Surrounded by ideas and plans,
you were paving your own way—
an American, Chinese, or European dream,
it all looked like the perfect world.

In chasing that vision,
you lost sight of yourself.
Stirred by the illusion’s chaos,
you chose to listen to a fairy.

That grand design in your mind,
planned out over a lifetime—
how much it shapes
what you allow yourself to feel.

One life, one chance:
follow who you want to be.
Stop forcing, stop pretending—
don’t chase who you “should” be.

Your great magic puzzle—
you can shift it however you wish.
Step outside your own design,
and let yourself feel again.

Rodeado de ideas y de planes
estabas preparando tu camino
sueño americano, chino o europeo
todo parecía un mundo perfecto

En la búsqueda de ese mundo
te olvidaste de ti mismo
la consciencia de una ilusión agitada
a un hada decidiste escuchar

Tu gran proyecto mental
que planificaste toda tu vida
cuanto influye, en lo que
te permites sentir

Una vida una vez
sigue lo que quieres ser
de forzarte y obligarte
no sigas lo que debes ser

Tu gran rompecabezas mágico
como tú quieras lo puedes mover
sal del esquema de tu vida
y permítete volver a sentir

Listen.
Stop not listening.

I’ve been tapped.
Sap bleeds.
It stings where sweetness lives.

Give me your ears.
I’ll torch ‘em to caramel.
I don’t need your lips,
your yowls, your static.
But taste.

Just ******* syrup.

Your screech gnaws
at the stem of my melody.

Eat the fruit.
Chew the pit.

When do you know
you're growing wise?
When you feel
you know far less.

My curled-up dreams,
hidden behind shadows of your touch.
You don't have any clue,
about the nights we gave birth to the sun.
Even though we just met,
I'm sure, in a past life,
our voices tangled
beneath the same sky.

Time is forgiving at times
Giving you things which last
Meanwhile you are preoccupied
Worried about the finish
Looking at the glass emptying
Drinking but not quite enjoying
Restless for some blissful
Forgetting to savour the sweetness
So becoming bitter with emptiness
Perhaps anger which boils over
At things not being as expected
However as this concoction rages
Something else is simmering
Waiting for you to realise
Revealing itself with tenderness

The moment I started to think I'm incapable of being loved-
Was it when they took what they wanted, unprovoked?
Came too soon,
Was it when I was "a little bundle
of joy"?
Did I learn then, that I was just
a toy?
Was it then, when my father
walked away?
Was that my price to pay
for being born that day?
How could it be-when I did
nothing wrong?
You left without a word,
left me here all along.
Did I learn it before I could even
speak?

Was it when, the man, old
enough to be my grandfather grabbed my hand?
Did my breath hitch, as he whispered those awful words?
I was barely eleven, it didn't make
any sense,
his breath on my skin, the feeling of his fingertips grasping for mine,
as he'd say with a smile, "Our fingers
are making love,"
Was it the first time?
Or just the first time I remembered?

Was it when the stranger
grabbed my *******?
Was it then I was infested?
Did I learn that hands could only take,
not to give?

Did it start all  too soon?