INTRODUCTION

Hi! My name is Karla.

You can find my writing journey and random thoughts, experiments—anything really—mostly poetry, though!

This is not my first foray into Tumblr, but I've never been an active member. About a year ago, I started posting; before that, I just watched in silence since I was fourteen, so bear with me.

At this time, I’m focused on connecting with fellow writers and readers here! I just finished a first draft and want to learn more about the publishing and writing community.

A little bit about me:

I want to follow:

Genres I Write:

Expect:

I write stories about flawed characters navigating complex situations. I'm not very good with warnings because I'm not really good at evaluating what may trigger some people. I'm known for talking about sensitive issues in a candid, nonchalant, almost cavalier way, so beware. But please, please, please let me know if there's something you need me to tag!

Thank you for joining me on this exciting journey. I can’t wait to share more with you and get to know this wonderful community better!

OLIVE OIL

My grandmother had arrived, parked wrong, rain pouring down, one suitcase, one bruised eye.

My first teenage year, a woman’s broken heart.

The olive tree in the back of my home guarded my hound’s home, ten puppies of different breeds. It gave nothing but fresh shade.

Leaves fell, shaken, the puppies were adopted away.

I kept her emerald earring and a lot of remembrance.

The tree gave me olives. So I left, saw the films, and took the planes.

My grandmother took a belt. "Mother fucker, you’ll behave."

Sand in the air and the gentle terral shade. Homeless, sleepless, wrong reservation dates.

At the end of the night, an open bar, under the first sun, suitcase in hand.

It had taken me back home, near the sand and San Pedro, near the sea and the moon.

Once it stopped giving, my dad trimmed the tree, ready to throw out the sticks.

But I knew, with or without olives, it could hold me tight.

Diamond Press, muscles sore, drop by drop, a bottle came.

Olive oil is sweet. It softens my hair, heals my gut when I am abroad, far from home.

Under the sun, it has warmed my heart, penetrating a soft bed of clouds until it touched the crust.

And the whole world is new, and the birds sing in my life.

And when it touches tomato—oh my!

@nosebleedclub prompts april 3

ars poetica

I didn’t exist until I took a pen. I didn’t feel until I wrote it down. My world fell and came true. On the ground, the dirt. I watch dandelions fight and clouds laugh.

Once on my feet again, I searched for words. They were kind, and they hungered for more. But the stars in my eyes wouldn’t reach the gutter where I stood.

I might have sabotaged myself, or perhaps I just had more hope, more naïveté. Odes make the shit glow. Odd, how I never fully felt at home.

Nevertheless, and never more— If it were true, me, the master manipulator and swift narrator, got broken-hearted for the sake of craft, Shouldn’t it be easier to write it down?

If I don’t, what was the point? of falling for a lover who wasn’t that kind?

The pen might have saved me from madness, dodging more than this one. If I didn’t love the pen, Would I take it all down?

Did it hurt, or did it cure? If nothing else is true, I would die protecting what saved my life. And for him? I wouldn’t cross the road on a green light.

words hurt. And the more I try to martyr my intended victim, the more I remember— he needed to say it, and then take it back.

I'm back at the pen, and he is back at badmouthing his life.

for @nosebleedclub's April prompt ars poetica

sunken statue.

I built him by myself alone No one ever asks for him Towering over anyone Who dares to approach me

Chisel and marble, expressive and detailed A hundred-hour ride to the most gorgeous sight And there he stood. Retaliation-free. Only asking for my attention.

Won’t you stay a bit longer? Just to look at me. There are other things I want to build. The chisel; my true love, but—

I loved him. I cleaned him, held him Kissed him, and heard him But it was surface level I never truly knew a thing.

He did not move. He did not speak. In the morning, he glows, refracting sparkles from the inside But as the Earth shifted, the future came The water rose.

But by noon, the rays drown. And the glow died, never so sterile.

I wonder if I should have ever taken on this task Then leave him behind, floated. But he came from my mind. All on me. Until he asks for more time.

"I always knew you'd leave me behind." "No is not truth," or is it? "Move forward, come around" And there he chose to drown.

I'm not fair He only asks for my time I'm not fair, he only wanted to stay To be loved, for me to give up, to settle down I'm not fair, he is anxious I'm not fair I'm not fair I'm not fair

I don’t want to drown I build you up But I always had other plans This stone was here when I carved him And never planned to move— all on me.

He wanted a simple apartment And romantic getaways to a nearby beach He didn’t want hard work and made-up dreams.

for @nosebleedclub's April prompt, 1 sunken statue.

I wanted a boyfriend, job, friends, to travel japan. And now I just want to travel japan.

I don't see how making a martyr our of me

Is going to help your guilt

I´m the only one responsible of my dissatisfaction

general dissatisfaction

Trial and error.

No one can teach me idioms

and be consistent.

Please be sure to stick to the budget.

travel

and be safe.

if I want to see the world

I must have a plan

a sort of plan

Work, and take care of myself.

Never let formal education get in the way of your learning

never get learning to get in the way of creating.

And I´m scared

I fear I won´t ever finish My first book.

I fear not working hard enough.

I fear I work Way to much for a doomed book.

I fear to give up. And miss chances.

I fear not to give up and waste time.

I fear My parents are getting old And I still don´t Find my place in the world.

I fear this job, demanding.

I fear this is the best I could achieve.

I fear Gaining weight.

I fear being ugly.

I fear I´m not doing the work to be happy and healthy

I fear breaking up with him because I´m attached and ruining a good thing.

I fear this is not good because I have never been comfortable with him.

I fear so much

and have control of so much.

I fear living my life waiting for the moment to end.

I fear every day becomes an endurance exercise.

And my happiness only comes from daydreams

My lovers are only theoretical.

fun

saint laurent homme collection 25

English man getting down from his own pilot airplane to a gangster reunion in the contryside wearing mid thighs length fisherman boots