tu nombre
i've whispered it into the night
a million times
i've tasted it in mi boca
like honey, slow and sweet
tu nombre
lo sabe la luna
i've sung it to the stars
to my heart
like a lullaby to calm the sea dentro de mí
tu nombre
lo llevo tatuado en los labios
en cada espacio
tu nombre
i've said it like a prayer
lo he llorado
se lo he cantado al alma
hoping it finds peace
tu nombre
is in todas las cosas
está en everything
en el verano
and its rain
in spring y las flores.
tu nombre
todo. everything.

i saw God today.
he was in a coffee shop and a baseball game
he was the light in your eyes,
the curve of your smile,
the salt in your tears.
i heard him
in my broken prayers
and the sound of your laughter.
between your breaths and my own.
i saw him
in the orange of the sunset.
i felt him
in your arms.
alive alive alive.

i will travel the world
and i will not pack light,
with a suitcase filled
with memories and coffee,
with the suns and stars i saw,
the steps i gave and the stolen breaths
i will travel the world,
i will get lost
in the streets that lead to love
leaving bits of me in the places
where my heart fell in love

‘this is my heart,’ i tell you.
you hold it between your hands.
‘be gentle, be kind, be soft,’ i want to tell you.
i smile,
i let you believe it is strong and unbreakable.
but this heart,
my heart,
is made of paper,
light, fragile and easily breakable.
it is bendable,
and often tries to fold itself and look smaller than what it is.
an origami heart.
when you unfold it,
you can see the creases love left,
you can trace with your hand the exact place where pain left its mark,
you can read the stories left in the lines.
and still,
despite it all,
my origami heart, my paper heart
is a work of art.

i know,
i know
all is written
i know these are the same twenty-six letters
you have seen before
arranged differently
but this is my voice
these are my words
and for a moment
only i know them
and this is their beauty:
that i write them
and you read them

my hope has grown flowers
and i am not afraid
of what i don’t know
and the days, all the days,
they cannot come fast enough
there is wonder growing in this earth
and the seasons will not erase it
the spring rains will not drown it
and the summer sun will not dry it
the autumn winds will not take it
and the winter will not **** it
my hope has grown flowers
and i am not afraid

i have learned to measure time
in wednesdays
in laughter
in the smiles we shared together
in midnight text messages
in chocolate chip cookies from Subway
and croquetas
i have learned to measure time
in poetry and coffee cups
in stories and hugs
in plays and words read
but mostly
i have learned to measure time
in the moments we’ve been together
in the moments i've felt loved
they say time flies
but like this, to me
time is infinite

i was born
with a heart too big to fit
inside my chest
and a soul bigger than my body
so i have chosen
to leave pieces of my heart
in the places my feet have known
in the people i have loved
in the words i have read
in the beauty my eyes have seen
and my soul-
i have scattered it like seeds
and i have left parts of it
in songs,
in poetry,
in the laughter of children,
in the arms that have held me
and the hearts that have loved me

when i'm with you
and you look at me
i know you see me
the way i have always seen myself
when i'm with you
i feel like i am every star in the sky
and when i'm with you
i feel infinite and more than what i am
i forget my feet because you give me wings
and i am not afraid to fly
when i am with you
you turn into rain and i turn into flowers

if i ever told you
i loved you
i meant to say
‘thank you’
for not running away
for looking at me and choosing to stay
what i meant to say
was that
my heart has found a home inside yours
when i tell you i love you
what i mean is that
you are an ocean i am not afraid of drowning in
what i mean is that
i have never been afraid of being alone
but when i'm without you
loneliness tastes like bitter coffee
when i say i love you
i mean it.

there is no poetry today,
i said.
but today is the poem.
the laughter, the conversations,
the sharing of beauty,
the seconds that turn into moments
that turn into life
that turn into memories.
isn’t time the poetry of life?
isn't the feeling of not having enough words
to tell of the wonder of this day
worth more than a poem?
the seeking and the finding,
the making and the living:
this is the poetry hiding below our feet,
the music we long to sing.

