‘Like a graceful
yet mighty arrow
I saw you
shooting through the town
with the name “Adventure”
upon you.
I saw your coat fluttering
with wind’s madness,
irises of deeper colour
than the darkest tree’s bark,
nose drugged with the scent
of Poetry transcripted
and bare feet carrying with themselves
the heraldry of freedom
and a better world.
With books from faraway lands,
of wonders,
as a shield on your chest
from all that’s choked,
ideas unattainable to the Black Pit, thoughts
and dreams piercing
the surroundings’ façade
and the Village whirling into blur
from the speed of yours,
every time you’re the most beautiful feature
among the trash bins we live in.
Couldn’t take my eyes
and thoughts of you…’
Pero nadie se da cuenta,
nadie lo escupe por los dientes.
Ahogados por el tiempo
no me ven/sienten fluyendo entre ellos,
no ven la Esperanza
por debajo de sus parpados.
Como magia o viento vuelo,
espero hasta que alguien
me capture
con esta atención
en un jarrón
y me susurre
un amor así
como arriba.

The grey heron looks

fixedly at the water –


but she does see me.

I never really understood it at all
Until I was ready to take that fall

It creeps up on you, you know
Every other night
It’s a new low

These thoughts get louder
Every other hour
But in the morning they are silenced

Internalize everything they are just self centered thoughts.

In cords and ribbons;

she does not speak.
People don't know whether to
scoff, or to pity, both maybe.
Yet she continues,
her tongue clicking,
her hands swift and nimble,
as she cuts up her little heart
and neatly wraps each one
into a package with a small,
small love letter.

Simple words, straight forward
and easy to decipher, with
meaning so plain and tangible.
Her tongue clicks, words still
quiet, her fingers folding the envelope
so delicately. Scissors lay on the table,
for cutting bits and pieces of herself
into each small package.

She hopes, with the light of a candle
and a flicker of a match stick,
that people would notice
her silent devotion.
Would not scoff, nor pity.
Hoped they'd smile and laugh,
as they read each part of her;
saw each part of her;
noticed each part of her—

that were all in cords and ribbons.

I spent my last birthday in tears
I won't make that mistake again

Walking in the woods to clear my thoughts
With birds keeping me melodic company

I give a round of applause after their impromptu performance

The attention they receive from me is the attention I hope for on my special day this year
The way they they make their exit is the way I wish I could make my entrance
On wings
Landing from an elegant flight fashionably late

But bones are not quite hollow enough yet

Nothing that could have killed you,
so far,
has.

Thus this is the day,
this is the day that can **** you,
if you fail to live through it.

I write miracles

from who I am, from my wounds –


and brutality.

I have figured out
that all I have to do
is put on my most
blissful
grand
lip-tearing
smile
for you to notice me.
So I will rip apart
every single muscle
in my face
for you to
smile back.