||[17 May 2017|12:00am]
I'm sad and I'm angry right now.
I met someone else but that went nowhere quickly.
Made me realize we weren't for each other.
Actually figured it out before the new girl.
We are just friends.
What's it matter to you
(who i talk to)
(who i see)
|She said to him
||[04 May 2017|03:44am]
She said he was worth being with.
That he respected her personality,
And was always polite when he spoke with her.
She noticed it in him,
And had to tell him what she thought.
He took her in.
Grabbed her because she saw all the right things.
He told her that he can't believe it's real,
And then asked her again and again if it was.
She said to him,
"Yes it is."
|I wrote in my notebook
||[04 Apr 2017|11:22pm]
I wrote in my notebook
It's eleven pm and time to go to bed
but i'm going to shower instead
to my dreams
where i cant be disturbed.
|I'm angry again
||[25 Mar 2017|04:37am]
I'm angry again, but I'm also really sad. I'm mad that the girl I like who just wants to be friends- is giving me mixed signals. I'm angry that she text me just to tell me shit, then say it doesn't matter, and then say goodbye.
I'm glad I had a nice time tonight. I kicked it with two old friends from long ago. 4 years, something like that. We had fun. Drank, played stupid games.
I'm sad that those girl's boyfriends were fucking lame. The one guy couldn't even play a fucking game with us. It was too stupid and he didn't want to because he came to drink. He was a fucking a prick.
Then the other girl's b/f showed up all rude in his car. Waited 5 seconds, realized his g/f was drunk, got out of the car and the first thing he says is, "and I have to open the door for you?" then opens the passenger door as if it was so god damn inconvenient to do for his fucking girl friend.
I am sad. Is this what girl's want? Some asshole? Holy fuck, I would treat them better than that and I'm just a friend. I am fucking angry I tell you. It's not fair.
|Listen to foreign shit
||[21 Mar 2017|11:52pm]
I'm very angry right now.
My pandora is listening to foreign shit right now. Vai Saber.
I suppose I will know. or figure it out. Or do something.
I like a girl who wants to be friends with me. I think now I am starting to realize that. I feel this could be detrimental to our friendship.
There's more foreign music now. Dom La Nena. "Ela." I don't know what she's saying. I like the sounds of the instruments. I like the tempo. The violins. Her voice. Whatever she's saying. Just keep talking to me.
That's how this new girl is. I just want her to talk to me. For however long. --so far she makes me mad. she makes me feel bad sometimes. and to be honest, i dont think she trusts me. she has very little faith in me. i feel that alot from her. i feel like her and i could be friends for a long time, but that would mean she would have to trust me. a lot could happen in the next 6 months from now. she could get closer or be farther from me than ever. i like to think that it's up to me, but nope. it's all her. she's more closed than i am. what if i decide that I don't want to?
Back to classical music. Please. I'm angry.
|I feel very bad
||[03 Mar 2017|12:41am]
I feel very bad about myself right now. I cursed myself out about an hour ago. I'm just a piece of shit. There's nothing in this world. Nothing for me. None of it matters. I dont understand anything. I dont see a point. What is the point? I'm so tired and because of what? Nothing? Yes! I've managed to live doing nothing. My friends dont call me. I have one friend , who I am sure will end up hating me before the end of the year. Why wouldn't she? Why would she like me? If she really does...What could I do for her? Why do I like her? Do i?
We could just be friends. Are we? Is that it? Is there something more? Maybe not. How should I know? I can barely read you.
|Whoa, I was gonna
||[24 Feb 2017|12:24am]
I was going to write tonight, but I saw my last post I made. I forgot I made that. Then after seeing that I made another discovery. Shortly after that, I made another startling discovery. I literally said, "O h M y G od." Needless to say I am perplexed. I'm very tired at this moment. I suppose I'll write stuff down tomorrow in my notebook.
||[19 Feb 2017|05:28am]
I used to wear my hat backwards.
I was young, naive, and only nineteen.
