I find it beautiful
Something small, hidden
unknown to anyone, becoming something vast
I think I have a knack for this
The words are flowing
I’m no longer trapped behind a dam
I’m free, thirsty to explore new paths
I will pour myself into other waters
and meet new horizons
I want more—so much more!
I am thirsty
I didn’t know I had been dehydrated for so long
This is what I needed
As a certain author once said—yes, you warned me
I didn’t have to go so far
My treasure wasn’t distant
It was right here
where I belong

When I was younger
I loved tulips, but it was
because
there was a girl
holding a tulip on the cover
of a book
I loved that story
But now
I like daisies
Maybe one day my daughter’s name will be Daisy
I like them
because they are simple
they bother no one
they have their own sun at their center
and around it, many angels
make harmony
dancing to the most sublime songs

You send me two messages—
“Hey love, how are you?”

I send you five, six, seven in reply.
You laugh,
but deep down,
you complain—
you think I talk too much.

The truth is,
I’m intense with my feelings.
When I express them,
I can’t hold back.

I write in ALL CAPS,
send a flood of emojis—
all so you’ll know
how much
your two little messages
made me happy today.

I was thinking about the hornero bird today
how it builds its little house
Really, God gives it everything
just like that, for free
So why doesn’t He do the same for me?
Tell me where to find the clay
install in my mind
the coordinates
to build my home
and be
happy in it

My mind
keeps whispering
that what I’ve done
is unforgivable.

— I am not worthy

I’ve been trying
to be so strong these past days
that I haven’t allowed myself
even a single second
to be
merely weak.

There were many times
I cried
beside you
lying in bed
wrapped in blankets
I don’t know if you heard
I only know you did nothing
I’m still waiting
for you to do something

Was this really what I wanted?
Did it have to be this way?

Was there nothing left
for our story to become?

Santiago and Veronica
would probably be upset.

Mistakenly
I cried out for you to pull me
out of a hole
you didn’t even know existed
None of it was your fault
you had nothing
to do
with the story
But I wanted you to be
a soldier, a firefighter
who would come to rescue me
I’m sorry for that
Expectations are a **** thing
It took a while
but I understood
I had to go hoarse
at the bottom of that well
to realize
that no one would take me out of there
Only I had
the power to do it
It was bad, I must admit
very bad
because there came a moment
when I wanted to stay there
because it was comfortable
But if it was bad, how could it feel good?
I don’t know
I only know that I looked at the walls of that well
a well that disgusted me so much
and decided to leave
I had to climb
smear my hands
with my own filth
and the dirt others had thrown in there
I promised myself
that once I got out
I’d take a long, thorough bath
I also wanted to promise
that I’d forget the way to the well
but I chose to remember
so I’d know
never to go back
And so I decided to make that path a trophy
a reminder
that I won

What if I’m not good enough for it?
What if that path isn’t mine?
What if
what
if
w
h
a
t
i
f

I don’t know.

They say if you never try,
you’ll never know.

Ah, but I’m scared.
Then go scared.

(eye roll)

Life is one big piece of s.h.i.t.

What if you’ve truly changed?
What if you’re really ready
to love me the way I deserve?

I miss you so, so, so—
so much
that it feels like a hole
is opening from my throat
down to my belly.

I almost wish I were pregnant—
an unforgivable excuse
to come back to you.

It feels like everything that’s happened
has been telling me
I should never have left.

And God?
And the church?
And our friends?

Ugh—
will you text me again?

The part I am missing…
But why does it feel missing?
Am I not already whole?
Then what do I lack?
For I search for what is already within me
Long imprisoned
in the claws of the Devil
desperate to break free
But what will become of me with it?
Wasn’t this the missing part?
If it was already in me
it was never missing
It was already
in its rightful place
I just needed to find it

You know,
I wish you truly understood
I chose you to save me.
I married you.

Come on,
be my Prince Charming,
be the hero who pulls me out of this hole.

But the more I look at your life,
the more I see you moving forward
and me falling behind.

This isn’t how I pictured it.
I thought you’d be by my side.

Sometimes I think my verses are bare and raw.
The same way I believe I have a way with words,
I feel I don’t.

Sometimes I wish I could shape them,
so they wouldn’t be so direct—
that I could mold them
like water atoms between my fingers.

I don’t know.
Strange.

I just don’t want to be
so dry,
sometimes.

The interesting thing about
gardens
is that they usually
have a beginning and an end
I am a garden
I need to set my white fences
put up signs
“Do not step on the grass”
label each flower with its name
water them every day
pull out the weeds
use poison so the insects
won’t hurt them
also breathe in their scent
feel the delicacy of the petals
and, no less important,
admire all the work done

Sometimes I stop and think—
my God, what am I doing?

