How to succeed in heartbreak/Victoria Morgan [lyrics & traducción]

How to succeed in heartbreak without really trying!

First, do nothing
Become one with your couch
Eating whole stack of Oreos like leaning towers of feelings
Watch Jane Austen adaptation until your eyes become raisins
Relish in Colin Firth emerging from the lake in a white shirt

If you must do something? Drink
But keep it classy, put your cheap wine in a glass,
you aren’t a pirate!

Talk to yourself, talk to yourself in the mirror,
on public transportation, in the middle of the fountain at the mall!

Because, there are things you never got to say
And you don’t have to swallow them

Join Tinder!
Make your profile picture a model
And talk to no one!
Just keep swiping until you get carpal tunnel
That way you can reject 50 people a minute
and it feels like killing ants!
…with abbs

Kiss as many people as you need to get the stamp of his lips off of your brain
Go to museums; realize other things have history too…
Play hide and go seek with your REM cycles
You’re not sure which is worse to wake up from
The nightmare about your sides splitting open
or the dreams about him holding your jaw like it meant something to him

You might as well tape your eyelids to your forehead
Because at least you can lie to yourself while you are awake

Stay up until 3, or 3.30, 4
Brew tea with the bags under your eyes

Write, write until you’ve used every metaphor in your library
You start using the same one over and over
Because there’s only so many ways to describe being destroyed

But once you get there, that’s just the foundation
Next, gather up all of the chinks in your chain
And fasten them together
Make chain mails, and write that bitch into battle
Take his name, the one that still hurts to say
And use it as a war cry,
then, actually cry
Because there is nothing shameful about clearing your eyes

Do not pick yourself up
Do not be okay
Because heartbreak is not about being okay
It’s about remembering that you were okay before
It is about saying fuck okay
It is about taking all your broken pieces and building yourself a castle
Because I don’t care who you are
You’re a goddamn queen
It’s about saying, fuck this poem

No one succeed at heartbreak
I build myself a throne room out of pizza boxes
and empty lunchables
and I can’t stop crying into my Campbell Chicken Noodle Soup

But one day, I’ll cry myself a fountain of youth
Let’s go back to beginning

I’m tired of self-help tips and friendly pick me ups
I drink a bottle, and bottles and bottles,
pretending their mouths belong to someone else,
But I’m done feeling sorry for myself,

Because why apologize for loving until you burst?
My capacity to feel needs no pardon
My heart needs no mending
I’m not broken
I’m just a little more,
explosive

¡Cómo triunfar en un corazón roto si tratar realmente!

Primero, no hagas nada, vuélvete una con tu sofá,                                    come cajas de oreos como torres inclinadas de sentimientos,                         ve adaptaciones de Jane Austen hasta que tus ojos se conviertan en pasas saborea a Colin Firth emergiendo del lago en una camiseta blanca.

Si debes hacer algo, bebe,                                                                         pero hazlo con clase,                                                                                 pon tu vino barato en una copa,                                                                   ¡no eres un pirata!

Habla contigo misma, habla contigo misma en el espejo,                                en el transporte público,                                                                             ¡en medio de la fuente del centro comercial!                                           Porque hay cosas que no pudiste decir,                                                           y no tienes que tragártelas. 

Únete a Tinder, haz de tu foto de perfil una modelo y ¡no le hables a nadie!       Solo continúa bajando la página hasta que te síndrome del carpo.                   De esta manera puedes rechazar a 50 personas por minuto                             ¡y se siente como matar hormigas!                                                             

con abdominales

Besa a tantas personas como sea necesario para sacar la estampa de sus labios de tu cerebro.                                                                                             Ve a museos, date cuenta que otras cosas también tienen historia.                   Juega a las escondidas con tu ciclo REM                                                        No estás segura de que es peor,                                                        despertar de las pesadillas donde tus costados están siendo cortados,               o los sueños de el sosteniendo tu mandíbula como si significara algo. 

Podrías mejor pegar tus pestañas a tu frente,                                         porque al menos puedes mentirte a ti misma mientras estés despierta. 

