A broken doll I have at my home It’s quite old Yet precious Unique and bold.
She looks fine When given a glance. Her eyes have become unique Compared to today’s Doll features at the mall.
One can tell Her faint smile has passed Through decades of soaked experiences As well as bright sunny days.
She seems rough to the touch Yet she’s soft and fragile Like any other doll.
There is only one thing That stings this poor doll A broken record inside her soul. She’s not able to express herself. Only broken words come out as her sound.
I’ve thought of replacing her device But then again That would change Her all.
You see She’s got the loveliest Of songs Unique to her all.
So I’ve decided To pull out that old rusty disc Polish it Fix some of the bumps And also replace Some of the broken strings.
It’s a big hassle But it’s well worth it. To give some love To that Which has been forgotten.
After finishing Putting everything in place I wound it up It was just that perfect place.
I could almost hear the words “Your faith was strong But you needed proof”… I felt the string Resonating with my heart It’s true I have felt like that I guess it’s my curiosity Always getting the best of me. I watched my classic doll All fixed up As I was hearing the song And then That part That brings redemption Into my soul “There is a blaze of light In every word It doesn’t matter Which you heard The holy or the broken Hallelujah”…
Just a beautiful song Coming from my quite Unique And lovely doll.
I guess It’s like advice given From my grandparents Who I’ve never known.
Behind this door I saw a being mythical to me With the most beautiful eyes Baby blue Almost blurred.
Behind this door I felt inexplicable feelings. Curiosity as I held this knob Stilly I briefly opened the door Afraid of alerting that being. Her Who had to see her son As her brother. Her That I almost know nothing about.
Just like a legend Unbelievable until you see. Hidden behind this door Afraid to scare the fairy away Thanks to that existence I’m able to breathe Yet I’m nonexistent in her life.
I’m only twelve Why? Why is it hard to understand? I’ve been given a great chance To at least see her From afar Yet why am I so greedy…
Behind this door I met my other self This envious being Of those close to her Of those who can hug her Of those who can be patted by her Of those who can be praised by her Of those who can sit next to her.
Envy Since I don’t share any traits with her. She’s like a royal pearl I’m but chocolate milk. Her wide baby blue eyes Against my slanted hazy eyes.
Nothing seems to link me to her That beautiful being Only this invisible red thing That flows in my being.
Behind this door I was astonished To the point of crying I felt the hidden longing At least a warm hug At least to be acknowledged At least to feel my existence. At least…
That was my first and last Encounter with my grandmother Behind this door Quietly admiring her That fairy that can not see But only hear That fairy That never knew my existence Yet she is engraved in mine…
I wouldn’t say It’s a poem per say It’s an out cry From inside Bleeding lines Looking for a healing tonic To induce an unfinished scar While praying this pain Is but another past Another world I can cast aside Another reality Written in paper With this humble hand Deliberating If I should also give it breath Or just burn it As if a secret mission Never to be known.
Raw honey That smoothens My rough throat Untying this knot Giving reign To this voice To this pen To this written page.
Glass like tears Melted Purified water To be drank again And again Until others knots Are untied as well.
Raw words Not beautified Just outlined A beginning to an end And end to begin That is all…
There is a legend That only a few know About this mysterious woman Who’s face is still unknown Yet her feats Are recorded In the Odd family scroll.
A chivera from la frontera Who passed from electronics Food And some other tonteras.
The one and only wedding aide Who didn’t give access To this celebrity fave For the simple reason That Fito Olivares was not written In that page Of course Who would have known That Rodolfo Olivares Was his real name A VIP guest At least that’s what’s written there.
And well the list goes on Array with beats And souls that begin to flow. That was her last job as such That is for sure.
Now let’s not forget Of the many recorded Falls from filming “The one in a lifetime events” Such as the time of that wedding Where the bride’s arm Suddenly arose Trying to hold something in the air Their lips As well as their eyes Saying “Oh no!” Then a white ceiling Of the church Came into view…
This other time Where instead of a white ceiling It was the face of Jesus With his arms wide open Kind of saying pobrecita Ahi va de nuevo otra caida…
But Fret not That gave her the best idea Pictures taken from the floor She’s got quite a few Of those. The kiss in the air From the groom and his bride The funny faces from friends And quinceañeras Enjoying their time.
The groom leaning The dazed eyes Anticipating a love song And the fallen bow Giving the perfect Memory for years to come.
While in the cloud Makes one remember That this woman Is a dragoness in disguise When the time comes by. A whisperer of love When the need is more. A clown in the cloud When the kids are around. And last but not least A cast speller In an invisible town When she holds Her feathered pen And writes in the air.
Waves of black feathers sea Fuzzy lights on the street Cold… Humid and desertic Nothing like past years A few cars parked in restaurants Too few for these holidays… 2020 is coming to its end Vaccines are a trend Starting today.
Will next year be ok? Who knows… Will the broken be complete again? Can’t say… Will the broken links be whole again? Depends… At very least I know for sure This year was unexpected It crawled under my skin With terror With uncertainty My faith was shaken Too many times And I’m still standing Still dreaming Still hoping I am still saying Merry Christmas And blessed New year May God console your soul And please stay strong. Tomorrow will come Tomorrow will be another day Today will be left behind To be displayed In written memoirs In history books And above all in stories To be told…