Letting go

Honest Confessions on Letting Go 

Un poema de Kevin Kantor, es un poema muy divertido, y triste, y cierto, y posiblemente he estado sonando muy cursi en los últimos posts. Mis disculpas mas sinceras a todas las personas que entran al blog esperando algo menos cursi o completamente exento de cursilería, pero por un tiempo (por lo menos lo que resta del mes) no cambiaré mucho el tono de mis posts. Debo agregar, ¿qué esperaban los que no querían encontrar cursilerías en este blog? quiero decir, el blog se llama Obsesionados Anónimos, y el título ya dice bastante...

Anyway, dadas las correspondientes disculpas a las personas que llegaron aquí por accidente o por insistencia mía (xD), los dejo con Kevin Kantor:

NOTA: Solo transcribiré los versos que más me gustaron del poema :D, si quieren todo el poema, les dejo al final el enlace que los conducirá al poema completo.

 

Honest confessions on falling in and out of love with a confused 20-something semi-closeted gay man or I can usually tell in the first fifteen minutes if something’s gonna work out for the long haul so why’d I ever bother or a beginner’s guide to crying publicly at parties over a completely self-fabricated history of something that only ever sort of was or how to let go.

 (...)

 Three. I have never found you sexier than when you talk about German fimmakers, struggled to ice skate, or tell me that I am wrong.

(...)

Six. You called me baby like flicking on a light switch, something quick and easy that you knew you could do to brighten up the room. But I am sick of sleeping with the lights on because you were afraid of the monster in your closet and I was afraid that it had already climbed into bed with us or that I had been the monster all along.

Seven. I told everyone how bad the sex was–because it was.

Eight. I have thought about you during sex with other people.

Nine. I’ve never wanted someone to hurt and be happy so badly. 

(...) 

Twelve. I’m sorry I have not yet forgotten how to find you beautiful.

Thirteen. I’m trying.

(...)

 You covered up everything to try to be with me.
And I no longer knew what I was.

PS: This was the poem Annie: "a beginner’s guide to crying publicly at parties over a completely self-fabricated history of something that only ever sort of was"

Enlace: https://thebettertojudgeyouwith.wordpress.com/2014/05/07/nine-eleven/