codex painter
have your hands rusted
is this world not  as vivid
as the one centuries ago
the one
that bore the same tint,
rich in intent to serve,
to devotedly work
head inclined
over the flaming light
and under the celestial stars

pictograms
are what I now reach for
from the vessels tucked behind my ears
from the smell of copper
and the tastes of adobe pots,
simmering with memories,
to the corneas anchoring my vision

because I must have a vision
the "it" becomes what we intend
and I intend "it"

give me your codices
unfold the fibers of the agave plant
and let me paint again
this world
larger
this lifetime kinder
for I have always been a scribe and
a painter
and my heart rejoices in service
to an existence expanding
to meet itself in the eyes of all
who I dare draw

I see the stars dancing in the navy blues.
The ones that colour you when you’re asleep,
and I relish in the madness of the silent nights,
that keep me locked away from tranquillity.

So, I watch as the moon lights its guiding paths,
as it raises fences in the shape of a tide.
The universe holds you sound asleep,
as you dream on of the morning light.

When you’re awake, and the mountains glow,
follow the colours of the sunrise,
And find me waiting with a handful of dreams.
Hoping to find the world in your eyes.

For when I cannot sleep at night,
I take your restlessness from your mind.
When your eyes start to drift into a pool of black,
just know I’ll be painting the universe while you sleep.

I’ll take your thoughts and make them my dreams,
so that when you’re awake, all you will see is:
mountains surrounded by an ethereal glow,
Remnants of the moon still waving goodbye,
The glowing colours of a thousand morning suns,
Leaves dancing with the unforgiving wind,
Trees swaying to the sound of your heartbeat,
And the stars resting in the palm of my hands,

…

When you find this mural and wonder how,
Just know my muse was your miraculous glow,
and that I’ll be somewhere across the sea,
painting the universe in your dreams.

Hand me a paintbrush
And I’ll splash color across the sky
Wide strokes, vibrant
The sun shines through
Casting the earth in multicolored brilliance
A riot of colors
So that I might show others
The vividness of my mind
Paint my imagination
To be understood

I dropped red paint
It got on my black pants
And my black shoes
And my black hair

I touched blue paint
It got on my brown arm
And brown nose
And brown cheek

I plopped yellow paint
On my pink lips
And pink nails
And pink phone

I lathered black paint
Made of yellow,
Blue,
And red paint
On my white soul

Now,
I have color

I read my horoscope
each morning
thinking I have a glimpse
into the future

Little did I know
that stories change
when the writer
does

A color capable of holding emotions as magnificent as the stars shining,
like diamonds in the spread of the sky,
yet holding a thousand shade of sadness.
The sky which holds people's lives between its palms and
sways left and right and
have its clouds riot.
Don't turn that color into a darker shade and bring down on me your tears and pain.
Don't reflect that tormented color in me.
But she does it anyway and
I wake up in the middle of the night
clenching my fists and gasping for a single breath
of relief,
of air.
Of air that is not tainted with the shades of that color.
But she does it anyway and
it turns me into a puzzled mess that makes me unable to differentiate,
to hardly be able to tell the different shades of pain
or love or anything in between.
The color that
ruins me.
But the same one that revives me.
The color of my lover’s eyes, so bright they look like
sapphires on acid.
The color that huffs its paint inside of my throat and
suddenly: I am able to live: and to love: and to be.

beauty is a selfish pursuit. wild endeavours stood before me on short legs, her eyes seducing me with a look I’d never seen before. Her body was voluptuous; in a way that she could hide a flaw. with her smile, with her face I decided she was a canvas. she moved in feelings, and my brush was stiff. I couldn’t move her way so I made her move mine, and she obliged with a heart full of love. and she danced with her fingers between mine, so I would feel safe that her heart was with me. And now she moved in paint and my brush created a perfect picture of this woman who was mine. Although beneath the thick layer of colour I created for me, was not a blank canvas but a selfless soul who wanted to be free. A pursuit of beauty in another, for my own selfish needs. So I can hold her hand and call her my own. and so you see I’ve painted a pretty picture congratulate me. this canvas could’ve been many things and she hung herself upon a wall for me, to stay put forever.

if i am the artist
you are a collage
of all the things
i love the most