disquiet

from the poetry i write you'd think i was dark, stuck on the stark, harshness of life.
and i am. a little.
but sometimes i am so happy i have to remind myself that i am not living in a dream, that it is not some fairytale. my hope is always so strong: i feel it threaten to burst right inside of me.
i hope for happiness.
i hope for calm.
i hope for certainty.
and my ideals keep thrusting themselves to the forefront of my mind. seeing the best in people. deeply hurt at their misfortune.
i am so sensitive sometimes i think i will always disappointed. and yet beauty cuts just as deep. making me smile at every possible moment.
the light touch of my skin. the shiver. warm. safe. inviting.
is it all in my mind?
is anything i feel real?
when did i stop trusting myself?

tragedy

i almost committed a most terrifying fashion faux pas this morning when i put on my denim jacket with my jeans. how could i be so blind? they were two different shades of denim, sure, but they were the same material. and if they matched in shade, that would have been even worse. matchy matchy party of one. ugh. disgusting. i mean how can this be done? it is the mortal sin of fashion to wear these things together and everytime i see it happening around me, i shudder in horror. what is wrong with people?

breathe in

Haunted by the love I once felt, the love i once received.
Wondering why I took it all for granted.
Wondering what it is that will make me
stop
searching.
Will I ever be satisfied?
Will I ever find a love that makes me feel whole?
Or have I already found it.
Haunted by the spectres of the past.
the pain.
the guilt.
the fiercest of pride.
Hands outstretched. I am me alone.
Have I found myself?
Is that journey over?
Will it ever be done?
Can evolution bring you back to where you started?

momentary kismet

i saw you
and for one moment i understood you completely
and then just as suddenly it slipped away
and i was left with your mystery.

reality

the grey, cold, damp
weather that today
falls on the city
is how i have often
felt on the inside-bleak,
uncompromising, empty.

isn't that always the way

just when you let me in
you kick me out

an open letter to the love of my life

fuck off.
screw you for making me feel this way
and then blithely pushing me away.
i know i cannot MAKE you care about me.
but I really wish you would.

she cried

Your eyes are clearly clouded with woe.
And I fear you want me to save you.
And you are so soft, I can see why I should
want to.
But as I am learning
we cannot control who we love
except
you need to work on you,
right now you need to love you.

crush

is it childish of me to want you?
to want the pain and agony that is love. to want to swim in your thoughts until you are as miserably in love as I am. and the ecstasy is just as powerful as the pain. and that just makes me want you more. give me the delusions of grandeur, the fantasies of possibility, the strange moments of warmth and electricity.
where are you?
come and be my partner.
in crime.
in art.
in life.

crisp, autumn leaves

There once was a day when I had hope.
And you were there.
But now that delusion is gone.
Fallen like the curtain
on the story of my own lost lonely life.

i am bleeding

there is a crack in the glass house I live in
and my heart is leaking from the inside
but I want you to see it
I want you to watch as I crumble
because if you don't see it, it is not real.

crazy girl

My whole life
I have known I would spend the end of my days
in an asylum.
I never knew how I would get there.
Now I know.
I will fall in love
and the passion and the comfort and the pain and the frustration and the fear and the ecstasy will all at once
overwhelm me
until I am drowning
in an ocean of my own emotion
and I can no longer grasp
what thin reality I have around me.
I will not do what I am best at.
I will not be who I am.
Instead
I will sit, wild-eyed and crying,
hoping that something will happen
as I expect it to.
But it never will.

the end of the beginning

"We need to talk."
The last four words a girl ever wants to hear. He spoke them to me through my window, asked me to meet him outside.
"I've really enjoyed my time with you but..."
But. But. Another deadly word.
"The thing is, I don't think I could ever really fall in love with you."
And there it was. At the time, the worst possible thing that had ever been said to me.
"No," I said. I've never been very good with acceptance. "You can't breakup with me."
"I'm sorry," he said.
And then I said, steely with resolve bred from anger and disappointment, holding back the tears I would not let him see, " You will regret you did this to me. You will regret it for the rest of your life."
And he did.