I tore away all the structures beneath me
and chose to walk on sand—
or on water.

Why?
Why?
Why put myself
in this place of despair,
this ache of uncertainty?

I could have stayed
right where I was
and everything
would have kept flowing.

Wouldn’t it?

I don’t know why you showed up in my life.
Was it God’s test?
Satan’s trick?
The universe showing me
I wasn’t happy—
or that I’d never be satisfied
in that marriage?

I don’t want all the answers now.
I don’t think I even need them.

You touch me
and yes,
I melt for you.
But in other moments,
I don’t want you at all.

Something in me says
that even if you are
communicative, romantic,
and so much more—
and even if the cards say
we’re meant to work out—

I see you have much to grow.
And I wanted you grown already.

Maybe it’s because
I’ve already been through a marriage,
but I still want more from you.

You still need to be shaped.
Will it be me
who shapes you?

i watch her
put on makeup every day

not to look prettier
but to cover the sadness

she thinks i don’t see it
but i do—
her smile stops at her eyes

these days have been heavy
she stays in the bedroom
i hide in other rooms

someone has to move first
maybe the cure is in
taking off our masks
sharing cheap wine by the fire
talking nonsense
instead of pointing fingers

i know we can talk
without shouting

we can start again
as if it were
our first date

My natural hair is
curly
but when I look in the mirror
I feel ugly
I grew up hearing my hair was
beautiful
so I shouldn’t do anything to it—and I
believed
that it was sacred
even if it made me unhappy today
Yes, my hair is sacred
but because I decide
when it will be straight
or when it will be curly

We can’t go back to the beginning.
If we had known the ending,
would we still be on this road?

But I understand —
you want to know what it’s like
to be far from home,
why I can’t sleep at night.

I understand.

You want to know
why I always order the same drink twice
at that bar on the corner.

I understand.

You want to know
what it’s like to stand
on the wrong side of the history.
And honestly,
there comes a moment
when you get used to it,
and it starts to feel right.

It’s okay.
I’m okay now.

But I appreciate the concern —
keep digging,
keep asking about my life,
and one day
you’ll know about me.

Not the others
To hell with the others
I want the courage and bravery
of those who said “**** it”
and went to live
I want to live
“Please, let me live,” my soul screams
And I think the most painful part
is realizing it’s all up to me

Incredible—
I can make poetry out of anything:
from the tree,
the wheat,
the chaff,
the sea,
the stars,
the sky itself
in all its infinite beauty.

From the good, the bad,
the light and the dark—
everything in nature
becomes verse in my hands.

Will you be part
of this strange art of mine?
Because your eyes
belong to another world—
you’re not from here,
I’m sure of it.

If you were, I would have seen you before,
and I think I would have fallen for you
again
and again.

It’s hard not to look.
I don’t even hear your footsteps
when they pass me by—
heading toward someone else, of course.

But that’s fine.
Even with my skin shivering,
I make your chest my target,
and like darts,
I throw my verses.

It’s always easier to write poetry
about a masterpiece of nature—
but one thing I know for certain:
you are not from here.

This divorce has existed
for a long time.

Even if you grieve for it,
grieve more for yourself.

It’s time to release
all the filth you let pile up here.

Do you remember how you suffered?
The anguish of feeling alone?

You were always playing a role—
you, trying to make it work
every
single
day.

Yes, there were good moments,
things that were genuine.
And maybe longing
will walk beside you forever.

But the poems you wrote
two, three years ago
don’t lie.
You weren’t lying to yourself back then.

And back then,
you were already yearning for healing.
You spoke of the pain
of having no one.

Yes, you hoped he would save you—
though you didn’t know it consciously.

But you saved yourself, in part.
That job was the first breaking point.
And now, this marriage—
is the second.

You deserve more.

a person with an unimaginable power to fall, rise, and keep going.
a person who cries, who suffers, who feels the seismic shakes of life and is still here
in the land of the living.
a person who can be whoever they want to be.
a person who can be light and love.

How come
you want ***?
Where is your sensitivity?
Don’t you see the only thing I want to do
is **** myself?
I want to cut every part of me
and cease to exist.
But you don’t look at me
not the way I want.
You only look at that head
between your legs
and the fact that it’s been so long
since we last did it…

You love me in a way
that leaves me breathless.

Should I teach him
to love me like that?
I don’t know.

I just wish
he cared for me
the way you do.

I’ve said it many times—
you are perfect, L.
But I don’t think
you’re the right man for me.