And I keep writing poems

Not to her
but because of her

Not in the hope that she falls in love

because of them
In fact, I lost the hope that I could even make her
smile with my poems around
ten poems ago

But I keep writing poems

Not to her
but because of her

Not even in the hope that she reads them

The truth is I don’t even wonder anymore
where she keeps them,
those papers I gave her

I saw them burned, chopped, crossed out

in her trash bin
when she asked me to put
her rotten orange in its proper place

But I keep writing poems

Porque me siento de la verga

That’s why I write
Me siento de la chingada
because of her
and that’s why I write

Well,
I’ll have to stop spending/wasting my time
with her
sooner or later
because I always end up feeling like shit
and writing shitty poems like this one

nov/09