• Poetry

    playing games

    all this is, is a fling

    i remind myself as you grab my waist

    all this is, is a fling

    i repeat in my head as you hasten

    to pull your shirt over your muscular back

    allowing my fingertips to explore the expanse of your chest

    inhibitions, we lack

    all this is, is a fling

    i feel the words form in my mouth

    but then your tongue pushes its way in

    knocking them out

    your body forces me down onto your bed

    your body covers mine

    and you seek to pull apart my threads

    all this is, is a fling

    i grapple with the meaning of those words

    because i constantly seem to forget

    my heart subverts

    these fucking words in my head

    your lips are kissing and sucking down my body now

    i’m so hot and turned on now

    you’re torturing me

    both physically and emotionally

    why can’t you fucking stay?

    why can’t you please fucking stay?

    all this is, is a fling

    i clench my teeth when i remember

    that there is no future come the spring

    because you’re leaving at the end of december

    this is just a fling, Vic

    i finally accept it

    and every time i do, i feel sick

    but then that feeling is quickly replaced with elation

    © 2018 Vic Romero

    All Rights Reserved

    #repost

  • Poetry

    Self-Portrait at Twenty-two

    I.

    A reflection

    Of a forlorn face

    In the grimy window

    Of the bus as it creaks along.

    I try my hardest to look beyond it

    To look at the landscape as we drive along

    But the grimy windows don’t seem to permit it.

     

    II.

    The white smoke escapes my lips

    While black tar enters my lungs

    I sigh, in bliss

    My head buzzing and ears ringing

    Enjoying the silence from the cold evening

    The stillness

     

    Later, I reenter the party

    Mingle and mix with everybody

    And smile because for this one night,

    I’m not lonely

     

    Even later, there are

    Dark bedrooms and

    Faceless bodies with

    Forgettable names but

    Regrettable moments

     

    III.

    An accident.

    Blood…

    Broken bones…

    Barely breathing…

    The absence of a heartbeat.

     

    IV.

    Relief.

    In the form of a woman

    Caramel skin and dark,

    Almond-shaped eyes

    A soft smile when her lips say my name

     

    V.

    The golden sunlight-

    An unwelcome guest

    Shines through the cracks

    Of the closed blinds

    Seeping through the thin skin

    Of my eyelids

    Making itself known

     

    The sunlight illuminates the caramel skin

    Of the woman wrapped in the sheets

    Entangled in my limbs

    Breathing soundly

     

    Eventually, I succumb to its insistence

    That I arise

    I disentangle my limbs and

    I welcome the sun

    To this new day

    Stretching my arms over my body

    In salutation

    Then folding over my feet

    Bowing in respect

    And appreciation

    To be alive

     

    © 2018 Vic Romero

    All rights reserved.

  • Short Stories

    Stifling Heat

    I stared up at the ceiling fan as it whirled overhead. It was attempting to provide a breeze in the sweltering evening heat but to little avail. My oversized t-shirt clung to my back, sticky with perspiration. I raised my feet into the air, feeling the slight breeze tickle my soles. Then I rolled onto my right side and stared directly into the electric fan. The wind it created was aggressive and loud. My hair blew off of my face and I sighed blissfully.

    Then my phone pinged.

    I glanced at it, unamused, and snatched it off of the chipping, white side table. It was Ashley.

    I heard what happened to you and Tom. I’m so sorry.

    I frowned and turned off my phone. She’s not sorry, she is probably thrilled that he’s now available. She always liked him. I could tell by the way she looked at him and how she talked to him.

    I rolled back onto my back and resumed staring into the ceiling fan, hoping to be hypnotized into a deep sleep.

    Sleep. What a foreign concept to me at this point. I haven’t slept since we broke up a week ago. It’s been even longer since I’ve slept alone. Two years. It’s been two years…I don’t know how to sleep alone anymore.

    I closed my eyes, hoping that if I pretended to be asleep, I’d eventually trick myself into falling asleep this time. Instead of looking at the back of my eyelids though, I was confronted by Tom’s face hovering over me, illuminated by the moon through the window. He was smiling mischievously, some locks of his golden hair falling into his eyes. Then I felt his warm, calloused fingers draw circles on my right arm. His breath was warm when he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Tell me what you want.”

