I use to have so much to say
I had so many thoughts to share

I wonder if that desire will ever return
If that creativity will ever spark again

I’ll come alive this spring. I’ll bloom if for no one other than myself. Maybe a little for you. I will shake off this dormant weather and I will warm us both under my sunlight skin. I will soak up this season and let my already tan skin deepen with history and celebration. I will wear flowers in my hair and dance to the mariachis. I will remind you that I was born in the cold but I thrive in this heat. I will come alive this spring holding the hands of my beautiful brown sisters and dance them down the city streets. With their braids down their backs and their heritage in their eyes. They will come alive.

Cut open my finger tips and no blood will run. Just the words that have been trapped at the surface of my skin for years. The words of trauma and anxiety. The sentences of my ancestors and the words in Spanish that I cannot spell or speak but somehow know. The paragraphs of my intellect and my desires for growth and exploration. My stories of these people whom without I'd have no love to let flow. The novels. That without I'd be incomplete. Just waiting to feel fulfillment because I'd never know I could create it. Cut open my fingertips and no blood will run.

I want you to make art out of me.
Make me turn into brush strokes and texture.
Touch me and color melt me.
Paint me and smear me.
Turn this blank canvas into explosions of color.
Let me explode and create the best pieces of art in history.
The Mona Lisa has nothing on me.
I am a one time final draft in literature.
The words perfectly aligned with my lines.
Every word you speak falls into me and I'll be your first novel.
The only best seller you'll have.
Break my bindings, break my lips, with the words you force into them.
Write me down write me slow.
I am classic literature honey.

I want to feel like art.
Like I'm a statue dipped in gold and placed in a castle.
Or like constellations of stars that together make the Milky Way look dull.
I want to feel like I am not heaven sent but hell bound.
A weapon of perfection and destruction and chaos.
Touch me and you'll burn.
I want to feel like the ocean.
Never ending and mysterious and true. Like my waves and curves can consume you.
I want to feel like your dreams.
Morphing into anything you'd ever wanted. Barely there and you'll always be trying to put the pieces together.
I want to feel like art.
Like to you my skin is the greatest shade of honey and my hair a purple sunset. I want to feel like a masterpiece. That cannot be described in words. I want your paintbrush fingers to paint love all over me.
I want to feel like art.

Can taste a hundred different lives when I kiss you. I can taste adventure, solitude, happiness, magnificence, royalty and all of the other lives we dream of when I kiss you. I can be any person of any origin in any country and culture when your lips graze mine. I can have any life I want when you put your lips on my forehead. I can be a queen or I can be alone in a novel or alive in a rainforest as long as we’re connected. I can also be me. I can be the purest and best version of myself when you’re kissing me.

You had a chance to love me too.
Clean me up and make me new.
Shake me hard and make me empty
You had the chance to completely rid me

Of all that love that'd come before
And all the love that could've been more.
You had the chance to make me a wife.
We could've had a simple life.
Migrate like birds with seasons changes,
Worry about babies and floral arrangements.
But instead of filling me with your love so new
You decided to do what the better man should do.
You watched me fall for another man.
He shook me hard with both of his hands.
And when the past loves fell out of me and I took account,
The love I had for you, had too, fallen out.