walt whitman

Este es mi diario, de los amores de mi vida y mis mas íntimos deseos.

Aspiro poder escribir versos hermosos y impactante, para compartirlos y enseñar que bonito se siente amar y adorar.

Yo no quise venir a este mundo, no fue mi decision.

Pero al fin al cabo estoy aquí.

Creci en tierras calientes, entre el Sur de California y la Península de Yucatan. He visto al hombre mas humilde, y al hombre con mas poder y dinero que tiempo.

La vida me ha quitado todo, y me ha dado todo.

En mi corazón, se que voy en camino al éxito.

Quisiera compartir mi jornada con ustedes, para que vean como crezco y obtengo mis metas. Aveces siento que tengo el favor del universo, porque ya me ha enseñado lo mas feo de la vida. Ahora me falta ver lo mas hermoso.

El poeta Americano, Walt Whitman, escribió el libro “Leaves of Grass” durante el transcurso de su vida. Muchos veneran a este libro como su autobiografía.

Gracias Walt, porque usted me ha inspirado y usted me da ánimos en escribir casi todos los días.

Yo se que su libro era una obra viviente, siempre mejorando hasta que usted estaba satisfecho; o el día de su muerte.

En mi mente, hay miles de imágenes y memorias que reservo.

Unas buenas, que me traen alegría o placer; otras que me dan miedo y rabia.

Mi vida no es como los de los demás. Y por eso lo relato. Necesito recordarme que yo sufri y gane mi estancia, sino me hare una malagradecida. Y eso repugno.

24

The summers between us.

The age that I am.

At times, I wish that I never met you.

At times, I wonder what would be of my life now, if you were never in it.

I do not want to owe any of my successes to you.


We spoke on Father’s Day and we saw each other for the first time in over 3 months the day after.

When I saw you, it felt as if my heart was a field full of budding flowers that suddenly bloomed. I have only been a fool for one other man, and he ruined me. I fear the same with you.

I don’t want to depend on you. I don’t need your help. I don’t want to owe you anything.

I wanted to hear what you had to say and see if you were sorry. After an hour of hearing you, I asked “why” with frustration and a tear streaming down my face, and another ready to fall. I would have left if I didn’t feel you were sorry, I would have left if I didn’t see you be human for once.

Your eyes weld up while seeing mine, I don’t really remember what you said.

Thats all I wanted to see.

I want an FLR, I want a full and happy life with you.

reina

I love it when your balls are completely vulnerable for me.

2 almost-oval balls encased a fragile sack of pink flesh.

I love squeezing them while I’m sitting on your face. I like it when you jump and enjoy feeling you wince while you’re ceremoniously munching away at my pussy.

You eat me out with desperation every time I induce pain.

I love it!

I ❤ watching your cock throb and thrust helplessly in the air while I’m sitting on my throne and leaning back on your headboard. I like playing with your precum, gently pressing my index finger on the tip of your cock, and lifting it up with your clear wetness clinging on

Sometimes, I’ll suck your cock and squeeze your balls, while im riding your face. Depending on my mood. I enjoy seeing your toes curl for me.

Feeling you gasp for air beneath me.

licking and eating away. ravenous for me.

“Your face is my forever throne; your mouth and tongue, slaves to my Pussy.”

Con cariño,

Tu Diosa.

blue

I used to be afraid of looking into a set of blue eyes. They used to intimidate me. I found them frightening, and not beautiful. Whenever I had to meet their gaze, I couldn’t help but think afterward how many women and men saw blue before their downfall.

I won’t lower my own eyes out of fear anymore. I have realized my black eyes are more intimidating than any shade of sky.

They say eyes are the window to the soul.

The clarity in yours cannot occult the pureness of your heart.

Your sweetness oozes out.

Blue isn’t scary anymore.

especially when they’re gazing up at me.

Niño. Puppy.

amor

Señor,

Licenciado,

Amor.

Que soy yo mas que una tonta niña,

profundamente enamorada de Usted.

Escribiendote versos en mi cuaderno, suspirando,

pensando,

en Usted.

Si usted fuera mi maestro, lo viera cada día después de clase

me sentaria sobre tus piernes,

meneandome,

solamente para verlo sonrojar

y gozare al sentir su pasión duro

debajo de mi.

“Sir”

capitalista

hombre blanco

la causa de la desgracia de civilizaciones en su cenit.

Señor mañoso,

que tomo ventaja de mi juventud y curiosidad.

Para despojarme de cada petalo de mi flor.

ay, pero amor

a la misma vez dándo mi cuerpo de beber

de su saliva dulce,

y del tan leve salado de su sudor.

como caen sus gotas sobre mi cara,

sobre mi cuerpo liso,

bañandome,

empapandome,

haciendo mi cuerpo relucir contra la luz de luna.

Sentiendote adentro de mi,

llenándome,

completándome;

cierro mis ojos, sonrio,

y te rezo

agradecida con usted por sedar mi sed.

Como si fueses Tlaloc y yo,

un campo lleno de flores, deseando brotar.

ay, pero Señor

no me llenas

te necesito cada alba,

cada noche

cada caloroso atardecer.