when hands reach to touch you
may they reach for you
not hoping to find anything
but you
may they reach for you knowing
that you cannot fill empty spaces
and that you
do not have any empty spaces within you
may they reach for you
gently, in love,
with wonder at the wonder
that you are

i don’t want to write you a poem
i don’t want to leave behind
this
word
trail
i don’t want them to know i loved you
i don’t want them to know how i loved you
because i loved you
like the night loves the light
and i loved you
like the earth loves the rain
i don’t want these words
to lead
you
back
to
me
but i don’t want these words anymore
so, i am sending this poem to you
without a return address
let these words just be words
let them only be that
this is not a love letter
this is not goodbye
(i already said that to you)
this
is
me
letting
you
go

for you
i'll be the sky
i'll wear the stars on my skin
and let you wish upon my light

i dream of new york city.
but not only new york city.
i dream of chicago, of san francisco, of madrid;
i dream of any city big enough to hold me
and the wildness i carry.
i dream with a love greater than myself,
a love big enough to wrap me in its arms,
a love with grace to forgive my faults.
i dream of the words 'you're beautiful'
sang to me like a song, written in love letters,
tangled in poetry.
i dream of breakfast dates, of long walks,
of sweet and salty lips together.
i dream of finding myself
of getting lost
and the joy of being found again,
i dream of the words i have yet to write,
the stories i will tell,
the days i don't know.

vulnerability is a risk.
it might break you.
but through the cracks is where the light shines.
vulnerability is a game
and no matter how much you lose
you will always win.
vulnerability might wound you,
but it will heal you, too.
don't run away from this,
don't walk away from it.
come closer, dip your toes in this water.
know that this is how you grow,
how you love,
how you become into what you will be.

when i think about the fact
that you and i
share the same sky
the distance between us
isn't so large
and maybe you and i
share more than
just the same sky.

maybe love is in new york city.
maybe love is in paris.
maybe love is here.
maybe love has seen me
and secretly thinks i'm beautiful.
maybe love isn't as far from reach as i think it is.
maybe love plays the guitar or the piano
and has written songs about me
and the way my hair dances in the wind.
but maybe love is in new york city
waiting for me to visit.
waiting for me to take the train
waiting for me to make eye contact
while he sits on the opposite side of me.
maybe love is in new york city
or rome
or spain.
maybe love writes poetry.
maybe love loves someone else right now.
maybe love will find me in five years
or in two months.
but love is out there.
maybe in new york city.

i hope you love yourself.
that every morning when you wake up
you can smile.
i hope
that when you look in the mirror
you can see all that makes you special.
that you don't need to look in the mirror
to remember you're beautiful.
that you love yourself enough
to follow your dreams,
to leave your fears behind.
i hope
that you love yourself enough
to let go of what hurts you,
what weighs you down.
that you love yourself enough to
believe in yourself,
in the light you carry inside.
that you love yourself enough to
live for tomorrow.
i hope you love yourself.
i hope you stay.

i am not my body.
my soul is too big to fit inside it.
i have left my body many times
looking for a home for my soul.
i tried to fit it inside other bodies
inside someone else's soul
only to get bruised and breathless.
i tried leaving my soul in places
but then
when i left
i ended up missing it
so i brought my soul back to my body.
it knows it is not its home
but it is the only home i know.
every now and then
i let it go
and it visits the stars.

here we are.
and i don't know if we understand
the power of that,
if we understand
the wonder,
the odds,
the millions of seconds
and everything that had to happen
for us to be here.
here we are,
we are walking miracles,
we are breathing art,
we are glory and stars
and grace
living in a house of bones and flesh.

if you think
love is
someone else
if you think
love is
quoting poetry
if you think
love is
flowers on valentine's day
think again.
if you think
love is
waiting for someone to see you
if you think
love is
a kiss
if you think
love is
only there when you are good
think again.
love is
you.
love is
writing love letters and poems to yourself.
love is growing flowers on your garden.
love is seeing and knowing yourself.
love is not a kiss
and love isn't only there when you are good.
love sees you and your brokenness
and love loves it
and love loves you
and love is you.

we never tire of hoping,
you and i.
"if not today, then tomorrow. and if not tomorrow, then the next day,"
we tell ourselves.
we like to play games with hope
and we always let her win.

this is more than a song.
this is more than poetry.
this is my heart.
every day i break it
turn its pieces into words
that will make the pieces of your broken heart
put themselves back together.

when they tell you
"go look for love,"
look for it first
inside you.
it will be
(most certainly)
knocking at the door of your heart.
(your heartbeat.)
let it in.
it will run through every room inside
moving things around
untangling the messes you've made
making room.
it will change you.
you might not recognize yourself.
it will bring light to your eyes,
brighten your smile,
redden your cheeks.
it will teach you to make art.
to sing and write poetry and dabble in painting.
it will teach you to like you,
to love you,
the wonder that you are.
you'll know what love looks like
now that it's inside you.

