This Demon Inside

0 voices

Inside of me
not so far away from my head and thoughts, rests this demon
close enough to my will power
but far away from my honest awareness.

I don't know how or when got created
but lives inside of me eating from my lack of will
it lives for my weakness and my fails

Inside of me
This demon sits and awaits
for answers, ideas, whispers and movements
that grow and grow when the outside chooses to pretend...
It waits for your words
For your answers, and for what I wish you could read from my eyes.

I don't know how it works, or how to rest control from it
but it lives right here, and pushes my true plans to come out
It makes me spit out questions I wish I could hold back
And it causes me pain when I don't give it what it wants...

In the photo: Miss Diana
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Within Our Bubbles

0 voices

I don't care about what goes around tonight
or how we both spend our days a week ago
I don't mind forgeting about you for hours
but tonight I miss us.

Our shared words, sounds and secret stories
The kind and rough way to see live,
and how ironic things would turn out after so many years
I miss that...

Talking about the little cloud,
your particular storytelling 
and how our laugh would express so much guilt
but knowing that we shared a nature,
one that even when it wasn't the best of us
it represents a connection.

I don't care about my current states
or what tomorrow will become into,
I don't mind the outside world without our figures
but tonight I miss us.

Lyrics by Freelance Whales

October's got those orange eyes
But somehow I still lost sight
When you lifted the lid off of my pumpkin head
And kissed me goodnight
Should it be a thorn in my side
We never quite broke that horse
She slept in the cul-de-sac right
Seven miles from my front porch

Bundle up and come with me now
Down the road where to the burnt down barn
We could make a blanket of coats
And breathe our souls into the neighbours front lawn
But oh god that look in your eye
Trouble that does not search words
It sprung from the biblical vine
And are waiting to return to the dirt

The stitches in your winter clothes
Your cello bows
We stole your hair to make them
We're sorry for the iron shoes
We nailed to you
And stuck you in the rain
And then you sprinted away
Sprinted away to where I don't know
God's moving in your bloodstream
Where the cross beats aren't so slow

You swept all the red from my cheeks
I didn't hear you come back inside
And light up the gas in the den
And stand there in the thin winter light
But oh god that curve in your spine
A question mark
A doctor sign was framed by the windowsill
And you saw something I did not end that night
You saw something I did not end that night
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Naked Mind

0 voices

Avoding all kind of analysis, these lines will just describe one of the greatest sensations any girl can feel... I say girl because I find it hard to believe a boy could feel it like This.

Crushed is the most common term that defines the stage, when we come to awareness of the fact that we like him, we like his lips, his eyes, his hair... How he smiles and gets surprised, we like how hi breathes, drinks and walks. When he says something cool we float and when he doesn't we ignore words in the most creative way.

Infatuated is the crime, acting on it feels just like heaven... Junkie with a drug of desire and stoned butterflies dancing on our skin whenever we see him. Rushing looks just to heavy breathe and dream with all the things we would do to them.

During these moments all we care about is how silly we feel and how all levels of reason, conscience and will power drop in our system... We don't even try to stop it, we just give in... Love turns into a whole different thing without deep emotions, just any kind of shallow sensation, which is why in these moments that love, their love becomes our drug.

Us girls feel like this every once in a while, and I don't think any guy has ever noticed it for real. Our desires go naked in front of them and all our eyes are screaming is "kiss me".

In the photo: Wal
By: Vivian Alvarez
Song by Kesha
(Not exactly all the lyrics, but the song that inspired this)

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0 voices

Language is essential for communication, and for people there's more than one way to use that language to express ideas, share information, just that... communicate.

Within that language there are ways of being, personalities and issues, all mixed up in a way that transform language for each individual, as myself. The external side of me claims freedom and a way of communicating with few limits, I say a lot and think as I say. But I also talk at convenience, when I assume something needs to be said or not, then I do. Not the most honest way of communicating, but one that defines me.

Beneath all that, rests and reacts a special condition that in a way that I can't control, manages what I transmit to people whether it is communicating or just being... A condition that I still don't know or understand, a condition that seems to bring exactly what I want to avoid and a condition that, as some people tell me, brings me closer to what holds me back from changing.

I still bend my perspective for other people, say what I think they wanna hear, hide those thoughts of mine that might damage something that I believe is stable... A condition and its peculiarities that I'm ignoring most of the time, and something that I'm still not working on.

There is an image of me I know is real, an image that's aware of what I have to offer and how comfortable I am with most of the decisions I make... That image that I wish was the permanent and only I'd show other people.

If I could just trade everything for the facts, just to know what it is... then maybe and just maybe I would jump from this happy place of regular, constant and random infatuations, to a happy place of real companionship.

P.S. to myself: This exercise of reviewing writings might be working.

In the photo: Chan Marshall
Lyrics by Trapt

Something missing
Left behind
Search in circles
Every time I try
I've been here before
I've seen you before

I can't escape winding down these halls
Hard to find a place where there are no walls
And no lines begging me to cross
Only straight ahead better move along

Like Clockwork
I commit the crime
I pretend to be
everything they like
I've been here before
I've seen you before


And I trade everything for this
And I trade everything for this
Why do I read the writing on the wall
Why do I read the writing on the wall
I won't lose my place in line
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0 voices

I don't like it when you say what you say
I prefer a regular relation
I don't believe you care for the words you give me
I choose not to listen when I want to
I liked it better when it felt real
I don't like your ways
I know you know this goes to you
I thought we were over this game
I don't wanna look at the delete option
I wish you would understand it just hurts me
I refuse your ways
I will still be, not stand
I keep on changing the vision of you and me
I am sure now, this part of me you lost it.

