Life is an ice cube
floating in this glass of Earth
trying to cool it

bleeding emotions isn’t my fort

but sometimes these wounds of mine

open deep into the bone.

there’s a splinter stuck in my heart

I can’t pull it out no matter what

I say, God, oh God, help me heal

All I hear is “healing happens from within.”

Yet here i am suturing scars

While wounds remain untouched, left alone

As you see, bleeding emotions isn’t my fort

hence the why,

these wounds of mine have yet to **** me

you see

Can I tell you something?

I dislike planning.

Whenever I plan, things don't go accordingly.
Plus, with the whole concept of planning,
I immediately force myself to expect
an outcome. And as many of you know,
expectations, if don't met, can hurt.
Does this phrase sound familiar:

"Never expect anything in return".

But why are we so afraid of getting hurt?

As far as me goes, I am not afraid of getting hurt and experiencing
disappointment because disappointment (if handled correctly, with a positive view) can help an individual grow.
It can make a human become down-to-earth because it constantly remind us that all of us are humans and thus are perfectly imperfect.

Then why is it that I dislike planning?

Worry less by
Thinking less about the things you must do
Just do them, then think more
about things that help you understand
what matters in life
and what not

I may stationed in my dreams,
seeing the past pass by,
And reality collide into memories
that I have yet to live

That's what it seems

Quizas mi lengua se acostumbro
a el silencio,
que ha dejado de formular palabras,
tal vez,
mis labios se acostumbraron a los tuyos,
Pero en cuanto el silence se quedo callado
Fue cuando mas hablamos

Come bathe with me in rivers of sunshine
And let us fly in oceans of clouds

Till we fall

In

Love

Why must I write using imagery?

Should I paint words as if those words
were canvases?
Should I paint words as if by coloring them,
I could draw the eye of the reader into my poems?
Should I just paint and paint words
for the sake of painting an image
into the reader's mind?
Should I?

Ah!

Should I just paint words for them to see
what reality does not allow them to see?
Should I paint words for them to feel,
what reality does not allow them to feel?

Or Should I just paint words and become an artist, and don't care about anything else, not about me holding a brush, not about me, having colors,
Just about me, painting what I see,
What I feel, while I paint words with whatever I have in my hands.

Should I?

I don't know
But somewhere in my chest
I feel you

It must be the warmth
This energy that comes from within
That keeps me alive
And at the same time feeling stable

It must be this feeling
That comes from within
that warms me up
From the center of my chest
Until this energy flows
Through out my body

It must be this feeling I get that I don't feel anything else

There are times
When she feels like trash;
Like some big fat container
that holds
waste inside

Or that it's empty
To then once again
be thrown
A little bit at a time
More and more
Waste

Until she cannot longer hold it inside
And everything starts to pile up
coming all to the surface
And the ground

the day feels heavy on my boots,
one step, lifted leg, mud, grass tall,
a puddle,

I'm a plant, aren't I God?
I always seem to extend my faith
towards the light

As if my faith were branches,
trying to reach you
wherever you are,

It's just growing and growing,
Becoming greener and greener,
But too green
to fully understand
that the drier One gets, the easier
One burns with the fire of hell

She was the kind to cook according to her moods
When she was happy, all her food tasted extremely good
But when sadness overthook her heart,
And when bitterness overtook her soul,
her cooking ability became sad,
And bitter ...

Plus she refused to eat any  more sadness in her life
Or any more bitterness

That all her cooking went

To waste

Oh Jesus Christ,
I follow you day and night,
I know you are righteous and just
And that in good people, you are found

Oh Jesus Christ,
I love you with all my heart.
In you, I find the strength
And the courage to go on in life

I know it's not easy to do what is right
And that often we deviate from our paths
But oh Jesus christ,
I met a man,
Who makes me feel energize, and alive,
Who gives me the joy, that I needed to continue following your path.

One thought can be good
While the other can be bad
And then, those thoughts fight,
Until one of them wins the battle...

But which thought might win
Which thought is it the good one?
Which thought is it the bad one?
How exactly are we to know?

I know both thoughts are fighting,
And not always the good one wins
it's until we see the end effects
That we can know which one was which one.

But is there a way, to actually identify which one is good?
And which one is bad?
How exactly are we to know?

I can think the bad one is good
And similarly,
I can think the good one is bad,
But is it that We have no way of telling one from which?