I was twenty five years old,------------------------------
To Jessica Guerrero,
It is possible that you may never see this. You may never read these words. Although, if I am sure, there's a good chance that you could read all of this. Given that I'm crazy about you, you could very well come to read all of this.
You asked about my book. My notebook. Asked if you could read it. I became defensive and felt you were being a little intrusive. I can only say why. I used to think it would be awesome if a girl would be interested in what I wrote, but I know what's written in my book. If you read anything of it this soon, I am sure you would not like me. I only say like because I have no idea if you do. I think you do, but if I had to guess I'd say no. I mean, I'd say you weren't interested in me that way.
I am not in a very good mood at this moment. I 'm a low person right now. My confidence is low, more than usual. I've never felt this way.
||[15 Feb 2017|10:53pm]
I really have nothing. I spent all my money. It was really all gone before I knew it.
I listened to a song and it told me that I should otherwise, consider mine own chances with the world of today. There was no significance as to when the song was made and the exact time I was living in, so consider that shit out of your own mind. The fact that that could even be brought up as I start mine own shit, aggravates me. I'm to no end at this sight, as I stare at you. But I digress, back to the nothing I was saying. I was saying shit. spell it out. s, h, i , t.
Life is shit. Hearing what my mom said, the way she put it, it's not that stupid, but at first glance, fuck yes, it is. That was my first response. Yes that it is crazy. It doesn't make sense. There could be no answer.
Spent the first part of mine own life mad sad n depressed. I'm okay now, I"m about half way. Shouldn't she get to choose how the end of her life goes?
You spent the whole part of life for this kid.
Making sure they didn't kill them self.
Now that your life is at the end,
You should have a choice.
For I have the insight now, because of you, now.
||[13 Dec 2016|11:40pm]
Hey, that's me!
A guy drinking,
Beer in hand, or a glass of ice topped with liquor.
Pen in my hand now, writing down words,
As fast as I can my drinks,
But I don't drink fast.
I never have.
I take my time,
I plan to have more than just one, or two or three too many.
My time has to be spaced out.
|"Six Full Pages"
||[02 Nov 2016|05:37pm]
"Six Full Pages" #7
All of them are dedicated to you.
A full range of emotions.
From day to night.
Dating from the 1st to the last.
Some are written hurried.
Lines that don't get written down.
A subject lost.
Some are clearly written.
Lines are made to be perfect.
Poetry from the heart.
Six pages are fully written.
Describing how you make me feel.
Super happy to let down, and back again.
From the moment I wake to the dreams you evoke.
Day one when we met to the last that hasn't passed yet.
Words that I scrambled to look for.
Different things to think about.
Sentences that didn't manifest themselves.
Story left untold.
Expressions clearly noted.
Only one thought in mind.
A definitive way of writing.
Sincere and heartfelt.
A hopeless romantic meeting his end.
Poetry from his head.
-Matthew C. Romo-
||[13 Oct 2016|09:29pm]
I want to give you a hug and tell you I miss you.
I want to say your name,
And maybe I'll kiss you, on the cheek.
It's been too long since I've got to be sweet to you.
This romantic gesture has built itself up since you've been gone.
The way I feel is still the same as the day I first heard your voice in my ears.
The day I saw your genuine smile,
I knew I would love you.
You treated me with respect
And you were honest with me.
You were interested in me,
And then you were honest with yourself.
We were both thinking like we were sixteen,
It was all so exciting,
But reality set in.
As much as I want to stay with you,
And talk to you and be with you,
We have to let each other go.
I want you to know that I'll always be there for you.
I want to say to you that I will always care.
I want to give you a big hug and tell you I miss you.
-Matthew C. Romo-
|Something to say
||[11 Oct 2016|09:36pm]
If there was something to say,
Would you say it?
If you felt the way I did would you let her know?
I find myself staring straight into your eyes,
And when I see you look back I look away,
Because whatever is alive between us cannot be.
We are made to live the life between us,
And to keep it alive,
Because whatever is alive between us is ours only.
