The Chicano Diaries

Journal writing

Month: December, 2012

Blossom like a flower

“Do you want to see it?”She was talking about her tattoo she just got finished some days earlier. She closed the office door and turned around. She began to lift up her shirt. It was a flower with a vine, it was adorned with color. It went from her lower back up to her shoulders. I would be a little more descriptive about the tattoo but I was seldom paying attention to the permanent ink she had showed me. No friends I was envying her smooth back she was showing me, slowly caressing her with the tip of my fingers, gradually outlining her tattoo just outside of the markings, not touching any exposed areas. My fingers were traveling slowly, asking questions I wasn’t thinking about at all, I had just wanted to kill time. My fingers touched her bra accidentally so I had stopped there. I think she knew I liked her anyway because as I was leaving, my words would fumble and I kept peering down at the grass like if I lost something. Sometimes I wouldn’t even finish my sentences. I saw her smile, it kept growing as I kept walking to my car I think I made it obvious but she was nice about it at least. She still talks to me and lets me know that she has my number saved, and that I would call her, someday. But that “someday” seems so very bleak.


The girl at the bus stop

“I wanna go on a hunt” I told myself. It was a nice autumn day in the southwest. Soft cold winds would caress your skin against the burning sun. The wide open agriculture fields feel a serene reverie. I can see myself pedaling down the bus stop. There was a crowd waiting. Do you know where this is going? Im sure you do fellow reader.

She stood there listening to her headphones, she didn’t see me check her out, so I had time. I kept getting closer and closer to her on my bike. When she had finally noticed me, I could remember seeing her really cute smile she gave me. And the way she made her eyes, they had peered at me in a way where she was asking for more, she was inviting me to talk to her. When I had turned around to go back to talk to her, I can remember seeing all the people knowing exactly what im about to go do. I played with suavity. We didnt stop talking until her foot was inside the bus. She was a cute latina. I can say many things. Lets say this, if I had her in my room, I would want to have her standing half naked in front me with her back turned towards me. The sun would beam down on her from the hazy window screen, giving her shadows in the right places. She would have those two cute dimples just right above her bosoms. The suns ray would have you gazing in awe. I would have liked to caress her all day, in her ripeness. The next time I see her at the bus stop I’ll be sure to give her a ride.

A spicy kiss

I had been over my X and she followed me around thinking she can catch my attention. I had done the same to her one time, and she ignored me, so I wasn’t going to waste my time anymore. I just got done playing our set when she comes up to me and tells me “Im leaving” I go “Koo, peace” and walk away from her. So she begins some moderate drama but I was no abandoned puppy for her. I could have easily just taken her by the hand, took her somewhere isolated, toss her against the wall and make out with her passionately, but I was enjoying myself and I seldom payed attention to her that night.

Sometime during the week at school she found out I made out with a girl who had been sitting with us along a bench, but I didnt make out with her until she left. May I describe her to you? She was short and plum (what a sucker I am) and she had yellow peroxide hair (a normal fashion trend in the punk scene back then) and she wore a short black skirt and her shirt must have been torn apart, everything DIY. I let her sit on my lap and I would cross my fingers against her nice thick legs. She was very cute in her own way, she had colored eyes too. When she kissed me, it left my mouth feeling spicy for some reason. I had no clue why that happened but I didnt let that stop me from continuing from kissing her. I didnt feel bad about what happened I was just moving on, still at times I like the feeling to think I can do as I wish with any girl who would let me grab her hand and take her under my dictatorship. Dont you?

A tangle of seaweeds.

I wonder why she didn’t have sex me. We were both naked in bed, I remember seeing her just laying there, I would caress her from head to tough, suck, grab- the works; trying to marinate the damn thing. We had barely met each other and we had this spark of interest we shared like wild fire. I remember when we went to the bathroom to keep messing around, she was looking at herself through the looking glass and she could see me grabbing her hair full of seaweed, she had dreadlocks that were pretty. Then we went to the shower, nothing happened just more messing around.

The thing is when we first met, I had gotten a one night stand from her, well technically I didnt get laid though. We trespassed into a house that was barely being built and we could feel the wood shavings on our feet and saw the exposed walls where they still needed plastering. We climbed the stairs and we used my leather jacket as a blanket to lay down, but most of the time we were standing up, I did a lot of humping (thats all I did actually).

