To Kiss Her

But you're still pondering the thought
Musing over the idea
of what it would be like
to be with her.
To hold her close
as she requires.
To kiss her.
To love her.
The thought scares you.
The thought scares
the both of you.
She's keeping her distance now
for she sees
what the future might entail.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Sometimes

Sometimes
it's best not to think about it.
Just tuck it away
and cover it up with some memory;
a happy memory
to distract the wicked.
It's clearer now.
I can almost taste it.
The scent of fear lingering
at the tip of our tongues.
But wait...who's really to blame?
Me?
You?
The situation?
Come on, relax
live a little;
The world is full of people
who are worse than you and I.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

I Can Barely Remember

Slowly, the sweet becomes bitter
and the bitter becomes sullen.
I can barely remember
what we used to talk about
when we lived together.
Laughing, poking fun;
just to pass the time.
I was there all along
waiting to destroy your
weaker half.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Redemption

Shape-up!
Listen to your inner-self
You just might learn something!
For even she has made it apparent
to you that you are no more
than a glory fuck!
Redemption!
Don't act so surprised
you knew what you were
getting yourself into!
After all, you claim
to have thought this through.
But did you?
Did the night suffice?
Did the addict get his fix?
A shot of complexity
with a full dose of destruction.
How eloquent!
You sly-conniving fool!
What have you done?
Now you are in the middle
of what appears to be
nothing more than a pity-fuck!
Pity-fuck?
Yes, a pity-fuck!
You are not the victim of pity
because perhaps it is her
who is self-loathing
insecure and unsure
of what it is
that she requires
to fill her void.
She's lost
and you cannot save her
and that annoys you!
But you've even said it yourself
the only way a person will
ever be happy with themselves
is until they can learn
to love themselves.
Stop trying to be a hero!
You may be one with tangible situations
but not one like this!
Not now, not ever!
The only person that can be a hero
is the self.
The self gets' itself into precarious situations
therefore, the self must get itself out.
Alone!
Stop trying to understand everything
because you will fail miserably!!!!
You like to joke and say
"Oh, it makes for good writing...blah blah blah"
But you are wrong!
You're just as fucked as the rest of them!
If you run
you will find YOU!
Circle after circle
Lap after lap
Don't you ever get tired?!

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas

D is for Despondence

It's getting dark outside.
The message I've been waiting for
has finally arrived.
Satisfaction?
Heck, the night is only getting started!
Eruptions of cataclysmic-consent
has flooded the streets
like currents of tar and ash.
It's difficult to see the lines
It's difficult to see the street signs
A road to no-where
A saying with no phrase
And in our moment we combined
to make airwaves into pockets
of heavy breathing
and whispers into heavy moaning.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

The Mind's Eye

The brain is very different from the mind
The mind perceives what the brain receives
The brain contracts what the mind expands
Therefore, everything we know is purely subjective.
It is induced by the senses
which are governed by the brain.
It is confused by awareness
which is indicative to the mind.
Who you are
and what you think you may know
is therefore invalid.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Expectations

Expecting something more
from someone who is
expecting something less
is quite the engagement of friends.
Or is it?
What do you wish to gain?
There must be something you're looking for!

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Acceptance

Why must my mind
circle around you
and your very shape?
Lust?
Greed?
Love?
A preoccupation of the mind.
Silent-noise.
Its' current is conducting circuits
of militias and follies.
The major is napping
The others, unattended.
Voice, cylindrical voice
awake the silent-treaty!

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

The Arsonist

Fly away you selfish butterfly!
Your scent attracts me
but I can no longer sustain
the honest life
for which you maintain.

And though
it may pain me to say
that you may no longer stay
I must release you
back into the wild-
The world.

It is there
where I first met you
nervous and unprepared.
A two-sided triangle
A pre-fiction truth
The birth of affair
Debauchery eludes

A lie is not a lie
unless it is inquired.
So why seduce a fire
when there is no flame?
It's starting.
I can hear the crackle.
Go NOW!
Fly away before it's too late!



Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

What's for Dinner?

Vibrant fevers
Caustic dialogue
A manuscript to hide
from a fellow friend
The birth of death
Centuries of hibernation
now exposed.

In the lime-light

In the forest
In the fire

Direct, indirect
Personal, impersonal
A dialect turned beige
Doldrums of vindication.
A lunatics surrender
is now in disguise

In the lime-light
In the forest
In the fire

Pulled-meat
The two-faced man
sets the table.
A love affair, unborn
is cooking in the kitchen
What's for dinner?



Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Swoon

Counter-intuitive waste upon the pages
where ink kisses paper
and she acknowledges its' worth.
Woe to you for respecting my work
but woe to they for discrediting my mind.
It's less attractive when people cling
to your ideas.
It's quite humorous however
because that is what we artists most desire.
Acknowledgements.
But there is something funny about
this fact.
One who does not "swoon" to you like the rest
stands out.
You are that someone.
And for that
I may as well love you
but I really have yet to know you
You preoccupy my mind
and for that I hate you
because you are never there
to satisfy my thirst.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

The Spring

Butterfly
Ever changing butterfly
Your wings sparkle colors
of mystic-magenta
petrified-purple
and rancid-red.
The spring brings cedar
a delightful itch
The nose brings bleeding
a tasteful spit.
Black fragments tucked beneath
flaps of skin
Hidden between hairs
and follicles
and skin.
I'm babbling now
None of this makes any sense
But to me
it's everything.
Don't try to collect my thoughts
You will fail miserably!

What's the big idea?
Are your words so scarce
that they defy the laws
of chemical imbalance?
You are impossible, yes
Incorrigible, perhaps
Cunning, well that is
a different thing entirely.
You're independent
and that's attractive.

Cause-effect

Cause-effect.
Why must you blame everyone but yourself?
You think you're so perfect because you can
sing and write, and work for your money
to support yourself.
You are nothing!
A Nobody!
Just a simple human-being
with an extravagant mind.
You are attractive
but she doesn't notice
because you won't allow her.
You're admirable
but she has no idea.
Your coy-lack-of response
has deluded your very essence
of showing your self-worth.
You are fluid and it runs-
It runs down a stream of fiery rivers
where she does not care to swim.
I mean, who would?
Would you swim the sulfurous lake?
I didn't think so.
So tell me,
how do "I" get out?
I am drowning
sinking deeper into my skin
with my bones exposed
sore as they tingle.
The scars of marrow
averting from the obvious fractures
yeah you know
you know all about them
My face
My beautiful face is the only piece
at the surface
My body, in flames
is the laughing stock of the ash
Pompeii? No.
Worse?
Far worse.
The brain-storm is conducting current
and its' voltage is regurgitating time.
Why in the name of all things holy
should I surrender to the confines of time?
Everything has an end
and my body
fully submerged
is nowhere to be found.

Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

The Art of Misinterpretation

Let the stilts propel you
into the vast unknown
beyond the highest of pyres
where the holiest walk
where the clouds become turgid
turquoise and moist.
There you will find him
In his struggle to hoist-
our sins, our pride
our glory, our choice-
to believe in a faulty being
who has caused wars
with his voice.
Drunk is the man
with the lack of better understanding.
For wine is the poor mans' liquor
so he drinks whiskey to watch man suffer.
Brave is the man to call himself his son
and bolder is the man
to write in his voice.
In one thousand years
when this is read
the art of misinterpretation
will surely be dead-
or will it?

Non-Fiction 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Moons

It's windy
The sky is moving fast.
I can barely see the moon
through its' cracks.
It's fierce
It's force
It's fair I suppose.
It moves oceans
It moves mountains
The separation
between earth and soil.
Guide us oh fair moon
with your new and mighty warmth
For we now know your purpose.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Perplexing-Thought-Syndrome

Oh the things that we cannot understand!
Get yourself together!
Get yourself together!
Composure is attractive!
Confidence-
not to be mistaken with egoism
is prominent!
Jump passed the edge
so that you may swim
with the fishes
and so that you may see
how it feels to be steep.
The deep-
Its' ruins scare you
The vast unknown!
Only there will you find her
lurking the grounds
searching for hope-
Hoping that one day
you will arrive!
Wake up you fucking coward!
She is ready for you!
Submit yourself!
Let it be known.

But why?
Why should I make this
even more apparent than it
already is?

By you continuing to hide
you are only further prolonging
what needs to be at the surface.
Clam down.
Breathe.
Relax.
If anyone knows you
it is me!
Take my advice
let this be a lesson.
You've been through this before
Write it down
Reflect, but for gods sake REFLECT!
Remember the mistakes you've made
and don't repeat them!
Why are you even in this situation!!!???
How did you allow yourself to get here?
Ask yourself!
Do you know?
This situation is impossible
because you've made it impossible.
Forget it!
You humor yourself and say
"Oh well, maybe she'll come around"
and your good friends say the same thing
but remember goddammit
the odds are, she will not!
Post it on your walls!
Tattoo it onto your body
For fucks-sake
REMEMBER THIS TERRIBLE FEELING!

So you start again
by weighing the pros and cons
Oh Christ
It's Ruby all over again!
Let it go!
Live a little!

Well you must be a lunatic!
You of all people are telling me to relax?! To live!
I am doing just that! And this is why
I am in the situation that I am in.
Look! I am fighting with myself!

What would your therapist think?
What would a psychologist think?
How would they diagnose this?
Perplexing-Thought-Syndrome?
Instability?
Psychosis?
Bi-Polar?
God I could go on forever
but the point here
is to leave everything behind.
Don't be reckless.
Don't be conceited.
Swallow your pride
and admit that you fucked this one up.

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas

Continued

We experience this at such a young age.
We are pounded with fear as children
because we've heard the word "no"
more often than "yes".
It's debilitating.
It's excruciating.
And now, 24 years in
you come face to face
with the same situation-
You shrivel up
into your unconscious defense mechanism:
You respond.
But what comes out...Oh you never like
what comes out.
You avert your words
You create stories
The implication process begins.
You hope the other person will say it for you
But no one will say it for you!
No one!

