We deserve the world we live in.
.
We've worked too hard to destroy it
To stop now.
.
.
We deserve the wars being fought.
.
We've built too high our borders
To tear them down now.
.
.
We deserve injustice and discrimination.
.
We've made too much an effort to build social barriers
To get rid of them now.
.
.
We deserve bad governments.
.
We've enabled them too much and given them too much freedom
To start complaining now.
.
.
We deserve all types of pollution.
.
We've taken nature for granted for too long
To take care of her now.
.
.
We deserve illnesses.
.
We've lived on excess for too long
To start worrying now.
.
.
We deserve the reality we live in.
.
We've been moulding it for generations
To break free from it now.
.
.
We deserve what we have.
.
We've put all our energy on it.
.
.
But who's to say we don't deserve
.
The chance to change as well
.
The opportunity to wake up
.
The drive to find unity
.
The knowledge to see the errors in our ways
.
.
Who's to say we don't deserve.
.
The chance to live.
.
.

I, sometimes, crave for something
To call my own.
.
I, sometimes, crave for someone
To call me their own.
.
But what I crave for the most
Is for someone to call myself.
.

It feels,
most if the time,
as if I
will apologize
forever
for what goes
through
my mind,
or just
for being who
I am...

... Whoever that is.

It is the weakness of the flesh,
the sweetness of the sweat
on your skin
what will be the end of me.
.
Because no matter how strong
I am,
you make a quitter of me,
I quit my values and my mind.
.
And it is all worth it, for you,
for the taste of your body, of
your skin,
for the slickness of your lips.
.
Its the sensuality of your eyes
that ignites me entirely from
the inside,
its even hotter than lava.
.
You set my hands on fire
and I can't wait to see the red hot
scorch marks
that I will leave all over your body.
.
It's your tongue making its way
from my lips, to my shoulders and
to my ear,
that makes me fall on my knees.
.
And it is with your every breath
that my entire world goes away,
its shattered,
the pieces lie under your fingernails.
.
I'm left overexposed and alone
lying in bed naked dressed only
with regret,
because of this I have to remain silent.
.
You are fire and I am gunpowder,
you make me explode every time
you touch me,
and I know this is all wrong.
.
You will take me everywhere
from pleasure to agony,
from glory to ruin,
but I know we will meet again.

I remember those final moments
as I watched her pack her bags,
emptying drawers and closets
whispering through the halls
her words lost in the corners.
.
And I walked up to her, slowly,
as one would approach a ghost.
But she moved away from my hand
and tears were in her eyes. I stood,
like a statue, blank, unmoving.
.
She asked me the point of dating a poet,
if poems about her never were made.
Words failed me then, standing at the door,
words more beautiful than her weren't real,
and neither was I a poet nor a lover by myself.
.
Oh, the irony! Even with her crying eyes,
in her goodbye, so much poetry was told!
I wanted to tell her the magic in her being,
and how I longed for her happiness.
.
I thought about telling her, that next to her
moon, stars and sun were just street lamps
That in her sadness lived contradiction
and that the tears made her eyes shine,
and my fingertips desperately yearned her.
.
I understand now, that she never saw
how I formed constellations with her kiss
and within her breath was my existence,
that with her, my soul grew wise and old.
.
I guess there were never stars in her eyes,
or melodies in her laughter that she recognized.
She never noticed me looking at her from afar
or when, without me talking, she heard me.
Maybe she never loved me in my anger.
.
But seeing her there, so ready to leave,
my universe compressed and expanded,
and with a kiss I wrote the poetry she wanted
and to her lips, as a goodbye, I whispered:
.
*Never say I didn't write you anything

I could have drawn constellations
with the dots on your skin,
but you made me write a goodbye
letter instead.

I love
your skin
under
my skin

twitchy
and
alive

The Earth is filled with fantastic secrets
        just waiting to be unveiled
Filled with places to see and to live
        filled with hidden magic
just waiting until it is discovered
        and here I am wasting it
throwing life away in a grey cubicle
         missing out on tastes
never being able to see the colours.
.
So when I die, please, when you bury me
            bury me all in white
and set my ashes free, somewhere far
            in the middle of the night
So I will  be reborn within their flight.

I looked into my father's eyes
and they were frantic, panic-stricken,
pupils blown and all.
.
I looked down to my father's hands
and they were trembling, unsteady,
they reminded me of home.
.
I focused on my father's breathing
it was erratic, irregular,
it probably reminded him of his life.
.
I remember him wheezing out
"I think I'm dying, this is it."
trembling hands pressed against his chest.
.
And I kneeled down in front of him
my knees steady and unshakable,
and I hoped he was jealous.
.
I remember I looked at him and said
"No, father, this isn't your death
it's simply consciousness"
.
I can still taste the sick satisfaction,
the sly grin as I reckoned,
that those were probably the same for him.

What is Love if not the
agonizing hallucination
of helpless fools who
don't even know they're
      dying?
     . . . . . . .
What is Love if not the
sweet denial that your
heart is being ripped out
from your body in a way
you don't even feel the
         pain?
     . . . . . . .
What is Love if not fire heated
swords slowly going inside
burning you up as they cut
through your flesh and bones
          deliciously?
     . . . . . . .
What is Love if not well hidden
pain coated with flowers that
distracts the mind from the
insanity of what's become of the
            heart?
     . . . . . . .
What is Love if not delicious,
beautifully well camouflaged
death hiding behind a perfect
smile and sweet words for deaf
              ears?
     . . . . . . .
What is Love if not astounding,
hypnotizing,  breathtaking and
perfect misleading beauty that
is everything that helped build
               you.

I woke up one day, in an empty bed,
even though your body laid next to mine
and I couldn't move, I tried telling myself
that I was still under sleep's spell.
.
I closed my eyes, shut them tight,
asking the skies for another try
to have the strength to keep my head straight.
.
But time stops for no one, it carries on,
and with your laboured awakening
my world, a fractioned world became
and from my heart, a vital piece fell.
.
You opened your eyes without seeing
and my body grazed without feeling,
and in a bottomless pit my soul fell.
.
With your eyes closed you sighed,
and inhaled a different air than mine.
And with your eyes, from mine,
you couldn't your reflection find.
.
Without thinking you raised from bed
and I laid there, abandoned, behind,
without a pulse that said I was alive.
.
With a heavy step I followed in your footsteps,
imitating a shadow, looking, longing,
without understanding the spontaneous rejection
suffering from the coldest involuntary exile.
.
I followed your footprints throughout the day,
watching you from afar, your posture so hard,
there wasn't a smile, a laugh in sight.
.
I couldn't understand the reason why
your gaze was so blank, distant, empty eyes.
Or why was your smile missing, you were so sad.
.
I walked with you all day, near and far,
but the blankness from your eyes stuck,
you ate without taste, without being satisfied
and drank without thirst, not knowing why.
.
I noticed the hunch in your perfect posture,
the lack of rhythm in your walk,
there wasn't music that could cheer you up.
.
I figured I wasn't the only shadow in your back,
that your heavy walk was a result of that.
I wished I had the power to free your heart,
even when my presence you decided to disregard.
.
Watching you, the world seemed slow,
the air was thick and the oxygen suffocating.
It never occurred to me that I could leave.
.
You closed the entrance door behind you
and slid down with your back pressed against it,
when you hit the floor and sat down, you cried
but when I tried to come close you dodged my touch.
.
I couldn't understand what was going on,
my soul screamed of desperation, of frustration,
I was all but begging for an explanation.
.
After a while your tears dried, you finally stood up
with your back still using the door as support
in order to give your still trembling, weak, legs
the time they needed to regain strength.
.
You took your time to fix your countenance
and looking at yourself in the mirror, you breathed,
I didn't make another attempt at approaching you.
.
At night, when it was time to finally return to bed,
it was my sweatshirt that you wore for that task,
I saw one final, lone tear sliding down your tired cheek
before you allowed yourself to surrender to sleep.
.
Walking through the hall I looked at the mirror,
and it wasn't until I couldn't find my reflection there
that I remembered I wasn't there any more
.
I couldn't keep you safe.

I am very curious about what is love
And life, I say
For I have seen such things and
Such eyes
That show nothing of them.
.
I am intrigued of what the meaning is
Of happy
For I have lived such lives but only
In quantity
And I have no recollection of it.
.
I often wonder about eternity, infinity,
About forever
For I have been threatened with them
From everywhere
And I have come to fear them the most.