i straightened my hair today
for the first time in three weeks.
my mother was happy
but i was not.
--
last night
she said,
i know you're an artist,
pero no andes como una loca.
don't go around looking like a crazy person.
--
i kept touching my hair today.
missing the stray curl that stayed behind my left ear.
missing the space my hair used to take up,
wild and free.
feeling smaller.
in a body that was not my own.
--
this hair, mami,
does not belong to an artist,
y no es de locas.
es mío; con él nací.
in it i carry the waves
that carry me
that carried the bones
of my ancestors all the way here.
--
these curls, mami,
they are big enough to hold me,
to hold all that i am.
they are a garden in which beauty grows.
they are rivers that lead to the ocean.

lean into this,
the hard work
the heart work
the art work of growing.
know that this isn't forever.
your body, your home will catch up
to the blossoming of your soul.
days and months and years will pass.
but then, like a child, like a flower in spring,
you will bloom, you will rise.
here.
unrushed.
in your time.

i hope you always find reasons to smile
that kind of smile that closes your eyes
i hope you always have a window to look out of
so that at night you can wish on stars
i hope you always find beauty in yourself
in your lips, in your eyes, in your heart
i hope love finds you
and that it never lets go
and i hope
i hope
i hope.

one day
maybe
you will understand all that you are:
a never ending story
a star in the night
and the night
and the sky
a flower
and the garden
and the earth
you are art
and the artist
the song
and the voice
you are more than you know.

these curls
these waves
they tell the story
of the people before me
how they came across the ocean
an ocean with waves like mine
these curls
they are springs
they are the spring
they are the life inside me
the earth that grows flowers
they are telling you that i am here
and that i am the story
the story of stories
the retelling of the lives that came before me
they tell of home,
of movement and flavor
these curls
they are mine
and they are good

i am giving you
my heart
carry me
gently
like a bird that hasn't learned to fly
carry me
like a song
don't forget my words
keep my heart
alongside yours
because i, too, carry your heart with me ( i carry it in my heart)
keep my heart
it belongs to you (and i don't want it back)
i am giving you
my heart
carry me
in your hands, i will make them my home
keep my heart
in a honey jar
so that my love is infused with its sweetness
i am giving you
my heart

my name is gabriela
but most days
i don’t fit in these eight letters
some days
my name is poetry
my name is flower
my name is wild curls
my name is i am so filled with joy
that if i were a cloud it would rain for years
and some days
my name is sadness
my name is hello, love, come find me because i am tired of looking for you
my name is ocean
my name is feelings i have no words for
my name is the songs that make me cry
my name is when do i get a turn
but most days
my name is gaby
my name is the sweetness of these four letters
my name is honey and cinnamon and coffee
my name is gabriela

viviré en una casa amarilla
pintada por el sol
una casa en la calle Alegría esquina Luz
y en mi casa amarilla habrá un jardín con flores
sembradas en amor y regadas con esperanza.
de mi casa amarilla hablará todo el mundo
y vendrán niños en bicicletas a ella
para conocer a la mujer con flores en su pelo
y estrellas en sus ojos,
la mujer que usa vestidos con bolsillos llenos de canela y miel.

the bookshelves in my room
are filled up with poetry books
and the bookshelves of my soul
keep their words
they keep the heart of the ones who wrote them
inside my heart
they keep stories like mine
and unlike mine,
a reminder that we’re all making art
and beauty out of our lives,
that we are making songs out of our days,
making our burdens and the things we carry lighter
and that we belong to each other.

i’ll live in a yellow house
painted by the sun itself
a house that stands on the corner of
Joy Street and Sunshine Avenue
and in my house a garden will grow
with flowers watered with hope, rooted in love.
my yellow house will be the talk of the town
and children will come on their bikes
to meet the woman that keeps flowers in her hair
and a few stars in her eyes,
the woman that wears dresses with pockets
filled with honey and cinnamon.

they buried your bones,
but not what was inside them.
they buried your bones,
but they didn't
they couldn't
bury your light, your love,
the story you told while breath was still yours
they didn't
they couldn't bury your laughter,
your song,
the memories the ones who loved you keep.
they buried your bones
but they didn't
they couldn't bury you,
for you are not there,
in those underground houses of dirt.
you are in the hearts of those who loved you,
in the faces of your children,
in your grandchildren's eyes.
you are in the words you said,
the places your feet touched.
you are everywhere
everywhere
everywhere

i'll want you the way
i want coffee:
in the morning,
in the afternoon,
in the night.
all the time.

