Lucy

Friends that can't be friends
That's where you and I stand
Confused and upset
With how things are
Frustrations in our own situations
The present prevents our future
Thats what's happening now
We come between what should be
What could be
A potential reality
Potential happi-
-ness
Us
Full of bliss
You're my weakness
I can't help this
Can't help but
Chase after you
You run
That's what you do
I follow
Such a silly fool
Hooked on you
You make me high
I love you
You make me die
Always dead
Dreams in my head
Climbing to the next step
It's long overdue
You're afraid?
Your scared?
Look at me
Don't be
Fly free
Fly with me
Take that chance
Come and dance
Slowly
Tease me
Don't worry
Caress my face
We'll follow your pace
Please don't leave
Stay
Grab my hand
Lets venture off this way
Let me be your tongue twista
Fresh
You love it, sista
Call me be your mista
Name me "Baby"
I'll be your honey
You got my word ma
We good money
I'm ready
.

Rain

Rain

Beautiful rain

Carefully cleaning

Washing away

Beneficial to many

A curse for a few

The plants are being fed

No trips to the beach

Glossy streets

Wet feet

Reflections found in puddles

Warning: Car approaching

No umbrella to prevent this wave

Splash

You

Are

Wet

Dripping

Soaked

Cold

Anger

-WAIT!-

Stop

Change the mindset

Be positive

Appreciate this

Rain

Beautiful rain

Writing

What to do when writing comes to a halt? Die.

If there’s ever air in my lungs, I’ll never stop writing. No matter how impossible it may feel to find the words to put together that add up to the inner expressions of my soul. That’s what writing is to me, exposing what I feel. From the deepest part of me to the obvious injury, it all comes to light when I write. I cannot hide me from myself. With each sentence I write, every paragraph that forms an essay, or stanza that is poetry, I get to know me a little more. I discover things that I like, people that I love and so much more. I almost want to say it’s my “Anti-Drug” but then again, writing has shown itself to be a drug to me. A drug that I can’t resist. A drug that I need. A drug that I depend on. An “I-need-a-quick-fix-someone-please-pass-me-my-pen” kind of drug. Only difference is, it’s absolutely free.

Writing gives me freedom. Being a writer makes me free. Free from being caged inside of myself. It grants me the liberty I need to express who I really am. So that’s how I find my freedom, how do you?

Another Experiment

We did an activity in class today where the Professor had a poem in her hand and she would randomly read a line out loud and we had to make that line a part of our piece. I didn't use every line she said but apparently, what I did use was "brilliant." I'm going to put the phrases she gave us in [brackets]. I read it out loud to the class and everyone was amazed by it. It's mostly fiction (which I've never considered doing before) and some of it is real. In any case, I hope you enjoy.

Seventeen

[I am the bewildered one.]
The outcast.
Set apart from you.
I am the bewildered one.
[A sky filled with shiny mirrors.]
A floor full of sand.
Symbolizing nothing.
Yet meaning everything.
[Some lunar surprise awaits you.]
The next time we get high.
Hold my hand. Be one with me.
This feels right.
From my heart. [In my bone.] Every piece of me.
Says that while I am the bewildered one, so are you.
We must be wild.
We must.
We should.
It would be nice if.
All this attention were reciprocated.
Or maybe it is.
Perhaps we do share "love".
Ha. What a silly thought.
Love?
I was not there when they taught that lesson.
So teach me yourself.
Start a class.
I will go.
I will be present.
Raise my hands and ask questions.
I will do anything for extra credit.
For your approval.
For you.
[But knowing is too much.]
So I guess this thing shall remain a secret.
Tucked away deep inside me.
And somewhere inside you.
Lets never hold hands.
For fear the truth being exposed.
[So save that set of questions for someone else.]
Am I pretty enough?
Do I make you laugh?
Am I being annoying?
[Without knowing anything.]
And still feeling everything.
Lets be wild.
No lets not.
Lets be wild.
We should not.
Because... What if... What if... What if it's real?

-End-

Lemonade

Here's some random scribbles in my little pocket notebook. Enjoy
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We stepped on to the subway and immediately began gasping for air. Bullets of sweat dropped down from our foreheads and down our backs. We made eye contact with strangers we didn’t know. All the while communicating silently how hot and uncomfortable it was. This was a train ride from hell or at least that’s what the pessimist in me believed. When I reconsidered the situation, my internal optimist said “Yay, a free sauna!” I made a joke and she laughed. Together our circumstance was put behind us. I needed her and she needed me. A simple display of how her company made even the toughest, hottest, sweatiest, most muggy times, bearable. She’s a friend, and so much more. A light at the end of the tunnel. An ice cube on a hot summer day. She’s my lemonade.

Experiment One: “Write Yourself As A Writer”

Ok, So I'm taking a writing class. It's called "Foundations of The Creative Process." In this class we'll be doing a lot of writing experiments. This was the first one. My professor said "I want you to write yourself as a writer.. GO!" And from that, the experiment began. I hope you enjoy the random writing that just happened:

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“Yourself as a writer.” Done.

