I've built this wall around myself
To shield my heart from the pain
Like the caterpillar, I hide
Until I'm finally free to find
A love to fly with me in the rain

we once ponce’d carpets like it was coral,
and we said: love love love rhythm -
able on the broken legs with allegiance to rhyme;
we once ponce’d carpet like it was coral
all puff-up fluffy on the singleton’s touch consecrating a legislation of marriage
of opposite materialisation to craft god’s itchy snap magic spontaneity
to bulletproof the genesis fake into an exodus -
and decided it was a lifelong ambition to be 29 and retire;
well, enough millionaires around us to suit such ambitions -
so we just pranced to striptease tunes and begot our mothers’ virginity,
provided we saw the ***** and the antarctic to be less walt disney
and more walter docile si si.

it’s odd, i can make mexican girls watch their feet
thinking they’re chinese, slowly shrinking them
into geishas trotting with a snowflake’s melting ease printed
heaviest on volcanos.

I fell for you. Why didn't you catch me?

I have no room for new scars.
My heart is more glued seams than pieces of
Hope and muscle.

My smile is as pale as the back of a
Dalí painting; all canvas and
Dirt.

I have opened my arms for a hug and
Stood accused of impersonating Christ.
Meditation rendered me unsocial.

As misunderstood as Latin, yet
I yell at the walls of common reality with
The dead language of my innersoul,

Cursing and blaspheming for the attention
Of deities. Some may listen; not one needs
To reply.

All I want is to break down the wall
Between myself and any creator
Listening,

And say Thank You. The Love
Of my Life is
My life.

What I love the most about my
Life is  
It.

I am a poet
Sitted under the tree that breeze life
Grew inspirations
That impregnate words
That birth lines
The daughter of verses
On a floating leaf of pages

I am a poet
That listen to the beautiful paradox of pens
I climbed trees to the paragon of perfection
I'm the rhythm of the heart
Blossom of attraction
And a song of lovers' reaction

I am a poet
A painter
That can't draw
A straight line
A dancer
Stepping on toes
With a nervous shake

I am a poet
A voice of change
Advocating for peace
A face of progress
Crying for love
I act like a politician
With no lies
And no silver tongue
I stand as speakhng dumb
Saying no to corruption

I am a poet
That write for glory of the printed ink
To climb the pyramid
And look down to find out what you know
I pen for the living and the dead
The spirits in the wind
To the open road ahead
To the ghosts who sing joyfully for the living

I am a poet
Who happily suffer
For what I love doing
A poet who put himself through misery
For poetry

The night holds no surprises
for the darkness-embracers,
the captains of ships of fools.
They cast away light
as they seek to find themselves
in the mangled branches
of a fig tree
as it envelops them.
They find holes in the bark
and dare to reach inside,
fearless of the serrated teeth
they hope to find within.

The trees devour them.






Their dead hands reach for dirt,
clawing themselves from the roots.
They scream from stitched mouths,
muffled and agonising.
Rigor mortis of the eyelids




seeing you for what you are.




I can feel your hand creep into mine.
Your grip is tight
and palms sweaty,
a shaky embrace,
fear rising in goosebumps
or is it the cold?,
or the fear of growing old
that terrifies you so.


I am here for you,

treading wearily
into the gaping maw
of a

very dark place.