Quédate despierta hasta las 3, o 3:30, 4                                                     haz té con las bolsas debajo de tus ojos

Escribe, escribe hasta que hayas utilizado todas las metáforas de tu biblioteca Empiezas a usar la misma una y otra vez,                                                 porque solo hay muchas maneras para describir ser destruida

Pero una vez que llegues ahí, ese es solo el fundamento.                                   Ahora, reúne todas las grietas en tus cadenas y únelas                                     haz correos de cadenas, y lleva a esa perra a la batalla                                     toma su nombre, el que aún duele decir                                                           y úsalo como un grito de guerra,                                                                     después, llora, porque no hay nada vergonzoso en aclara tus ojos.

 No te levantes a ti misma, no estés bien                                                         porque un corazón roto no es sobre estar bien,                                                 un corazón roto es sobre recordar que estabas bien antes,                                 es sobre decir que se joda el estar bien,                                                           es sobre tomar todas las piezas rotas y construirte un castillo,                           porque no me importa quien seas, eres una maldita reina.                                 es sobre decir, que se joda este poema.                                                       

Nadie triunfa en un corazón roto                                                                     Me construí a mi misma una sala del trono de cajas de pizza y almuerzos vacios y no puedo dejar de llorar en mi lata de sopa

Pero un día, voy a llorar un fuente de juventud.

Volvamos al inicio,                                                                                         estoy cansada de consejos de autoayuda y amigables salidas                             bebo botellas y botellas, pretendiendo que sus bocas pertenecen a alguien mas, pero estoy cansada de sentir pena por mi misma. 

¿Por qué disculparse por amar hasta arder?                                                   Mi capacidad de sentir no necesita perdón.                                                     Mi corazón no necesita arreglo,                                                                    no estoy rota,                                                                                          solo un poco más                                                                                        explosiva.                          

LOVE POEM/Rudy Francisco [lyrics]

When I asked you for a Chai latte, 

what I meant to say was: 

”I was walking past. I saw you in the window. 

I only came in here because I had to know what your voice sounded like.” 

But instead of saying that… 

Instead of saying that, 

I  just got really nervous and just ordered the first thing on the menu. 

I don’t even know what the fuck “Chai” is.. 

Or a latte, for that matter. 

When God made you, 

He cussed for the first time. 

He turned to an angel, gave him a high five and said: 

“Goddamn, I’m good!” 

You are that beautiful. 

I spent the last five days trying figure out how I’m gonna introduce myself to you properly, and I think I’ve finally figured it out. 

It’s gonna be something like… 

“Hi.” That’s all I got so far, 

but I think it’s a good start.

You see, I want that… I want that my friends think I’m crazy kind of love. 

That reckless kind of love. 

That wake up early, make you breakfast kind of love. 

That crack open my life and say look, you gotta see this kind of love. 

Forget the shallow stuff, 

I want the deepest kind of love. 

That I want to stay up and tell you all my secrets kind of love. 

That every time I see you, I fall to pieces kind of love. 

I want that stand next to me kind of love. 

That you are my destiny kind of love. 

That no matter what happens, you always get the best of me kind of love. 

That you get my heart and my mind, this world gets the rest of me kind of love. 

That invest in me kind of love, 

because you already know that I’m invested in you kind of love. 

That you come home upset, you don’t have to say nothing, 

I already know what to do kind of love.

I want… I want love.

I want you to bite my lip until I can no longer speak. 

And then suck my ex-girlfriend’s name out of my mouth 

just to make sure she never comes up in our conversations. 

I want you to come to me like an afternoon, 

come to me slowly as if you were a broken sunset with a lazy sky on your shoulders. 

If you let me be your sunlight, 

I promise that I will penetrate your darkness until you speak in angel wings. 

Pull me close to you, tell me that you love me, 

and then scratch your future into my back so 

I can be everything that you live for. 

I promise that I will die for you daily and then resurrect in your screams. 

I promise that I will love you.

I promise that I will love you as if it’s the only thing that I’ve ever done correctly. 

I’ll be honest, I’m usually not even a love poet. 

In fact, every time I try to write about love, my hands cramp. 

Just to show me how painful love can be. 

And sometimes our pencils break just to prove to me that, 

every now and then, 

love takes a little more work than planned. 