I know there must be a way,
But the way, I do not know,

I know that having proofs doesn't always
tell if someone is good
Or someone is bad
Because proofs can be made up

But how exactly should I know which one is which?
Though my instinct, or my intuition,
Or my intellect, or through them all?
I'm unsure...

the number of infected people keep on rising
like waves trying to drown us
with anxiety

no one truly knows where these waves are coming from

One moment people bump into each other,
splash! the wave comes. People tumble down
with fever, coughing, grasping for air
trying to come to the surface of those
who are still surfing these oceans with health

suddenly the waves from all over the world come together
a tsunami is formed

many are dead

To write, write, write...
That's all my soul was born to do,
As if my soul was the pen
That I, myself, hold with my hand.

like an earring in your earlobe,
my thoughts hung,
Pendulating back and forth,
Trying to whisper in your ears
"Come-hither my love"

but ah too fierce was your walk,
And my thoughts,
Pendulated back and forth timidly,,
That I just hung
Like that earring in your earlobe.

I breathe in. I breathe out.
I don't seem to understand life.
I'm sleepier than ever.
I crave a place to rest.
But I'm young. Younger than most.
Yet I feel old. Tired.
Rusty of living. But I'm happy.
I'm content with what I have.
I have Nothing yet everything I need.

Though sometimes I crave more
of what I don't need,
For instance, more sleep.
But I had enough, I should awake
And live my life

For out there, there is a place to enjoy.
And I have everything I need,
Yet nothing to lose.

What am I waiting for?

Two cents in pockets,
a cell, some cigarettes,
I was walking my way.

It was two a.m. in my dreams.
The boulevards where covered by dusk
and dust,
plus a scent of lust
perfumed
my skin

I kept walking,
head held high towards the moon,
Stepping the streets to the rhythm
of a peculiar tune,
Well known,
It was a Christmas carol,
the jingles and Bells,

"Where is santa Clause?"

Arrived soon at home.
To awake,

I was a flower planted on the ground.
Some days, the wind came to greet me,
Until I looked like a merry go round.
My petals started to fall one by one,
just detaching from me onto the grass.

         Mean while, underneath the ground,
         my roots gripped tighter to the soil
         as if they were looking for oil
         Like men do when in search for petroleum
         They dug deep, deeper down

This flower remained tall

I am not deem to be a judge
Whatever I read
Screams back at me

And I can't tolerate the screams
They are too loud
For my ears to hear

And I guess
All I really want
Is silence
Peace
Resonating within me

The ache the ache is back again
to help me write
to help me rest
Some say I’m cursed
Some say I’m blessed

I think I’m both
I think of course

When you see the sea and a poem,
It makes you wonder doesn't it?

Waves of thoughts begin to form...
you can't help but noticed
that the majority of people prefer Poetry that is raw...

It's as if writing or reading a poem creates the effect as if those written words form waves that come towards the shore of a sheet of paper...

And if the reader is unprepared, those waves can ebb him back to where the waves come from

And drown him in the sea of thoughts

poetry
You pull out of me Wisdom
As if I were a wisdom tooth.
And you?
the dentist who pulls me out
to become
Who I'm truly meant to be

Not another cavity in the mouth of earth that causes pain

can it be possible that God in all his mighty,
when he created men,
did not know that turning dirt to flesh,
could corrupt the soul?

Could it be possible that God in all his mighty,
did not know that dirt can contaminate?
or did he know, but hoped, no I mean,
did he have faith that man can become clean?

Or is it possible that the soul is a moving river,
some oasis, or moving water,
that should remain in constant motion,
to remain clean? or become clean?

Could it be that since our birth, our soul,
this river, starts losing it's current,
and thus, we end up drying up,
becoming more like what we were, dirt,
and nothing else?

But then,
how can our souls remain in constant movement?
How can this river continue growing?
Is it through pain? Is it through tears?
Or could it be, that through our tears
we can reflect in them and find ourselves?
As if those tears were raindrops, falling
one on one, then forming this river,
that keeps on growing to reflect ourselves?

Could it be?

Bright, bright, stars,
that visit the sky with lights,
without you, my nights,
would be nothing but dark

And full, full, moon,
that comes every once,
without you, I'd be soon,
a lonely lagoon

a dark cloud
storms rivers
with raindrops

Do I feel what I write or do I write what I feel? I know that I write what I feel, but somewhere in between the lines, I feel what write, I just feel it to the point that I write what I feel.

thank you my God,
in you I trust with my heart, with my soul, and with my mind.

Man, I don't know...

But I could be a bottle,
lost and found,
First thrown into a sea to wander
Then thrown into a sea to be found
But hey, here I am,
floating in a sea, swaying in between waves,
Then floating here, into your hands,
With a message to say
Be just, be Kind

Live life with dignity,
And love,

Oh love,
live life.

While walking for a long time, I saw a field with roses,
All sort of roses,
Colorful, whites and pinks,
And reds,
And all sort of roses,
With and without thorns,
And I, mesmerized by their beauty, stopped my walked

Right into the garden of roses,
To meet love,
To meet the love that'll inspire me to live
To meet the love that'll be the fuel to help me keep walking.