I didnt talk to her for two weeks after that because I was scared. I was scared of something that happened that night and I dont want to be too specific but it left me having to pay a doctors visit and I seriously dodged a bullet from playing Russian roulette that night. We had gotten in contact later she thought I had thought of her as just another number, here goes another one not settling for less. Anyway I told her what happened and she was filled with remorse, I really liked her, we had a lot of things in common, I later realized she had been a slut but I didnt judge her character for that when I met her and when we didnt mind being together, I trusted her.

This was a part of my life that was bleak and still feeling frustrated over a lot of things. She taught me a lot though, she taught me to be a free spirit and not to be afraid to be yourself, I really liked her. I never told her though that when she was naked in bed, I had left the condoms right under her bed. For one reason or another I cant tell you why I didnt mention that to her, I had always been very “off” with these sort of things, I guess. I took her a she came, like a wave along the coast with her seaweed hair, I know better now to be fully prepared.

Debut poem

Men seek opportunities

Women seek hope

Men thinks

The Women meditates

Men guard like Dogs

Women protect like Angels

You have nightmares too

I woke up like Leanardo’s Inception scene, it had been a terrible nightmare indeed. Conscious in my dream but sleepwalking in my waking life. You too throw yourself that lukewarm water in your face, just like clockwork from day to day, to get on the daily grind, until you see yourself in the mirror and then you hear a crack. It wasnt the mirror thats broken its your mentality about to unbalance itself into beautiful chaos you have never expressed before, the water seems to be climbing out of the cup and you cant take it anymore. You realize you are a small nut supporting a large machine that needs feeding and it takes a toll on you, and it molds you until you become so old like rust. You are no longer needed, your just left to rot or simply thrown away like a dirty rug. For some reason you decide to scream like a dying animal, and this is healthy for you, its called catharsis. I have done it once before on my way to work, how I felt it would never end, the vicious cycle of work and more work. I rolled down the window to feel the cool autumn breeze caress me, mother earth was there for me. The tears came and I felt better. I decreed to the world that it was plastic and I just a product. I went up to the teller, desperate for human interaction, but everything was systematic, no smile, no small conversation. When my day was over I seldom remember what I dreamed about that night but when I woke up again I reached into my pocket and tried to feel my little Jesus cross, it truly was a nightmare, my dreams fool me into thinking that my day is setup for work, so I tell myself this everyday until I die. Never think that you are alive, that would a good remedy.

Handsome Devil

There were no more seats left for me to sit down at church. So I hung out in the back part, where they had the bathrooms and the endless sound of annoying rug rats screaming and running, and their parents persistently trying to shush them. They were never successful at that.

I had seen this girl, she stood along the corridor leaning against the wall, as though she had been in heat. She was provoking every man that walked past by her. Those dark brown eyes tantalizing sinners. She had a tight shirt that exposed her round youthful body. Her face was ghetto, like a local hood-rat, yes she was cute. Suddenly I realized how ironic that scene was. I didn’t know how to fathom it all, a young gazelle promoting promiscuity, I was not engaged in the word, I wasn’t listening, my eyes kept yearning for her. Such a sinner I was, human too. I knew moments later a “vato” would go and hit on her, and so it happened. He was bald and chubby, he wore a checkered long sleeve shirt (like most do).

Something that Ive always wanted to do is give a letter to a girl I feel attracted to, I want to go up to a nice pretty girl and tell her “I think you’ve dropped this” and reach into her where she has no choice but to take the folded paper. She will see some writings and become curious, she will read the paper the stranger has given her and she will never see him again, only to admire the paper that has been given to her as a gift. A thank you to say im glad you were pretty enough for me to write about. Yes that’s just what i’ll do. That way I can have my revenge.

The story of a pauper

I knew she had been an angel, and she liked me, I just couldn’t believe it. A pauper like myself had no chance with a princess like her. She had velvet curly hair, her body was like the goddess Athena (I don’t say that too often about girls). Her cheeks had a bright pink coat powder she adorned herself with. Her skin was of natural beauty, it was as smooth as a succeeding storm on a mountain peak. She was exactly a year older than me, we had shared the same birthdays. But I don’t think that’s why I will never her forget her, it must have been her interest towards me and her marvelous beauty. How had I been so lucky for her to even notice me?

