I am 18 years old, Hispanic, and an ARMY brat. I love to read the classics, and am fascinated by different languages like French, German, Italian, and Latin. I consider reading to be a compulsion to me. The same goes with writing, another insatiable trait.
Personally, I view poetry as a way to relieve myself of pent up emotions, and to describe the beauty of life. As well as the tragedy when I can find no other way to explicate my tumultuous thoughts. I like to read other people's poetry, whether they're recognized or not, so that's why I like this cite.
-the Car Ride-
She betrayed me.
We were coming home from the university,
The night was quiet and uncaring.
She told me to leave.
I had nowhere to go.
She hit me.
She wanted to kill me.
I saw the hatred shine darkly in her eyes before she voiced her intent.
I ignored it.
She always says the same thing.
How stupid of me.
She wanted to hurt me tonight.
I am 18 years old and utterly dependent on her.
I still love her.
It hurts so much.
Is this what love is?
“Get out! ”
I have nowhere to go.
“I don’t care! ”
I loved you.
I turned to you and I realized that I do not know who you are.
You are a stranger, insidious and malignant.
I was seduced by your smile, and your embrace.
I thought you were different.
And you call yourself my mother?
I no longer know who you are.
The woman who gave birth to me would not be so cruel.
I could forgive you my blood on your hands in anger, but in lucidity?
It hurts so much! Words cannot express this void within me, this loneliness, this apathy that curls tighter than a striking snake.
I trusted you. Your deceptively benign smile.
I can no longer forgive.
I’ve done so-
SO MANY TIMES!
You never change.
I feel nauseas, I can’t stop crying;
These traitorous tears that fall conspicuously show my dolorous recantation!
They betray me too.
For you saw them fall, and laughed.
I thought you loved me.
Such pleasant laughter-
Such cruel eyes.
This pain clogged up inside my very being, waiting to be expunged.
I wish I could stop loving you.
I wish I could strike out!
And make you bleed.
But even the thought disgusts me.
I do not want to bring you pain.
I want to make you smile.
Not that grimace that curls with hatred.
I want you to love me.
But you cannot.
I am him and he is me.
In your mind.
In your mind I have already betrayed you.
I must leave you.
I cannot accept this castigation.
You kill me more with words than with wounds.
Wounds shall fade to blue and gray,
But I remember your hatred.
It stays poignant in my mind.
You looked at me and told me to get out.
Where do I go with nothing?
I trusted you.
On this cold December my heart has turned to ice.
I no longer wish to feel.
It hurts too much.
Goodbye my love.