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  May 2020 Flor
Anais Nin
"Why one writes is a question I can never answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me – the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.
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"We also write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely … When I don’t write, feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing."
('The New Woman', 1974)
Flor May 2020
Always have preferred darkness,
For it perfectly conceal the sadness.
Never did like the light,
It never hides the pain like the night
Flor May 2020
Oh sleep,
When will you visit me,
At the perfect time sometime?
Or just in these lonely nights?
Flor Mar 2019
Scared I was
Whenever you’ll pass.
How I shiver from your touch
Afraid to be on your clutch.

Bony fingers,
Please don’t linger.
Alone, you are
Make sure to stay afar.

You don’t give you take.
Leaving us with an ache.
You listen to their last breath.
Before taking them to death.

I loathed you,
I know you knew.
Yet I learned,
The beauty of being burned.

You leave scars not on the skin but in hearts
No one did understand your eccentric arts.
But I did in someways,
Understood your plays.

Took away the pain you did
And in return, souls were rid.
Empty shells were left at the bed,
Making us grieve and mourn the dead.
Flor Jan 2019
On a sunny day, he unveils
The wonderful stories and tales
With a wild imagination,
You can see his beautiful creation.

A dog-shaped cloud sometimes
Or even monkeys that climb
With your stories, I feel peaceful
My time is definitely spent on something blissful.
Flor Jan 2019
I long to fly
I long to see beyond the sky
Up pass the white clouds
Far away from the crowds

I long to reach the stars and the moon
To be wrap above in my own cocoon
I long to flee
I long to be free.
Flor Dec 2018
You went into labor, not knowing my name.
It was a shock to you when I came.
You thought I’d be a stillbirth,
Thought I’d slip out of you strangled and blue in this Earth.

Dad has to tell you over and over that you weren’t dreaming.
Your eyes, as always, will start gleaming.
You didn’t name me for nearly a week.
You didn’t hold me or even speak.

When I was four,
You said my name in a way I never heard before
Each syllable was hard as a steel ball,
As if reminding me that it’s the only name everyone should call

I disliked my name, hated it even
So sometimes I’ll tell people that I’m George or Steven.
They weren’t mine, but they were better.
Hearing this, your lips will always pursed and turn bitter.

You take it as a personal insult somehow.
I know by the way you wrinkle both of your eyebrow.
Is it bad that your daughter is a son?
You have to accept that nothing could be done.
So this one is inspired by a short story with the same title. Some words came from there. It is written by Nino Cipri. It’s a wonderful story about a trans-man you guys might want to read it.
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