Carmen Portillo
Bio
Poetic mind with a wanderlust heart
Stories (4/0)
Waves
My mom told me not to let him go. She said that she had seen me in the arms of multiple people in the past few years and none have made me shine the way he did. She said I was a tsunami and my waves would fend off anyone who ever attempted to get close to me. Yet somehow he learned to maneuver the harsh rain. She said, “Do not let him leave for if he does he will not come back until five years later when you have a different last name, a new man in your bed, and a pregnant belly. Then and only then will you realize that you lost the one person who would have given every sunshine filled day to ride the waves of your storm.”
By Carmen Portillo6 years ago in Poets
Then You Left
You left your mark on me. And I do not mean teeth marks and scratches. I mean stretch marks and bruises on my heart and soul from all the ways you bent me out of shape to change me to your liking. At that point you complained about how I was not the same person I was when you first met me. You said I was different inside and out and that you had no idea who I had transformed into. How stupid of me to let you rearrange my pieces and reconfigure my entire existence without ever questioning your behavior.
By Carmen Portillo6 years ago in Poets
Half of a Whole
I met a boy once. Our souls were so in sync, it seemed that we were a single being existing in fragments divided among two physical bodies. Where I lacked, he excelled. When I gave, he would receive. We created a language with no words, only sighs and laughs that only we could understand. When we were separated we craved to fall into one another, when we were together silence would fill the spaces between our bodies. He fit perfectly into the fractures of my existence. Our souls were tangled cable lines spreading all across the skies. We were waves crashing up against the shore, relying on one another to create a stronger force. We were us. We were one. We weren’t perfect. But we fit together perfectly.
By Carmen Portillo6 years ago in Poets
You Will Write
Inspiration will come to you when you least expect it. Inspiration will ink your pen and smear your paper. You will write about things you have never experienced. You will write things you don’t believe in, but you will write with feeling. As a writer you don’t need to understand what you are writing, you simply need to feel what you are writing. Writers don’t write words; they write passions and emotions and thoughts.
By Carmen Portillo6 years ago in Poets