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

For Fear of What Your Mother Might Say

You start out by insinuating
your utmost desire for this thing.
Slowly implying its' features
its' benefactors.
Though you hold back
You hesitate to express this desire
for fear of what your mother might say.
She might say no
She might say yes
She might just run off into tangents
attempting to justify why you don't need it.
Instead, you just end up crying
and leaving the toy store unfulfilled.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

In Medias Res

Lower your voice!
High and mighty
it echoes the room
like a cathedral full of sheep.
In Medias Res:
Have I your attention?
You color the world
with a straight smile
and hide behind your eyes.
Your lyrics
poetry
songs
All but stories in which you recite.
And how cleverly rehearsed they are.
You depict yourself as a wicked man
when deep down
you are merely
an honest man
with honest feelings
with the purest of thoughts.

But how do YOU know all of this?
Am I that transparent?
We've only held a conversation
for a mere two hours in total.
How can you claim to know me?
You don't know me!
Why am I even arguing?
At this point of our relationship
I am free to do anything.

So why not fly?
Fly away someplace
where you will never have to see
or think of me again.
All I've said to you
is that you are impossible.
I am intrigued by the way you are
though I cannot find myself with you.
Not yet!
You couldn't have come at a worse time.
Give me a fucking break!
Let me breathe!
Your words can sometimes be suffocating!
I am in love now!
Or at least I'd like to think so.

Time. Time is fluid.
Now patience,
Patience is a different thing entirely.
I've been waiting far too long
for the women that I have thought to love!
Why wait for you!?
You are no different
You are just like the rest of them
childish and confused
curious and crude.
Astonished?
Oh hell, I am only getting started!

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Another Love Poem

How are you something
so distinctive and clear?
How did you manage to get under my skin?
I mean, for fucks sake
I'm thinking of you now
as this ink kisses this paper.
Who are you anyway?
Love?
Lust?
Fear?
I can only hope that you are neither
so that I may suffice this perplexing brainstorm
with riddles and poems.
What did you expect me to say?
That you light up the room when you walk?
That I'm in love with you
or that I'd do anything in my power
just to be with you?
Ha! Well you are wrong!
I will not write a love poem for you
and I will most certainly not
abide by your pretense.
You were impervious to my reply
and it's awkward.
It's awkward to see
the most convincing man
in the process of defeat.
"What shall he do! What shall he do!"
How repugnant!
I am embarrassed to keep writing
For I am afraid of what
you might discover.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Brainstorm

My mind is like a token
for all accounts I have
brought fourth into existence.
Therefore, my mind
is also like a weapon
for all of the infliction
it has brought fourth
during the process
of manifestation.

Sores

Most of us like to talk
to forget the things
that bother us most.
Some pretentious
Some truthful
Whomever you may be
I am the worst!
My words disguise my face
My very existence of being.
I am not like you
I am not a saint
but then again
I am more like you
than you really think!
We are all reputed-authors
writing the pages to our books
illustrating dramas
poems
romances
and comedies.
We are free to be anything
with our words prefabricated.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Malcontent

It's more of a modern thing to be like them
to dress like them
to smell like them
In all honesty
the craving for that taste
lingers at MY tongue.
The craving for fame
is laughing!
Who am i but to hurt
and feel like such a tragic-mess?
Don't blame me.
It's everywhere!
It's surrounding us now!
Temptation.
The desire to want what you want
and to want what you cannot have.
Tragic-irony.
And yet,
in this realization,
I have come to terms with myself.
The 'you' is who you want it to be.
Remember, hopes and dreams
cannot be acquired through sleep,
rather they can only be acquired
through manifestation.
Action requires action.
Sleep requires sleep.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011

Enigmas

Foreign numbers
disguised as symbols
find art in the art of living.
Where drapes of cotton
hang above the horizon
Where bodies of water
engulf the land.
There, they will take shape.
Finally, an enigma
to solve all enigma's
has revealed its' equation.

Non-Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas

Languid Creation

Maybe if we all had wings
we could fly to the moon
just to hear them sing.
We could watch them conduct the waves
with symphonic strings.

Be calmer still
For we are insulate
acquired form of dirt.
The sea is dark
Thy breast is cold
It's warmth is napping
suggesting storms.

Libatious fecal flowing forward.
Androgynous vessels swim with mirth
for we are now aware
of existence and birth.

They will write about us, yes
And they will profit.

Maybe if we all had fins
we could swim
to the deepest parts of the ocean
where gills remain meaningless
and darkness eats light.

"Oh gods of the vast sky
let this be forthright,
impale me for my sins
so that the sea may remain dark
and the sun remain thin-
so it may light the land with color
and bring life from within.
We are but lepers;
decaying past."

Onward we march.

Fiction Collection 2011
©Bobby Ruelas