I have love inside me—
not the kind that waits politely
with folded hands in the corners of rooms,
but the kind that grows in the lungs of the sea,
the kind that calls your name through
walls of blood and centuries.

It is a storm that writes letters
on the glass of my bones.
It is a flame that no mouth has kissed.
I offered it—like fruit fallen
from the tree of my chest.

But if no one drinks from me,
if no hands arrive to be burned
by this sacred fire,
then what shall I do
with all this red thunder?

I will not vanish quietly.
If I cannot be loved,
I will become the wind
that shakes the windows of your sleep,
the howl beneath your quiet steps.

Fear me,
not because I am cruel—
but because I once was soft.
Because I once waited
like the earth waits
for rain that never comes.

I sank one day
Deep into
A tree
Becoming
One with
The nurtured
Roots
I wished to be

ＪＪｓｂｄｋｓｎｄｋｋｄｍｘｍｊｓｈＪｕｓｔｌｅｔｍｅｄｉｅｍｍｍｋｂｈｂｘｊｄｎｘｎｂｄｊｘｂｄｎｘｎｎｘｎｘｎＩｍｓｏｔｉｒｅ­ｄｏｆｔｈｉｓｎｓｊｓ ｎｋｋｓｂｄｎｄｎｂｄｔｈｅｓｅ ｔｅａｒｓ ｗｏｎｔｓｔｏｐｊｄｊｄｎｎ ｚｎｊｓｎｎｄｕｄｎｄｋｄｋｎｆｋｄｍｓｓｎｆｎｊｄｎｄｎｎｄｂｄｂｄｂｄｎＷｈｙｔｈｅｐａｉｎｓｔｉｌｌｌｉｖｅｓｉｎ ｍｙｈｅａｒｔｊｊｘｎｘｊｘｊｄｎ ｍｙｋｄｊｄｖｊｓｎｄｊｃｊｎｄｎｄｎｃｎｘｋｘｎｋｘｎｄｋｄｋｊｄｎｓｋｘｈｊｓｈｄｊｄｄｎｄｅＩｍｓｏｆｕｃｋｉｎｇｔｉｒｅｄ­ｍｓｎｎｄｋｓｎｘｏｎｓｈｘｉｄｎｋｘｎｄｊｓｊｄｂｊｄｋｓｌｍｓｎｄｊｊｄｂｄｉｓｂｄｊｊｄｋｓｎｄｊｄｈｂｓｎｄｎｎｄｊｄｊｄ­ｎｄｎｄ


Ｙｏｕｌｌｎｅｖｅｒｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ ｍｅ

i don't need much.
i just want to hold someone's hand.
feel the sun on my skin,
lay on the grass,
run through the rain,
and laugh until my cheeks burn.

i don't need much,
i just want to feel alive.

Tu cuerpo me habla,
y dice cosas muy bonitas.
Me implora que sea su dueño,
que lo sacuda, lo estremezca,
que lo muerda y lo bese.

Tu cuerpo me habla,
sobre tentaciones que nos llaman
a los placeres compartidos.
Me pide la brutalidad de la ternura
y la ternura de la violencia.
Quiere que lo azote con afecto,
que lo acaricie con rigor.

Tu cuerpo me llama y me invita,
a aquel instinto humano
de dibujarte con la boca;
a la supremacía de las caricias,
a la tortura de la lengua
que embelesa a los sentidos.

Tu cuerpo me habla,
y yo le escucho con mis manos,
respondiendo a cada orden
sediento por sus encantos.