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
hidden
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
along
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.
words with no names 