I would say,
I don't talk much about destiny.
|To that girl, Yesenia
||[18 Sep 2016|06:03am]
I have never met her, yet I adore her. She's made the most of my days for the past 2 weeks. When I hear her voice, I want to sigh and listen to her speak; and I want to hear her speak on and on. She is wonderful to me and I like her and think of her alot and I wish she would keep talking to me.
I suppose she does. She does still text me to say hello. But I want more than that. I don't see how I could ever be anything than her friend, but if this is what it has to be, then so be it. I wouldn't trade anything for anything more than I what I have with her now. She makes me smile. She makes me feel happy and brave. I feel inspired by her to do something I haven't done. I want to get my license. I want to be like her. I wish I could be with her, but that'll never happen. The most I'll get is her friendship, which I will take for granted, because I will be ungrateful and undeserving of her love. She deserves someone great, someone willing to do what she demands, what she likes, what she inspires.
Yesenia, you inspire me; and although, I've yet the words to really say, I find myself clenching my heart, and hoping it would fill so that I would know that I love you for reals.
You've become everything to me. I don't want you to become less, ever. You have to be her for me. Why wouldn't you be?
p.s. I know
||[26 Aug 2016|11:37pm]
Why even write to you? Why bother? I heard you were talking about me the other day. That you asked, or said, that you were hoping I was happy. It made me think. Not that I wanted to. Not because it was you who said it. But because I got word that someone hoped I was... I don't think about anyone anymore. I'm just by myself. I have my family, the little kids. Nieces n nephew. I see them when they come around. I dont think I've ever needed anyone except my parents. I'm old now and I still need them. I don't talk to them. I don't know what it means to talk to someone. I've never been good at it. If im in a position to say something, my mind goes completely blank. I literally do not have one single thought in there. It's how I was made. It's not all the pot clouding my fucking brain. Maybe it is and I never grew up.
I dont talk to my friends. They don't talk to me either though. I'm pretty sure we still call each other friends, but, we don't ever hang out. We don't talk. I know they like to drink, and I've tried to get them to go out n drink with me, but nope. They have no money. At least none to spend on hanging out. I know they drink. I know they have their own life. So I guess I don't care about that.
I have people I think about alot. It always switches. It'll be one person, then it's someone else. I don't tell people I was thinking of them. I still write about them though. I never use their name unless I somehow methodically want myself, me, Matt Romo, to remember who I'm talking about. I will say their name in the stanza, or at the beginning or in the title or end. I like to look back on the shit I've wrote and to who.
I remember I looked through my box of writings again, a long time ago, and some of them I couldn't remember. I didn't remember how I felt. I didn't remember who I wrote it for. Who was I talking to, who was this for? It could have been for any number of girls. I didn't write anything for myself. I didn't write for my family. It was always for some other girl. I see now, what I just wrote. Maybe that's why I feel like all this writing of mine is a failure. It got me nothing. Got me nowhere. Got me thinking that chicks don't dig this shit. I do remember I use to write because that's what was in my heart. I had a channel into it and was able to put it in words on paper.
Writing takes time. An entire hour can go by and I've only filled a page, yet I feel like I've talked to you for more than a day. It's taken you only 3 minutes to read this. The thing about emotion is that it doesn't end like a book on it's last page. It ends, but there might be alittle more. Emotion may not end and even erupt into a new chapter. It lasts. Even after it's been expelled. Emotion is still lingering. People go 40 years and then all of sudden they are bright with rage, or sadness, or whatever the fuck is wrong with them. It's fucking people and they believe in all this feelings and emotions and whatever. They fucking discredit that dumb shit too! FUCK THAT! I've said that shit so many times.
I thought of some other personal shit just now, but I'm not going to write about it. Maybe it'll come up later or something. It's the most personal shit that people want to talk about right? Who the fuck gives a fuck how your day is going? I mean, unless you're having a good day. It's just small talk. I can't say I've had a good day. I guess last wednesday was a good day because my team won the championship. I think I do a good job at work everyday I'm there, so isn't that a good day? I talk to broker's and it's just small talk. Hey how are you? blahblah, hey im calling cuz of this... That shit ain't real. All this shit I'm writing to you now is.