Ay, maestro

mi cuerpo joven se acostumbraron a sus manos sabias,

suaves, grandes, y pesadas.

escribes sobre mi

mas secretos de noches de locura y pasión.

Ay Señor,

enseñame amor de antaño.

Como se siente Señor,

de cautivar y ilusionar,

el corazón de esta niña mujer.

Tlaloc,

Mi Dios,

estoy muriendo de sed.


Señor marinero,

cai en tus redes sin darme cuenta.

Y al alzarme a tu barco,

viste a esta sirena encuerada y asustada.

Señor marinero,

te ruego que me dejes ir.

No me mires con esos ojos serenos y maduros,

que veo en su profundidad la lujeria que quema dentro

de ti.

Me tienes en tus redes,

sin pensar en mi.

narciso (2)

I miss seeing you throw your head back. pleasure, ecstasy. amusement, laughing.

I miss you seeing you with your hands behind your head. on the couch while talking to me, nonchalant. standing or kneeling down for me, inspection. laying down completely, when I’m taking you to heaven.

Every morning I say a prayer, thanking God for making us 2 generations apart. You would have been my downfall if I knew you when you were 24.

You went to law school the year I was born.

This will sound fucked, but I loved calling you Dad.

I loved it when I felt like baby with you. You loved it when I took control at night and screamed “Daddy” while on top of you.

I know I drive you crazy. Both good and bad. You say I remind you of you; you’re a narcissist so maybe you did love me one day.

how terrible it is to conceal passion.

im sorry you will die without experiencing what it is to love without limitations.

I hope you never marry or have children before we cross paths again

I hope we forget each other so we can have a chance.

There’s no way this is it.


When will I forget you? I dream of those arms wrapping around my waist, making me squirm like a serpent while in your embrace. you dominating me with those big hands, reaching for my sex, cupping it, sliding a finger into me.

I want to whimper for you again,

crumble and gush for you.

open my mouth for you,

swallow your love.

narciso

tw: DV, nc, rape, abuse

B,

you are not the gorgeous hunter in the story, but maybe you were in your youth.

I am constantly thinking about you, only because I am trying to forget you.

H


I hate it when a brown or black man leaves his brown or black significant other for a white woman. As they say, “when he gets on, he’s going to leave for a white woman”

I had never thought too deeply about my skin, until I met Eladio.

He was an afro latino man and a few shades richer than I. He looked like a bronzed god whenever he was working outside on his yard or car. At 17, to me he was what a man should be. He had just turned 20.

At 17, I was already a romantic. I was enamored by life. I was able to find poetic beauty even in the ugliest things.


At 17, I was outgoing and the opposite of shy. I was the one who started to flirt with you. You weren’t very receptive. You later admitted to refusing to believe that I was indeed, seriously flirting with you, so you just ignored me.

One of my friends told you that I liked you. The beginning of our story was very playful, almost cute.

I realize that its the relationships that start from meaninglessness and nothing that evolve into passionate affairs.

You were my first love. Serious love. Strong love. It was a love that struck me and made me blind, deaf, and dumb.

Our love was something that honestly should have never happened.

You courted me, spoke me to on the phone for hours almost every night, telling me beautiful verses before I go to bed. I felt like I was living an Aventura song. Your love made me feel like I was a princess and you were my prince.

We started dating a couple months prior to my 18th birthday, and you convinced me to live together.

The first night living with you, reality set in and I refused to accept it. You raped me that first night, and afterward I was just in shock. I didn’t understand why you had to force it when I was so willing, just not like that. I had just turned 18 that week. We didn’t celebrate.

What I lived with you was like an epic poem. I cannot tell people the full details and extent of it in one go, because a quick relay of the story does it no justice. You built me up and destroyed me for 3 years.

You lied to me, flirted with other women in front of me. You destroyed my self esteem.

You crumbled my dreams and aspirations.

You made my life a complete misery for 3 years. I am still trying to build myself so no one can ever hurt me like you did.

I never hated my skin until I lived with you.

Whenever I was about to leave for good, you would switch it up between begging and bawling, on your knees, pleading for me to stay or insulting me until I couldn’t go outside because I was too embarrassed to let people see the state I was in.

Crying into my shirt and feet, as if you were Mary Magdalene and I the messiah. Begging for my forgiveness.

Throwing words that struck like knives, piercing through my skin and embedding themselves into my heart and soul. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, holding my ear close to your mouth telling me the most degrading things. Dehumanizing me. Making me cry until no more tears came out. Making me cry to the point I was gasping for air.

No one knows the extent of damage that you have done to me. You take the medal for the man that has most hurt me. The trophy for the most disappointments, that one belongs to my father.

You said I was ugly, and that no one would want me. Already down, you would say nonchalantly that a Güerita is waiting for you and in a heartbeat you would have her living with you instead of me. You lied and cheated on me more than once, and your friends, always covering you.

They would only tell me things when they felt especially bad for me. It was so embarrassing to go out looking for you on an empty stomach.

Why did I deserve to live that at 18?