my generation will never be revolutionary

our parents' generation were taught that they had to work hard to provide for their families. they did not imagine their life to be simple or pleasant. life is a toil and they accepted that. not us. we expect our lives to be happy. we expect to find perfect love and a perfect job. we expect it to be easy. we will be disappointed.

a fool for her

once upon a time
a girl taught me how to dream
i have to work hard
for all the right reasons
i want it
my enslavement to you
is but a penny of your worth
your adorable megalomania
you there
just out of reach
closer
my breath in yours
that moment of acceptance
patience
superstition
balance
so naive and so jaded
once upon a time

another place to find my online ramblings

http://www.myspace.com/amy_pacheco

disturbed

my whole life, i have been prepared for the possibility that i would lose everything. I have been banking on it. So I spend an overabundance of intellectual time preparing myself for the idea that I might end up homeless and alone.

i imagine the inside of my body as an empty shell, with a dry, hard brittle inside like a honeycomb. and when i drink in water, it softens my insides. it is soaked deep inside and makes my insides gooey and moist.

i imagine myself falling down stairs. i imagine different falls with different outcomes. i imagine my legs broken, my body bruised, my neck broken, my body paralyzed. i imagine the phone call to my parents, the stiffness in the voice of the announcement that I have died in the fall. so i always hold the railing.

this is your life.

This is your life. Life is about making choices. And subsequently dealing with those choices. You can choose to live a life of contentment or you can choose the path in which you take for granted all that you have, perhaps even regard it with disdain. Oh, but of course, life is more complicated than just that. Choosing to be happy seems easy, sure, in theory. Theory does not take into account the daily struggle, nay, effort it requires to be happy. There are so many things swirling around us, hellbent on darkening our world. I remember when I could feel my innocence and naivete slipping away from me. I still miss it - that feeling of purity and untainted joy. But even though life had hardened me and my choices have become harder, I focus on living my life happily. Appreciating as hard as I can everything that I have. And being as kind and nice and supportive as I can to my friends and family. But we are on this journey alone. And the day to day of being me becomes wearisome and hackneyed. I am too much myself. And the darkness swirls around. Just long enough for me to forget about what is light. And then I am me again and fabulous - refreshed, renewed, whole. How much do I live inside myself? And how much do I live outside? Do I enjoy the world around me? Is that important? Do I have a higher purpose? What is that? I used to consider myself very intuitive. I knew the trustworthiness of everyone I'd meet. I could feel and change the energy of any room. But somewhere along the way it has become muddied. I no longer trust my gut. It leads me astray. Or else my mind does. Now I fear my energy. A rage sits inside me waiting for me to fuel the flame. It rumbles and spreads in my insides infusing me one minute and nauseating me the next. Sometimes I watch myself speak to people and I am shocked. Where did that come from? Why am I so angry? But I choose to live my life happy so I work it out. I try harder. I fight the force. I force the smile. I smile til it hurts. And the hurt makes me feel better. I was raised Catholic after all. I feel guilty about mostly everything. From enjoying myself to lusting after everyone to rocking the boat at work. Even if all of it is harmless. Even if all of it makes up what I am - the firecracker born on the 5th of July. The inimitable Amy Pacheco. I like that. Being larger than life. Living the persona. Having fun being fabulous and carefree. Being me. But I like cracking the mirror as well. I like the dichotomy of the flawless veneer with the poetry of full disclosure. I am nothing if I cannot perform it onstage. It does not happen unless I tell you about it. The cracks, the chips, the crumbling is who I am as well. And I want you to know all about it. Shape your perspective of me. I choose to erect a statue of myself and then hack it down piece by piece. That is how I live. And it is through that glass that I see the world. And I choose rose-colored glass.