Ok, I’ll be serious. Chacho, to write as a writer… Shouldn’t my penmanship be better? Shouldn’t I be less insecure about my own words? Then again, what makes these words my own? How do I claim ownership of these palabras? Perhaps they don’t belong to me. After all, I hardly know how to spell most of them. Although I’m sure a few more semesters at NYU will change this. Going back… Confidence – Such a huge part of being an artist. As a drummer, photographer, poet, blogger, as an artist, I only ever succeed when I’m confident. And humble… Wow… my handwriting took a turn for the worst. Don’t worry reader, I’m fine. No seizures here… As a writer… (This is me trying to stay focused when my brain really wants to travel far away from this subject matter and just vent at all my inner thoughts, which have been trapped as a result of my absence from any of my journals, blogs, random word documents, etc.) AS A WRITER…
I must grow. I must mature. I must expand my thoughts. I’m sure these are very common feelings amongst writers. I think my first step should be to fully acknowledge that I am in fact a writer.
If I’m going to be on the floor I might as well be comfortable, so I’ll lay down…

As a writer… I want to find beauty in all that I see… From the obvious beauty found in those gorgeous green eyes, to the not-so-obvious beauty that exist in the struggle of being one New Yorker without a home. In all things, I hope to find beauty. I hope to be optimistic. I hope to find joy, even through painful tears. I hope to strive towards things that might otherwise be impossible but through my writing that I’ll make these things happen. I hope to find inspiration that exist in anything my eyes can capture.

Question: Does someone’s life end every time a clock stops?

-Close-

A Toast

A Toast

To the young woman learning self respect
To the young man achieving self control

To the little boy getting from A-Z
With out messing up any of the letters in between

To that elderly couple
Who together strive to complete their daily crossword puzzle

To the things that keep us sane
To the things that rack our brains

To the young soul who finds peace
To the solider who fights in the Middle East

To those who died so that this Country could be free
To HIM who died so that WE ALL could be free

To the artist who expose what the rest of us aren’t aware of
To the poets who fight through the pain of writers block

To the dancers who move with a fluid accuracy
To the musicians who speak truth with their melodies

To the drummers to give my heart it’s rhythmic beat
To the bands that make us tap our feet

To the groups that make us lose our minds
To the life we had, once upon a time

To the life we now have, thanks to iPhones!
To you, for having read this poem

Join me now and raise your glass
Accept this toast, as if it were your last.

Them VS Him...

Them Verses Him.
He should ALWAYS win.
Yet we don't let him.
Knowing that after all, he's ALWAYS been.
Around.
Even when we weren't "heaven bound".
When we weren't standing straight on solid ground.
When our sin jacked us up inside.
We choose the wrong places to confide.
Our fears, we ran and tried to hide.
Hide away.
Hide our face.
Far away.
From his face.
Couldn't stand the disgrace.
Couldn't stand losing this race.
Now what? It's over; or so we think.
We're convinced, Yeah, I'm the weakest link.
A weakness I've never known.
All this time, I'd thought I'd grown.
Whoa, gettin' personal, now THIS is a poem.
See Them VS Him, a battle worth seeing.
Broken promises and crushed dreams.
These are the things to expect from fellow human beings.
Disappointment is common, when we pour out all of our feelings.
Into each other.
He should be our only lover.
Them VS Him he should win every time.
We should have NO trouble making up our minds.
Choosing God to be victorious.
Living lives he’d call glorious.

Before & After

She.
Makes.
Him.
Crazy.
She flirts with him, seduces him, calls him baby.
Calls him sweetie, and screams out his name.
Hell, she even uses God's name in vane.
And she doesn't care.
She's not about being fair.
She's gorgeous, but in her eyes there is a deep dark glare.
HER needs must ALWAYS be met.
She only gets him into greater debt.
Never mind his heart, never mind his love.
Never mind HIM, and his father up above.
Apart from her he see's clearly and he's in his right mind.
That's when he feels HIS presence, so divine.
She comes back around, and the dust rises.
A slow painful death, she spreads like a virus.
She was Sin.
Sin ruined him.
Ah but long behold, God had a plan.
One that would someday save this man.
And sure enough, his redemption was at hand.
He shook Sin off, and finally began to stand.
A blessing awaited him.
One that God made for him.
God named her wisdom.
She loved to be with him.
She redefined "beautiful."
She was wonderful.
Yes, full of wonder she was, she amazed him.
A taste of her, and he never returned back to Sin.
He held on to Wisdom, and let her deep into his heart.
He's still forever grateful to Jesus, for this second start.

Imagine

Imagine going to hell for your disbelief.
Imagine all you had to do was just believe.
Just receive, the love that he had for you, for me.
The love that he HAS for US you see, it's everlasting.
Never changing.
It's always working.
Imagine him, capturing our hearts as we give in.
His love shows us the damages of sin.
The damages of our relationship with him.
Only his love can embrace our souls.
Imagine knowing how it feels to be whole.
Imagine no longer having that hole.
That void that was created, with the apple that wasn't worth it.
My, to go back in time would we fix it?
That would be pointless. He's already made a way.
Imagine, doing yourself a favor, and trying him today.
Get your word, and read Romans 5:8*
I bet you'll second guess your attempt to stray.
Not worth it to go away.
Imagine, this isn't make-believe.
No, in fact don't imagine.
Because this is real.



* "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." -NIV

Upset

Waste of breath.Meaningless words spoken from an empty mind.
A thoughtless utterance of foolishness.
Why breathe?
Why speak?
Why choose to express yourself?
A vacant heart feels pain with each beat.
Can truth ever come from a lie?

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I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote that. I wasn't going to post it, but it's real. So I'm posting it. Obviously I was upset.