Archive for August, 2017

I want you to know

that this started

as a suicide note,


that I wanted to end it

by slitting my throat …


cortando la lengua

ahogado en sangre


kicking and punching

because I was angry –


buscando salida o comida

pa’l hambre


before I had realized

how this

was coming along.


That the words I was

writing transformed

into poem


palabras perdidas

de mi corazon –

perdona mi arte

si no tiene razon


when by

language and meter

it turned into song


filling some hole

that was born and

kept growing


nunca sabia

si venia o me iba


before I had learned

what was worth

knowing … and by

writing discovered

where the muses

were going


tormentas privadas

y como me joden


that language

could save me

enslave me to living …

force the forbidden

I keep hiding and



me salvan … palabras,

alarmas y espadas,

siembrada sin planes

que encuentro en mi alma


inside me

whatever it is I

awoke that drives me

also derides me …

it’s haunting, but lively


idiomas que usan

qualquier instrumento

buscando sentido

y razon pa’l momento


and despite it

I keep writing



like beating a drum

turning the silence

into a hum

of a rhythm to come

flowing and stirring

the smoke and the rum


asking me questions

of where I was from

making me look

at what I’ve become


the meshing of parts

that somehow you think

is less than the sum


the stranger himself

the prodigal son

a brother and father

con un corazon


and nobody knows

where it is I belong

they haven’t discerned

if I’m right or I’m wrong

if I’m noise or I’m song


But I want you to know,

that while you

may not always love me

yo siempre te quiero

y no puedo, sin ti.


Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2017. All rights reserved.




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