You were someone I wrote to. I remember writing to. I remember writing about. When you were mentioned again saying you hoped I was happy, it really got me thinking. I realize you and I were dumb kids then. Not so much different now, mind you. Humans don't fucking change or grow. If they do anything it's because they meant to. Like I'm writing to you now, like I meant to. As I always did and never told you. I remember you saw it once. I didn't want you to, but I didn't stop you either. I remember I wrote you once, and I wanted you to see it, but then you never did. Maybe now since we are dumbass pieces of shit, ha ha, since we are grown ups, I feel like I could let you see it because even though for a long time I didn't want you, I think you deserve it. As I did all those years ago when I wrote it for you.
Apart of me asks, why? Why show her? I say now, you know what? Why the fuck not? This shit ain't for me, it was for her, she never got it and I'm feeling sentimental. I don't expect anything to change between us ever again. But if I could give this to you, it could possibly mean something to me. Don't know what, just that I feel like I should. Will you write me back?
|I am not in a good mood
||[25 Jun 2016|02:05am]
I love that I thought of the same notation. But that's only because I drink. Then I feel myself, and as a part of decorum, whatever I do, it's against me.
My head hurts, and I can't be sorry that I want to cry in front of you. No tears will run out of mine eyes, even though I feel this feeling that destroys me from inside.
You cannot think of me.
And then you noow,
Uh no, not at all!
I am angry. But as my poem goes...
I thought i had mine own friends.
Mine own self esteem, wont let me get close enough.
Why the fuck should i?
There isn't anyone that wants me.
I thought a girl liked me,
But who was I kidding?
She felt nothing for me.
It must have been all in mine head.
I must have thought that she was it.
I am so sad.
She could never have been what I wanted her to be.
Simply put, simply be.
I would fight for her.
|Forgot how to do this
||[16 May 2016|08:52pm]
I remember that I used to write for the hell of it. I still have most of it in a box in the closet. I think of it alot and wonder if I should forget it. I think it would be okay to let go of all those memories. I know once I look thru that box I'll read what I wrote and remember that moment. Remember that letter and how I felt. And now I remember I looked through that box once, to organize that box with all those letters and notes and poems and other crap. I remember reading some and that feeling I felt when I first wrote it was gone. It wasn't there. I didn't feel anything after reading. I wondered whether to keep it, and I believe I did. So even that sits in the box in my closet.
I'd actually like to go thru that box, but the task of getting it out of the closet is another thing. I'd have to get the doors open first. Of course, you wouldn't know but these doors have been shut this way for a certain reason. They don't open. Not without effort. Beyond that it's dirty. Get past a clothesline full of shirts and there's the boxes. Are you lucky enough to open the first box and it's the one you want? I'm sitting right here. I could just peer inside if I just lean a l l t h e w ay to the right, but I don't think that's going to happen tonight. Perhaps I'll revisit this thought another time.
|107, 08 am
||[14 May 2016|02:01am]
This is who I am. I love writing. I don't do it enough, I know I don't do this enough. Nothing has changed about me, it's something that I have always done. Since I was a dumbass freshman in high school. Still am a dumbass, like I said, nothing's changed about me.
You're a damn fool if you think somehow this will be about you. Rest assured, this shit has nothing to do with you. Though, maybe in a way, it is- or has something to do with you. It can't all be my fault. Life goes the way that it shall. Perhaps I was looking for something I didn't know I was looking for and I found it. If I didn't know that at the time (until now...)
Let me say, I would love a beer at this moment.