In the photo: Waleska
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For Them

1 voices

These girls I know... Their images that I steal to write about here, as the perfect complement to my words... These girls and many more, thank you...

Because I can read stuff from their eyes, and make up stories from what I believe it's true of false, or maybe what might be interesting to put together. Feelings that can't speak from itself and only by staring at their images, I can try to gather the right words...

Because our skins may have felt common lights, a different and special kind of touch, and it will always feel unique to describe those experiences... Knowing that we as girls, feel them in a way but are more intense when it comes to expressing...

Because of the double company I get from them, they provide a visual perspective to my unclear lines... Trying to shape stories that come from what I perceive from their lives...

Because our scars might become light air that would not dare to damage our covers and inner possesions, or at least we all share the fact that pretending sometimes is better that facing...

Because in a way I feel I can tell stories from what they see and create with their visions, images and frames that inspire me for these lines to come to life... Pieces of time frozen and shared for ideas to clear perspectives...

...Because if I'm doing this right, we will all smile along as our heads and souls connect.
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I Was Meant To Write A Post Tonight

0 voices

I was meant to write a whole different post tonight, but for that I needed to keep myself in a sort of gray emotional state, for the words to have some meaning and be able to stand for my ideas... As I said, I was meant to write that tonight, but many bright colors today changed my senses and all I can feel right now, is peace.

As if three thousand people would be gathering in front of me with a simple smile on their face, and making no big efforts in sharing what they are all thinking together: we told you to wait and see, wait and feel.

Amazing how small and disconnected facts can make my head release so much stress, and bring to me this sensation of "yeah all is good"... aware that not much has changed, but the feeling is bigger than me and my power to avoid positive things, the peace that sits with me tonight whispers in my hear and no one else can hear it, I am smiling with this contagious emotion, to those that believe in what I feel right now.

I was meant to write a different post tonight, one with hurting lines, lies and truths about what aches and makes me sick... But my smile gives me away, and with it.. I share it with you.

In the photo, and more for my wave of real girls: Sweet and peaceful Vigi
Music to smile as I smile right now:

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Partial To The Night Sky

0 voices

There's joy in certain moments and certain actions,
For you could be in triangle shapes, mine could be in some sort of square shape
But we both know, they are real, and they make us live.

For this special joy night, I won't say a word
I will join a floating cloud with one particular trayectory
A cloud that won't ask me where I come from
Or why this is the journey I choose tonight
The air will lead me, and on that cloud I'll count the ideas.

There's joy in being awake, but for this last month the cloud offers a better state
A much more sane state
One with less alone time within this head
One with less of me in real life
One state of night travelers, and fake silence.

Look how I don't say a thing
Look how you don't seem surprised at all
Look how you don't even notice I'm flying alone
And even when I admit that floating with you next to me feels better when I wake up...
... I will have to settle with the solo journey.

In the photo: Lovely Wal
Lyrics by Freelance Whales

Do me this solid
If you would pretty lady
Please grab me a martini
And meet me on the balcony
I've prepared a light show
You could fake a melody
We could argue over where and when
the cymbal hits should be

Hannah takes the stairs
And I usually take the elevator
Every now and then she offers me
A lemon Now and Later
Please don't play the match maker
Please don't be a player hater
If you dig her recent work
You should go congratulate her

And if you're partial to the night sky
If you're vaguely attracted to rooftops
Hannah takes the stairs
Cause she can't tell that
its a winding spiral case
Is she right side up
Or upside-down?

So Hannah let your roots grow
Let your blue legs show
If I need to take a breath
Then you can take a trumpet solo
I'll work on the limbs if
You work on the torso
If it gets to be too much then
You can lend a helping hand

And if you're partial to the night sky
If you're vaguely attracted to rooftops
Hannah takes the stairs
Cause she can't tell that
its a winding spiral case
Is she right side up
Or upside-down?

Hannah takes the stairs
Cause she can't tell that
its a winding spiral case
Is she outside-in
Or inside out?
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Empty Parking Lot

She remembers, catching up with the sun as rising
looking from side to side, falling into awareness
That was his bed, again...

White sheets, with some wine stains
Empty bottles around the bed
Low music that he had forgotten to turn off
Always the same style, always the same songs
It began feeling too familiar, too soon...

The perfect style to leave the bed, hearing his breath.. avoiding movements
the cold floor and the rush running through her body
...remembering the touch, the kisses, the sensasion and the relief
he would provide so much peace...

Going to the kitchen in his white big t-shirt
one glass of water, maybe two and walking to that window
that lovely window, where while watching the empty parking lots
she would smile to the idea of greatness
...greatness in the letting go and the clear head.

She remembers his room
The moles on his back and the counting before he would wake up
She remembers the singing during the night
but also the silence during the break of dawn

...Moments that she would appreciate, just for the release of everything she'd hold all the time.

In the photo: Rosana Goerke
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