    I smiled, relieved that he was back. He tenderly kissed my face, but when I tried to kiss him, he shook his head, his grin widening.

    “Tell me first,” he said, kissing my neck. The sensation sent chills down my body, and simultaneously ignited my skin. “Tell me what you want.”

    I slid my hand across my hot stomach and brushed the top of my pubic bone.

    “I want you,” I gasped as my fingers dipped lower, probingly.

    “What do you want me to do?” he asked, kissing his way down my chest.

    My touch sent a wave of warmth over my body. “I want you to…” I panted.

    “What do you want me to do?” he asked, looking into my eyes.

    “I want you to—”

    Then my body shook, and everything felt like it was on fire.

    When my breathing slowed and I relaxed, I whispered, “I want you to be here.” I opened my eyes expectedly as if I had just performed a spell to summon him. All I saw though, was the whirling ceiling fan in my dark room. I was alone.

    My face crumbled. The satisfaction that I created dissipated and tears streamed down my cheeks.

    © 2018 Vic Romero – Performance Poetics Spring 2018

  • Poetry,  Speaking My Mind

    Quiting Smoking (Version 2)

    We ignited quickly,

    The sparks between us

    Became consuming flames

    We burned bright

    On dark, cold nights.

    It was refreshing

    To inhale you

    And to exhale loneliness

     

    You may have been comforting,

    But you weren’t good for me

    You sucked out all my oxygen,

    Filled my lungs with tar,

    And singed my fingers.

    I had held onto your fire

    For far too long

     

    So I let you go…

    Dropped you to the ground

    To find a way out

    Of your ensnarement.

     

    You were addictive, though.

     

    A couple of days would pass,

    But I could never last

    For very long

    Without your fire

     

    © 2017 Vic Romero – Creative Writing Fall 2017

    Read the original version of this piece here.

  • Poetry,  Speaking My Mind

    over time

    first

    you will be dumbfounded

    your heart will plummet

    into the depths of your stomach

    as the whole world before you

    tumbles

    as if the entire universe

    was shoved into a dryer

    spinning

    steady yourself

    on someone’s shoulder

    first

     

    then

    when strangers

    you haven’t seen

    since you were a newborn

    all cluster together,

    solemnly murmuring

    donning dark colors

    touching the glossy wood

    of the coffin

    the magnitude of death

    will feel heavy

    you will

    need to sit

    and your aunt

    will comfort you

    then

     

    later

    when you call her up

    because you start to forget her voice-

    but the line has been disconnected

    when her seat at the table for the holidays

    is vacant

    year after year

    when her sister

    has become an only child

    when you get older

    and she doesn’t-

    the passing of time just means

    that she’s been gone longer

    you will understand

    the finality of death

    later

    © 2017 Vic Romero – Creative Writing Fall 2017

  • Speaking My Mind

    Angel

    On December 22nd, my girlfriend unexpectedly had to put her dog, Angel, down.

    I accompanied her to the vet, which was two hours away, and the doctor’s prognosis was that the dog had a large tumor across the front of her neck, and she recommended a veterinary hospital to visit.

    The following day, we were able to take her dog to the hospital, which was earlier than the original appointment we had had. When my girlfriend put angel in the backseat beside me, she was in worse shape than the day prior. This time she was drooling a ton and wouldn’t even prop herself up; she just lied beside me. I petted her head for a bit while my girlfriend drove, but then after about fifteen minutes, Angel started coughing a lot and had a seizure. She was gagging on her saliva. The rest of the drive to the hospital was very stressful.

  • Speaking My Mind

    I Think About You Everyday

    I’ve been rather depressed since my cousin’s passing.  Depressed, scared, and pensive about morbid things.

    I’ve been thinking about death…what was it like for my cousin to die?  It makes me feel bad to think about that since the accident was so violent…but it also makes me sad to think about how her last feeling may have been fear. It hurts me to think she may have been in pain too, although the doctor said she died upon impact, but who really knows?  Maybe they said it for our sake.

  • Poetry,  Speaking My Mind

    Your Last

    I hope your last emotion wasn’t fear.
    Did you see it coming?
    I hope your last sight wasn’t the glaring headlights.
    Did you run?

    I hope your last touch wasn’t the hard metal
    Nor the rough pavement against your cheek

    I hope the last thing you heard wasn’t the roar of the engine
    Nor your roommate shrilly screaming your name.