Thank you. I feel like I've much to say and my brain strains to condense it down to something tangible; or coherent. Something like being outside. Somewhere comfortable. Maybe it's inside with a fireplace. Do you ask questions to yourself? Or do you hear them? Life works it's ways, but that's just saying there's no control over it. Fuck that right? Life works in one way. How ever you should decide it. But also, life is as it is and has been. Sometimes you cannot change it. They say sometimes because they say sometimes you can. Rest your ass assured, there ain't no life changing here. Just how about a change in something different. Were you there for someone else? Some other fucking body? Someone? Another human. It wasn't nobody. To you it was somebody. You felt them. Whether you can remember it now or not, it was there that lead you here- now. Penmanship on a page. Not from words of spite, but to muse, or dare I say, inspire. No, why? It wasn't anything to me. It was easy come and easy go. Not everything means a fucking moment. Some moments are, but that's for us to take. Ourselves get that.
You can only feel like it sucks so many times. This was nothing I could write about, but it is, and I always knew it. I couldn't articulate it until now. There's moment's you miss, moment's that come back around, and those that can change your life. You miss them because that moment happened and you think it would happen again. Wait your whole life without holding your breath. Nice try. I'm here but I think a lot.
I do a lot about you but there's nothing else. I shouldn't even care. But it's like you hit me up and never stopped. It's like I should have known, but what could I have known? I was looking for something. I'm just fucking crazy to think I could have found anything in you. I found a lot. Right there in mine own thoughts. I pictured what you could be in mine own head. All of which you could be.
It could be nothing or everything. Probably nothing. Or absolutely everything. I guess it's really up to me to decide that. You don't know what you've meant to me. I couldn't ever tell you. If I did you wouldn't remember. It wouldn't matter. And if you think for a second about love, you're wrong. This has nothing to do with that. Well, maybe in a way, but not really if you don't want it to. Suppose it comes from a place of love. Maybe it all is then? ...No. It's about good times. I remember some of them. I remember other times too, not so great.
You don't get to know people fast enough. It takes more than a few days or sometimes years. I have no idea how fucking long it takes. I feel like it should take long enough for us, like you were not there in the short run for the long haul. It wouldn't make sense to sporadically go from here to there and elsewhere never to be seen again. Of course, it could just be me. All of it. Completely. I expected nothing really and so, nothing there is. I don't want to believe it, but suppose it's just me. What if I thought I could find what I wasn't looking for. Suppose I thought I found what I couldn't find. I'm not talking about love. I've found what I want with you. Something I could do without. But I've found you. You found me.
All you have to do is say hi to me. Or don't.
|I am not in a good mood
||[06 May 2016|10:56pm]
21 Feb 2015
I have been drinking. I was drinking 3 hours ago. I drank before that, but you get the point.
I'm drunk, I hate now.
A sentence that don't mean how.
Of course, I mean to say,
I am drunk and I can not speak.
I hate now.
Hate life all on its own.
I get angry at just the thought.
Of life by itself.
Of living life all alone.
Of being alone, but not hating every moment.
Because there's things worth the living moment.
It's an old fashioned word.
Old fashioned because that's
how the people before us,
and before them, and them,
and those fuckers;
all leading down to fucking one another;
offspring is what they used to call it
until you became a bastard or something else.
Then they all grew up and here we live now.
So far removed, and it's just how we cuss at each other.
There's nothing here that reminds us of then.
Until it's taken away because we were pieces of shit,
or by chance, of some other means.
What's strong if you're only five foot nine and everyone is six feet?
What would be the need to not just cower and die?
There is a story that goes on about how someone tiny,
Could defeat someone huge.
There are stories of men who did not kill.
Of men who did.
And did it with pleasure.
We won't know how they really feel inside their brains, or heart.
They could be sad. Driven relentless to utterly pitiful.
To of no understanding in the world,
There is everything to help you understand.
Men have looked to the cosmos and named stars after great significant times on Earth herself.
Perhaps they didn't understand. Why would they wonder with their heads high
if everything is at eye level?
Perhaps when they sleep, it's on their backs,
and as they drift, the Earth moves,
the stars in the sky move,
all the way down to the blades of grass that move.
Men must have thought in such a delirious state.
Perhaps he figured,
that he would leave it up to something,
that he himself could not be out of anything,
but of something definite.
He could not be the word for definition.
Nor could he find it.
We're not friends anymore.
I thought we could be.
The idea was good enough.
I know we won't be,
But that, is just not enough.