurts you the most,
and ties you to her.
That is what she does.
That is what she hides under those lids
Something you will never be able to look into.
Your fantasy will play over and over until she steals your soul.

She knows what pain is and she will make you go that way.
She will give you the most pleasure
Only until she steals that soul and leave you feeling lonely and broken.

I warn you, don't touch her.
You must desist from her and even though she is alluring just think of all the men that have fallen for that and these men are now part of nothing.
Don't be part of her collection of men.
Deny her your affections and attention,
and give them to me,
for I am your kind and I'll never leave you desolate at heart.

Put a hand over your heart and give me the other one.
I'll guide you out of this cave
Stay with me, because that witch fears the light
she can only live in darkness.

Come my love and stay with me,
come with me and I'll set you free from her.
For my ambitions don't lie in conquering you,
but in loving you.
That is all I use my magic for, just to secure and love your very soul.

I don't want to say anymore,
I love you because I need you.
I don't know what I would do without you,
I would surely hate the darkness even more,
because it will have taken everything I have ever loved.

Come to me my sweetest love.

Death & Life of Writing by the Moonlight

It happened when that long lost love was finally gone from me or perhaps the minute I set out to do good on the path of normalcy. Either way, I lost that edged. Traded night for day, betrayed and shut down my most innate demons seeking love under the sun. Leaving behind that part of my life that basked under the moonlight, tired of being so restless.

Clean love washed me from head to toe and my new clothes were fitting me right. It was light and flowers grew in a month like January. Intelligence of the once 6th grader shined. I had it all but a tube top dress out of sequins while window shopping. Something inside wanted to dress in gold. I bought a conservative floral print dress instead. Women don't wear sequin gold dresses during the day, those dresses were worn at night, and I had no use of the night.

There was no time and setting things right took time. Time of standing in front of the huge window in that office, looking towards the richness of the building across the street and at the time. Time flying so slow as it wasn't hungry. There was a schedule and I ate at a given time and then didn't eat again until the next time set on the schedule. There was time to write, time like these, but I couldn't.

That I felt and missed. During the day, there wasn't a time when I didn't think of writing. A moment when I didn't try. I couldn't. I couldn't put myself on paper anymore, because there was nothing to write. Able to see myself in the mirror, time consuming my most private thoughts making of them generalizations, and the sun bathing my ambitions with rays of light taming them. I was content with what I had accomplished; but there was no malice, no mystery, no darkness. There was just light and me under the sun. I've come here so many times, but I haven't been seen, because I haven't been able to do what I am about to now.

Straight lines are easy on the eye, but there's a sense of boredom to them. As much as I like straight lines, I can't say anything about it. There's no passion in normalcy and it takes passion to move me. That pain was gone, I didn't do the other anymore, nothing hurts, there's no real "love." It became the scenario of the daily life: work, school, hang out. Kiss (less) dates go hand-in-hand with this kind of life where a figure like Mother Theresa would be so proud. Everyone is proud except for me when put in raw daylight.

There's nothing that I want to talk about. Don't ask me about my future if it is involving me behind a desk with a loving husband and kids of my own. Is that I will be writing memos to my conscience communicating that reason will go on a permanent vacation, understood? News aren't made out of happiness, but out of the anguish of others. Pain is alluring when you know how to put it on paper.

I just don't know how to write happiness on paper. Perhaps, happiness and joy aren't meant to be written and just lived. Part of your life is gone by the time you write something. It's better to write pain away, because part of that pain will be gone by the time you are done writing it. Happiness is different, it comes and goes so quickly that it would be a shame and an insult [to it] if you take time out to write it.

There's a beginning, a middle, and an end to every phase. I've been giving others solace for some time now in actions where important figures such as Mother Theresa would be proud of. Today, I sit here preparing a hymn to the Mother of all nights: The Moon. I have been looking at the time for some time now and I know that it is time for me to go find my own kind of solace in the writing that I can only do under the moonlight.

Something to be proud of, since I only give what comes from my most innate demons at times.