    I hope your last taste wasn’t the blood that flooded your mouth.
    Did it choke you?
    I hope your last smell wasn’t the burning rubber when the truck left you behind
    Did you suffer?

    I hope you didn’t.

    © 2016 Vic Romero

    My cousin was killed crossing the street on 3 September 2016.

    Twenty years with you doesn’t feel like enough time, but I’m grateful to at least have that. Chris, thank you for being my big sister, I love you. RIP.

  • Poetry,  Speaking My Mind

    PIV

    This is an extremely raw write…I wrote this over the course of several days back in April-March…tears always stung my eyes as I added a couple of lines on my way to class or when I couldn’t focus on studying…I could edit this and clean it up, but I kind of like how…raw and therefore rough it is. I feel like it helps depict my mentality at that time…jagged edges and ill-fitting puzzle pieces. 


    At this point, I’m only torturing myself

    Because I know well

    That nothing will become of this.

    I don’t want it to anyway

    This relationship would drive

    myself crazy

    Because you’re too lazy

    To treat me right

    And you’re a vault

    Locked up tight

     

    I must love how you hurt me

    Because I’m not coming undone from your touch

    No

    Only you get satisfied

    So why do I keep entangling myself

    In these cheap affairs

    There’s nothing in it for me

    In the end

     

    We’re not going to last

     

    I think I rather be alone

    Than be with you and feel miserable

    Our relationship isn’t transparent

    And there isn’t a point in talking about it anymore

    Since it’ll only fall on deaf ears

    Like what has happened before

    It’s exhausting trying to one-up you

    I’m killing myself so you can’t

    But there isn’t a point

    Since I can’t accomplish anything if I’m dead

    We aren’t friends

    We don’t know how to be friends

     

    I’ve known all of this for awhile now

    Ever since I realized you aren’t lonely

    You just want someone to fuck

    Or a thing

    I lose my autonomy with you

    As you pursue sexual satisfaction

    I remain still for you

    Your hands graze my body

    And penetrate me

    To please you

    And you alone

     

    I am enough

    You’re not allowed to make me feel less than


    But I’m not gonna stop entertaining your texts

    And I won’t stop spending the night

    Until you stop inviting me

    Because ending the hurricane that we are

    Means also ending the rainbow in my life

     

    I’m not really part of anything

    A stray leaf floating through branches covered in leaves that match each other

    But I’m different colored

    Mixing everything together

     

    You’re no longer allowed to camp out at the forefront of my mind

    I have other things to think about

    Other friendships to foster

    And problems I want to solve

    You treat me like I’m ordinary

    And I deserve better

     

    I like the idea of you

    I like hooking up with you because I like you

    You like hooking up with me because I’m convenient

    I am just a body

    Without agency

    A rag doll

    Raggedy Vie

     

    © 1 March 2016 Vic Romero



  • Speaking My Mind

    Staying Gold

    The last couple weeks of the semester has caused me to feel glum due to stress over my academics as well as my social life. To sum it up: I am in the middle. The in-between. The grey area.

    Every aspect of my life seems to fit that description. My sexuality and race/ethnicity, as noted in this post, my affiliated religion (I don’t identify as anything, I just don’t think about it), my majors (WGS and Economics)..I can’t seem to ever fall into one, absolute category. Perhaps it’s because I’m going and I’m still discovering myself and the world or perhaps it’s a false pretense that people can ever fall into one category. Regardless, this thought also applies to my friends.

    I don’t have a clique or group of friends. Every time I think I do, I get proven wrong. It’s exhausting, hurtful, and lonely. I was complaining to my good friend, Steph, about it and she told me it was okay to be an outsider in the sense I don’t belong anywhere, I just have random friends here and there. She said I have years to figure out the friends I want to be making and who stays in my life too. She’s right but..I think the nature of college is extremely lonely without a group. Without a group, you tend to get left out and excluded. At least that’s been my experience. If I commuted, for example, I probably wouldn’t care at all about lacking a social circle.

    Anyway..I’m writing because despite how much I feel like an outsider, a misfit, a loner, or whatever it may be, I’ve done some pretty badass things. Perhaps I wouldn’t have done them if I didn’t feel so alone.

%d bloggers like this: