¿Quién Soy Hoy?

This was a Spanish essay prompt, but then we didn't turn it in so now it is a poem.

¿Quién Soy Hoy?
Soy una niña, desordenada, confundida, decidiendo
Soy una mujer, independente, impaciente, lista para salir
Quiero correr, escapar, mudarme a otra parte y nunca regresar
Quiero quedarme aquí, cómoda, alegre como ya soy
Estoy lista para la competencia, estoy loca con ansiedad
Hago lo que quiero, cuando lo quiero, como lo quiero
Y temo que los demás me juzguen
Soy hija, hermana, estudiante, maestra, amiga
No sé quién yo seré en cinco años, un año, una semana, una hora
Apenas recuerdo quién era hace una hora, y el resto se desvanece en mi memoria
Pero ¿ahora misma?
Soy una niña-mujer
Impaciente-contenta
Inteligente-confundida
Lista-inquieta
Emocionada-aburrida
Feliz-triste
Y llena de esperanza

Writer's Block

There is a yellow sheet of paper in my lap
It is small, and two of the sides are jagged
They have been ripped.
A little green pencil is in my hand
(How did it get there?)
And I am waiting

Waiting for the ideas to come to me
Waiting for some supernatural inspiration
For that moment they call "Aha!"

I look around
They are writing
Are they all so inspired?
So clever?
So filled with original ideas?
Or just pretending to be?

I close my eyes, to speed the waiting
Listen to the radio waves of imagination
Who? How?
I'll write it down when I figure it out
But for now

The paper sits
Small, yellow
Folded funny
Unfolded funnier
Rough around the edges
Empty

Friend

Sorry for not writing for quite a while. I'm taking a fiction writing class right now (link here), so inspiration or metaphors or little tidbits that would otherwise have gone to poetry are being kneaded into assignments for that instead. It's alright, it's good to expand your horizons and I am thoroughly enjoying the class. Hopefully I'll write more poetry soon, though. I miss it.

Friend
You ask, "May I call you my sister?"
No sir, you may certainly not
For I could not see you as brother
Though you treat me as a brother ought

You tell me you see me as teammate
But we both know I'm more than that
If that's all you think you see in me
I think we need to have a chat

I'd never imply that I love you
You say it, but only in jest
For in your uncertain subconscious
I'm always second or third best

I know that you have been my mentor
And I've been your teacher and guide
But instead of getting on our pedestals,
I suggest we stand side by side

What's the use in frivolous labels?
And dear, I don't mean to offend,
For you're so much better than any one name
And hence you're above all my friend

Klutzy

So this one's more or less unfinished... I could tell you it was meant to be that way for effect but it's not, that's just kind of how it turned out. Maybe you'll help?
I thought of the first couple stanzas of this one while doing vineyard work far far away, but because I had no paper I couldn't get very far into the poem without forgetting the beginning :P
It is actually a song but... I'm not singing it for you so hopefully you'll like it as a poem :)

Klutzy
I'm a little
Klutzy
Just a wee bit
Clumsy
Kinda sorta... You know...
Awkward with my feet

When you tell me "come here"
I will try but-
Oh dear
I am falling over
Continually

They tell me it's cute for the first fifty times
As I stumble through ice rinks and high mountain climbs
It's not like it's something I'm trying to do
I think I'm alright and then-
There goes my shoe

Somewhere in the awkward our two paths have crossed
You look know where you're going, I'm completely lost
You make fun of me for hanging out with nerds
And it doesn't help that I
Trip
On my words

But you know, I think that you're pretty darn sweet
And maybe you'll help me get back on my feet
Sorry for the trouble I'm putting you through
Because- I admit it- I'm falling for you

I'm still pretty
Klutzy
More than sorta
Clumsy
And what's even worse, I'm
Awkward with my heart

Hands

Sorry I haven't posted since Spain, I have a bunch of new unfinished poems and... plenty to do that takes priority over finishing them :P

Hands
They're dirty- well thank you for that
And there's a blister on my thumb
This pinky doesn't stretch out flat
Please don't point it out like I'm dumb

If you have nice hands, I won't whine‒
I too would like your satin skin‒
But my own hands suit me just fine
Each callous shows where I have been

These hands have climbed more trees and rocks
Than you've seen any grown man climb
They've greased engines and wound up clocks
And I splinter them all the time

They play tennis and violin,
You'll see it on my fingertips
And they get bored holding a pen
Or bucket without handle grips

Look! Here's a scar from boiling tea
This part has even had frostbite
And here's where the windshield cut me
On icy roads close to midnight

These hands work so hard kneading dough
For the best bread you've ever had
They can also hold newborns, though,
And give you great hugs when you're sad

My wrists may have some funny tans
And my fingers may not align
But my whole life is in these hands
And I thank heaven that they're mine

Four Copper Men

The statue described in this poem does not exist, but there is a similar statue by a fountain in Parque Central in Estepona, Spain.

Four Copper Men
There is a copper statue by a fountain made of gold
Four rusted men look at you- eyes wide open, tales untold
And all the passers by prefer the fountain and the park
A glance upon the statue and their bright faces turn dark
The metal men are two and two, some standing, some low down
Each holds a word in just one hand, and each one wears a frown

The first man, on his knees, tries hard to hide his small word "FEAR"
His bare back and his legs are scarred, and in one eye a tear
The second has two burdens, one a whip, the other "HATE"
He strikes man one- immobile in his undeserved fate
Man three faces the other way- "INACTION" is his word
He wears a suit and, hand on hip, finds one and two absurd
The fourth man's in a wheelchair, by his side the word "REGRET"
His face bears every time he swore I'll help, just not quite yet

From each man's eyes, one can surmise that he is not to blame
Some greater force has put him there, and yet it's such a shame
That in this golden fountain world we can't seem to provide
Man one with hope, or two with love, or three with worthier pride
As you pass through the park, my friend, I'll wonder just once more
Will you step up and change the world, or will you be man four?

Or Something

No, this is not inspired by anyone. Am I clear?

Or Something
Today or tomorrow or something
I hope to see you, dear, once more
And tell you or write you or something
About how much you´ve changed my world

And maybe, if it's alright with you
We´ll talk or we´ll laugh or... you know
Appreciate our time together
I don´t think I can let you go

I cannot promise that I love you
But I can come pretty darn close
And I think I am pretty certain
That you're what I've wanted the most

I'll be very honest with you dear
I don't really know what to say
But given "right here" or "wherever you are"
It's you I would choose any day


First time I´ve translated my own poem into Spanish, but here you have it
O Algo
Hoy o mañana o algo
Quiero verte, cariño
Y decirte o escribirte
Todo lo que me has hecho

Y tal vez, si no te molesta
Podemos hablar o reír
Aunque ya no estoy segura,
Dudo que te permito salir

No te prometo que te amo
Pero lloraré si te vas
Y creo que estoy segura
Que eres lo que quiero más

Yo estoy honesta contigo
¿Qué debo decirte? No sé.
Pero entre "aquí" y "donde tú estás"
Yo siempre te escogeré