I wish to sleep
In the petals of a rose
And never again open this eyes of mine,
I wish to smell the fragrance
and sleep, forever,
forever more

But everytime
I close this eyes of mine
I awake somewhere
And I do not know where i am at,

Though it isn't a rose
Where I sleep
Nor the petals that I feel,
It just my bed,
The bed sheets,
And me,
awake again

Trying to find some rest

In my dreams

The waters of the seas I wandered in,
seemed calm, the shores sounded peaceful,
I yearned to walk in their sands.

But I floated between waves that lulled me into sleep,
And I floated between waves that moved me into tears,

But now, I know I have deviated from my path
I must searched for a northern star
I need to be guided
onto the right path

And for that,
I mustn't walk on the sands of the shores I once yearned to walk.

I wandered barrels in between my tongue
tripping over words,
as if I tip toed to reach the clock,
then crack, hearing the wooden floor,
I cringed then ran,
to the kitchen screaming to speak more.

I want to sip and sip from the wine of knowledge
And be drunk without worries
But I rather just want to sip and sip from the water of wisdom
And remain sober,
Until I become purify
Until I satiate my thirst to understand life
Until I feel hydrated with joy
Until I feel alive

I have no written my thoughts
I used to carry with myself a phone
And though, I still carry with myself a phone
I have not written my thoughts

I became busily scared
to type then share
what goes on in my head.

I used to type what came through me
With no worries, with no stress,
I only typed as my mind became blank
Then images popped and form Just like that
They appeared before my eyes
Then my heart became a brain
And the brain became my heart
My fingers suddenly listen to my soul
And I found myself typing words,
The connection of soul, heart, and mind
Something I cannot explain
But I was typing what I felt
When my mind became blank
As my heart became my brain
And as my brain became the heart
That pumped the words
to be written by my fingers
Onto my phone

And that's just what I used to write
And I became busily scared

It pours! It pours!
into this little lagoon
just look at the waves
to tides being born
just look at the turbulence
under the light of the moon

this little lagoon
is a sea of hurt
with nothing to lose

Day
You come along without pretending
Sometimes you are moody
Stormy, windy, sunny
Other times, you are cold

But you don't pretend
You are who you are
Regardless, people like you or not
But most of the time
They accept you the way you are
And in some occasions
They even try to acclimatize their lives
according to your moods

life is an ice cube
floating and melting each day
in this hellish Earth

I could become a pen and lay in a desk forever,
I could wait hidden in a drawer and wait there forever,
but what's the use of being a pen?

Sometimes I wonder...

Is it fair to remain in one place until the ink dries,
until there's nothing else in me
that could leave a mark anywhere in the world?

Is it fair to be in one place until someone comes looking for me,
Until with me
that someone could leave a mark anywhere in the world?

Though at times I ponder...

Why can't I just be the person who holds the pen?

And then I think,
I will suffice with just being like a pen.

I try to stretch my thoughts
like mozzarella in a grill
but all I end up with
is with a burnt cheese

I'm feeling it, is coming,
Is near... My dear,
The year of fear...
But I won't shed a tear.
Courage would be the gear,
I'll wear.
it'll protect me from the spear
that fear may throw at me.

A star came to be me
shooting screams
granting your wishes,
Darling.

Aren't you happy that I finally feel?

Often I was numb
drifting somewhere
other than in me

My thoughts used to be yours

That's all I could think about

You
You
You

I became numb to my feelings
I wasn't me
I was you in me
searching for me
In you
because I lost me
I lost me in you

But on the other end,
I lost you, not in me, but in you.
you were meant to lose yourself in me
And me in you
Thus we, both, would still be
You and me
but me in you, and you in me,
but both still being us:
interchanged, intertwined,
us becoming the other
Until we found ourselves
lost in each other


But I lost me in you
And turned numb
Till I became a star
shooting screams
Granting your wishes
darling

Awaking
To find my way out
Out of this lost relation.

the sunset
stars the sky;
with darkness

Dark night
where the moon often hides amidst the clouds
and the stars are distant so far away from our sight
Tell me, how do you feel tonight?

how do you feel by knowing many fear to walk
the streets when you are the only company they got?



Dark night
this is something you must know,
When I see you, I grab a flashlight or some lamp
I’m not scared of you per se
I’m afraid I would tumble down the road with the first rock that gets in my way

Dark night
With your presence, you blind me so
I become so blind that I need to rely in the senses that I usually don’t

The verses of eloquence
Are ladies well taught
They wear elegance
But simplicity is their gown

An ignorant man knows how ignorant he is
only when he knows he knows nothing
otherwise he is ignorant of how ignorant he is.
Yet an ignorant man who knows how ignorant he is,
In itself, cannot be, just an ignorant man.

Ah to hell with this,
Some loves are born dead
They are meant to not live

Though they would still make you bleed
To experience pain
Through a c section
That'll scarred you forever

And it'll hurt twice as ever

Because you'll never experience the joy
of seeing Love grow

L.L.