You are gone from my life for ever, and every day I work hard to make sure I can elevate my lifestyle to a degree that seeing you again is an impossibility.

“When he gets on, he’s going to leave you for a white girl”

Every time I fuck a successful white man, I win. Because those white girls you fucked, were trailer trash and I feel silly for ever thinking they were better than me.

sol

Me animas cada mañana que me saludas

Gracias por despertarme en las mañanas con tu caloroso abrazo,

Besandome la cara con tus rayos.

Gracias

Por mi tez morena,

Por alumbrar mi vida.

Quisiera adornarme con tus rayos, para poder resplandecer y compartir tus besos con mi alrededor

Usted que da vida a todo en este mundo,

entiendo por que lo veneran como Dios

rich white people can you stop taking shits in impoverished countries? because we are going to lose the remaining patrimonies humanity has.

my only solace is that the earth will not mourn you.

when will you reach your fill?

puppy

I wish you were lapping the honey that flows between my thighs.

Me haces falta. Quisiera que estuvieras aqui.

Te comiera entero, como si fueras un bocadillo.

Me encanta verte, sentirte

ansioso por mi

Ven aqui,

lamba mis deditos. chupa mi miel.

06/11

tw: DV, rape, nc

frustrating to switch between two languages, two mindsets, two world views on a daily basis.

while comparing my two worlds, I can begin to pinpoint the reasons why I enjoy hurting the male sex.

My favorite Mexican idiom is “amárrate los huevos”

Literal translation = tie your balls.

What does this mean? Why would someone say that to another?

Latin American culture is defined by its patriarchal values, first-born son shit, “women are meant for fucking, babies, and other mundane tasks” BS, and its fascination with cock (literally).


Amarrate los huevos.

It means to pull yourself by your bootstraps, to discipline yourself so you can get shit done.

Its an inference to castration, an allusion to being docile and obedient.

I like doing race play scenes with people who are also of my same “race”- just because I know where to jab.

Latino men grow up thinking women owe them. Their mothers cater them well into adulthood, until they pass their useless sons into the oblivious and caring hands of another – their son’s wife/S.O.

love is blind they say.


06/11

I never thought I would see myself serving a man or being someone’s bitch and near slave. But I lived that experience early at 18 and I would rather not experience anything similar to that ever again.

Speaking of huevos, it brings to memory a moment from the worst chapter in my life.

It was evening, I had just gotten off my stop at the corner up my street. People were coming home from work, friends and families were walking down the street, strolling and enjoying the night’s fresh air. All I could really think about was how I was off later than what I had told Him. I am exhausted, from running up and down the plaza and restaurant. But I savored the rest of the walk home. That 5 minute walk was my relief and escape.

He would often say to me I had the “easiest” job. Neglecting and ignoring the blisters and calluses on my feet from the 12 hour shifts I would do, day in and day out.

I arrive home, tired yet again, wanting to shower and sleep. It seems my ex has company over and I have to compose myself and smile, because no one wants to see how miserable I am. I make them uncomfortable, He says.

With a fake smile plastered on my face, pushing my discomfort aside, I go ahead and greet everyone at the dinner table, my heart sinking immediately after realizing that they were waiting for me.

The table was set up, but there were no signs of cooking or baking, and no Tupperware’s indicating that this was a potluck. My heart sinking deep into my stomach after understanding that tonight’s performance and service was my cooking.

He’s sitting down, presenting me to unfamiliar faces, holding me by the waist. He was proud to show me off, proud to show others what his bitch could do.

With swollen feet, I excused myself. There was no need for him to explain to his company where I was going because He knew I was coming down stairs in minutes again. And I did, the first trick I did for his friends’ entertainment. 4 men and 1 woman in my house. Not including myself, because I felt more like an object than a human

Most of his friends took pity on me and said they weren’t hungry and were ready to head out, but asshole #5 stated he was famished.

Being a slave is worse than being a whore.

As his friends excused themselves for them evening (minus asshole #5), He essentially began begging them to stay but they politely declined.

The woman in the group had been over a few times, but has never looked me in the eye. She knew, but I don’t blame her for not wanting to involve herself.

Being ignorant helps you sleep easy at night.


I stood by His right side, him sitting on the head of the table, holding me by the waist as him and his friend laughed at misogynistic jokes quite literally in front of my face. He then looked at me, which was my cue to ask,

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

There always was a positive response.

I catered to 2 grown men from 8pm to Midnight. I had pushed my threshold, I was nearing collapse. My feet tired and swollen from standing since 6am, but I became numb to the pain by 10pm. Every day, I was amazed by what my body could withstand.

There are times I wish I was weaker, so people could expect less of me.


Once company is gone for the night, the routine was as follows:

“Open your legs, open your mouth”, thrust, thrust, thrust.

It was easier to give in than to say no, struggle, and get taken anyways.

There were nights were it was over quick and he was soon asleep.

Other nights, I wasn’t passionate enough. A strike to my face or bloody bites to remind me who I belonged to.

I would cry myself to sleep often.

each time, he rips my wings off. how could I fly away?