i crave you
but not wildly
and i don't crave a kind of love
in which i am madly lost in
(although i hope i am)
but i crave you normal
like waking up late on a saturday morning
i crave you steady
like your hand holding mine
when you're driving in the car
and i crave you simple
like ice cream and a movie
and i crave you
like you
like a kiss where my neck and collarbone meet
like my skin getting used to
the touch of yours
(although i hope it never does)
like my lips molding
to the shape of your own
and i crave you
i crave you
i crave you.

he said,
"help me remember."
and i thought he meant
something from my childhood
or something we did together
or something.
but he meant that i help him
make lists of the things he has to take
on his flight on sunday
and while he made lists
(cellphone.
charger.
toothbrush.)
i made lists too
(waking up every morning to his loudness.
breakfasts of cereal and milk.
kisses on my forehead.)

here we are.
drinking coffee at 9 pm.
i am reading poetry
and you are making lists about lists.
here we are.
trying to fill the distance between us
with something.
i do it with comfortable silence,
but you start talking to me
about how iPads could replace computers one day and about iOS eleven
and i nod my head and smile to myself
because i see you
and what you're trying to do:
trying to shorten the distance
the way you know how
and instead of nodding again
i tell you how my friend is selling her phone
and how i don't know
whether to buy it or not
because the storage space
is the same as my phone's
and while you talk to me about cameras and megapixels and iCloud space
the space between us is smaller.

i am sitting in a taxi cab
reading poetry
and thinking
that there must be some metaphor
hidden here
some deep meaning
something greater than just a woman
reading poetry in a taxi cab
a thought
something like
i am the only one who does this
and that my beauty lives in choosing
poetry to fill my days with
something like
this is what will make someone
fall in love with me
but maybe
maybe the poetry in this moment
maybe the greatest thing in all of this
is that i am a woman
reading poetry in a taxi cab.

do not let me
give you
anything less than
milk and honey.
do not let me feed your soul
with emptiness.
empty words.
empty beauty.
empty love.
let every space
that i fill
be occupied by a love
that was worth all we did
to find it.
let me fill in the blanks you keep
with words that come from truth
let the beauty that i give you
mean something to you.

here we are.
trying to fill the emptiness
the places where we hurt each other
with small talk
and offerings of cups of coffee
and slices of chocolate cake
and flan
as if the sweetness
is enough to cover our faults.
as if sugar is the cure
for the wounds we keep.
and today.
it is.
it is a place to start.

make this sorrow
this suffering
this pain
worth it.
tell me stars will be born
out of my darkness,
a spring from my winter,
wholeness from brokenness.
tell me
my bones have been broken
so that light finds a way through them.

si alguna vez
llegas a leer un poema,
ojalá me leas a mí.
ojalá encuentres la poesía que se esconde en mi cuerpo,
en mis ojos que riman, en mis pies que solo saben bailar,
ojalá encuentres la poesía que se esconde en las curvas de mis labios
y en la canela de mi piel.
si alguna vez llegas a leer un poema,
ojalá me leas a mí,
ojalá encuentres las palabras escritas en mi piel,
y veas como mis ojos deletrean la palabra
‘luz’
y como mis manos hablan de arte
y como mi corazón canta de valentía y esperanza
y si alguna vez llegas a leer un poema,
ojalá sea yo.

let the poems
live in you.
let the words know you.
let them wear you
like a skin.
then
you will know them.
they will burst out from you
like flowers on the ground
and you will be the spring.

i am more than this.
more than the night in which
my tears fall like rain,
watering the soil that is my soul.
i am more than this.
more than the words i do not know yet,
the feelings i cannot sing.
i am more than this.
more than the stars that
turn the night into day.
i am more than this.
more than this moment,
and all the ones before it.

i am everywhere.
in the sun.
in lavender skies.
in the words i write,
in the words i haven’t written yet,
the words i don’t know.
i am everywhere.
caught up in my past.
looking forward.
here.
i am everywhere.
in the sky.
in this earth.
wandering and rooted.
i am everywhere.
lost.
finding myself.
found.
i am everywhere.

girls don't stay little
forever
and time doesn't come
back
and my love is not a library book
you can return when
you're done with it
or when you start reading it
and you don't like the words inside

on sunday mornings
i won't need an alarm clock
or coffee
to wake me up
your kisses will be enough.