See, I heard that love is blind, so I write all my poems in Braille. 

And my poems, I never actually finish, because true love is endless. 

You see, I’ve always believed that real love is kinda like supermodel before she’s airbrushed. It’s pure and imperfect, just the way that God intended.

You see, I’m gonna be honest, 

I’m not much of a love poet. 

But if I was to wake up tomorrow morning 

and decide that I really wanted to write about love, 

my first poem… It would be about you. 

About how I loved you the same way that I learned how to ride a bike. 

Scared, but reckless. 

With no training wheels or elbow pads so my scars can tell the story of how I fell for you. 

You see, I’m not much of a love poet. 

But if I was, 

I’d write about how I see your face in every cloudy reflection in every window. 

You see, 

I’ve written a million poems, hoping that somehow, maybe some way, 

you’ll jump out of the page and be closer to me. 

Because if you were here right now, 

I would massage your back until your skin sings songs that your lips don’t even know the words to. 

Until your heartbeat sounds like my last name. 

And you smile like the Pacific Ocean. 

I wanna drink the sunlight in your skin.

If I was a love poet, 

I’d write about how you have the audacity to be beautiful 

even on days when everything around you is ugly. 

I’d write about your eyelashes, 

and how they are like violin strings that play symphonies every time you blink. 

If I was a love poet, 

I’d write about how I melt in front of you like an ice sculpture every time I hear the vibration in your voice.

 Or whenever I see your name on the caller ID, my heart… 

It plays hopscotch inside of my chest. 

It climbs onto my ribs like monkey bars, 

and I feel like a child all over again.

And I know that this is gonna sound weird, but sometimes, 

I pray that God somehow turns you back into one of my ribs

 just so that I would never have to spend an entire day without you. 

I swear, I’m usually not a love poet, 

but if I was to wake up tomorrow morning and decide that I really wanted to write about love, my first poem… 

I swear that it would be about… 

It would be about you.

And after all of that, she was like, 

“So how do you feel about me?”

 And I was confused. 

I said, 

“Let’s put it like this…”

 I want to be your ex-boyfriend’s stuntman. 

I want to do everything that he never had the courage to do, 

like… Trust you. 

I swear that when our lips touched, 

I could taste the next sixty years of my life.

See, last night, 

I had a dream. 

And in this particular dream, 

I died in my dreams,

 woke not knowing I was still sleeping, decided to walk. 

You see that night, I walked in my sleep, 

I slept in my walk, 

I walked backwards until I saw you for the first time, 

and I could barely muster the courage to introduce myself all over again.

You see, I’ve been trying to find the right words. 

I’ve been trying to take the right steps 

for what seems to me like thousands of years, 

but something always seems to go wrong between us. 

We lived in Egypt, I was the Pharaoh’s slave, 

you were his daughter. 

Loving you led to my 

death, 

they claimed that I seduced you, 

and after they stole my life, 

I was resurrected as a mason. 

I made the foundation for your house. 

We met eyes for two seconds, you left, 

and I didn’t see you again until I died. 

I came back as a caterpillar. 

I turned into a butterfly, 

I landed in the palm of your hands, 

you brushed me away, 

and the rejection killed me. 

When I awoke, 

I was a kick drum, 

you were a snare,

 we were both owned by this drummer 

named Cozy Cole, 

and when he died, 

so did we. 

But I came back just to look for you. 

I left notes in random places, 

hoping that you would stumble across them. 

I carved our names in trees, 

and then prayed that it would jog your memory. 

I whispered your name in the wind, 

hoping somehow, 

maybe some way, 

my voice would reach you, 

but it didn’t, 

and I died. 

I died early. 

I died young with breadcrumbs in my hand 

just hoping that you would find me, 

but you never did, 

so they buried me. 

And when they buried me, 

they put these coins over my eyes, 

and I used them as bus fare to get back to Earth, 

just so I can look for you. 

That’s why sometimes, when we hold hands, 

ever so often, 

I tend to hold on a little too tight, 

and I’m sorry. 

I just don’t want to lose you again. 

My mother told me, 

when you find the perfect woman,

 you do whatever it takes to make sure that she’s next to you.