I remember driving by one time, when class was canceled for our religious studies on the weekend. She had been walking on the street and I simply drove past her (I was still too young to drive, my grandma had been driving), once again she had noticed me. She broke out with a smile, my heart felt furious because I knew I could only see and not touch. Damn hormones. This other time we had been at church and the guy next to her turns around and tells me “Hey man, she likes you”. I had been obstruct, I didn’t know what to do, let alone everyone else was staring, I felt much abashed. I just sat there like a taciturn beggar, I didn’t know how to communicate at that moment so I simply just sat there and felt awkward. For some reason I felt comfort in my own misery, never going up to her and just talk to her and carry a normal conversation, it must have been impossible for me to do so back then. I was somewhat anti-social but nothing too weird out of the ordinary. Had it been culture assimilation my friends? Perhaps that, but surely im glad I had met an angel whose wings had been torn off.

You check out girls too

I kept looking at my co-workers eyes, watching her pupils with scrutiny to see if they would dilate. And they did. And I would answer her blank minded at the things she would tell me. And I would simply stare at her hazel green eyes, lost in oblivion, ignoring what she was telling me and admiring her focus. Sometimes I think she would do the same. I would speak to her, waiting for a response, telling her things that are usually told in trifle moments, but she too would nod and wait for me to elaborate on more things. I would catch her alone and the excitement would spring up. I was always looking forward to these moments because we would jokingly play about some things. I would put my hands on her phone telling her to get back to work playfully and I would grab her hand for some moments and feel the violent butterflies riot in my stomachs knot. I know she feels the same way, when she has her hands on the clipboard she would not mind touching my hand either. This other time I had put her debit card in her pocket and patted at her thigh wondering what she would do. She simply pretended nothing happened. I remember how she would flaunt her hair covering her face from me as she would write her daily reports, and I would just admire her wavy black hair, it was an elegant feature of her. She has not had a man in many years and im wondering why she hasn’t risked anything with me. I visit her from time to time at her place, and her son. And I take my son and we both enjoy each others company. I think of many things when I am there, and I behave very well mind you. I would not provoke such things at her home, unless she would be ready. A sign would be helpful but I guess that’s why I had been a virgin all throughout high school, I was just a too damn nice of a guy.

Another day on the metro bus

“Dun-Nun” and out came my card from the digital reader. What I am about to tell you next will be most sad of things. I had gazed down the long corridor of the bus lane. Depression. The colors had seemed a monotonous gray, even in the faces of the people. I walked with bold steps, expressionless- the mirrors in the eyes I had seen. Here and there I would see a really cute girl every now and then, that must have some of the highlights riding the local metro bus (the only actually). Everyone seldom spoke, and some would glance a short look onto you, then hide away in their own reverie. I felt dead in the inside I didnt feel so much to enlighten others, though I am a very cordial individual mind you. So I conformed to the socialization and behaviors accepted riding the bus- sit down and shutup! I remember keeping a journal and writing about it, how I must have missed the jogging headlines on the bus stating its destination was at the end of the earth and simply I would believe it. I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs and scream that were all dead, but I was dead too, keeping to myself, writing by myself, what a creeper they must say, thought of course. It was rare to see these miserable people crack a smile even to save their own life.

It was full, people were caving in like immigrants in a safe house. Now we were really getting to know each other. You were aware of peoples odor and had no choice but to listen to their mundane conversations. It was my luck though, a pretty good highlight of my day I may add. She had no choice but to stand hanging on to the metal bar right in front of me as I sat serenely sometimes crossing a glance or two at her and her at me, talking with our eyes. I had a keen inference she was going to the local college because she was equipped with a backpack and there were other bands of students as well. There was this moment where the bus usually takes peoples faces backward and forward, or side to side, like dummies that we were. This one moment she had leaned towards me and those supple breasts my friends presented themselves to me by accident, ripe and erect they were. I felt a flurry of sexual arousal that I could not help but feel. She had pierced my eyes at that moment, meek and humble they were. I felt desire. She gazed at me from above like a goddess looking down onto mortals. Only someone as myself would be lucky enough to stare at her in awe in this situation. She was ripe and young, plum, what a plus I may say. When she had left her stop, I wrote about her, I knew I was. It hit me, still dead in the inside, how were not allowed to tell other people how we feel, or simply to tell them that we just lust them. Our eyes cry for help, and our mouths are sewn shut.