Biography of Kristina Gonzalez
I entered the world of poetry when I was just 14. I never did realize I was good at what I did until I gave it to one of my friends so her to read. Till then I've kept writing poems. Most of them are very dark as other people put it, they are very sad.
I live with my parents, I wish to go and study at Johnson & Whales college. Have a bashlores degree on Culinary Arts and a Asosciets degree on Arts New Media.
I want to be able to have my own restaurant and work on making video games like Final Fantasy.
I wish someday to publish my own book of poems. I've started on fixing the structure and ortography I'm realy bad, writing correctly as you might have noticed but I dont let that stop me. ^_^
Kristina Gonzalez Poems
Leaving The Body
Lying away from you, leaving the body I once held.
En Un Minuto
En un minuto ella dijo Esas palabras que llenan, Que me atraen y me hace quererla con lujuria.
I am born out of acient magic Maco energy that flows through my vains Curse that man who created me Come mother, we shall find paradaise
this girl, scared and alone she cries out for forgivness. her sins are too big to cary,
Dying On The Inside
I am dressed in shame the curse of a lifetime grow stronger
In Memory Of It
The tragedy unfolds oh memorys comforts the tears that flow
Lady's Of Martyr
The Queen of loneliness has returned she strikes with all her might her hearts been torn apart and she comes with a loaded gun
I'Ll Wait For You
In a place far away I wish to stay, and sway.
Ah, yes play your beautiful ballad my singing bird... fill me with foreboding in a sea of evergreen, let your song reach the inner core of my sadness.
Where will I go to? Tell me where I run to. These are my scars.
Recollections of what is truly meaningless Scattered fragments of memories, From long ago.
My blessed silence Disturbed, awaken, Slipped away.
Feeling Through A Kiss
For that in which I long for. The simplest touch, Brushing of the sweetest lips, Oh, so slightly.
I repeat the same routine The damned monotony Is up to my last nerve
My blessed silence
The metaphor broken.
Oh, my dear Ophelia.
Scattered million pieces.
How you longed for it.