I don’t aspire to high ranks
My humble little life
already so worn
is far too good to trade
for any gold that comes from hell
or any weapon that comes from heaven
None of it is worth it
if my heart holds nothing
I hope my journey
lasts many more miles of road
My verses—though not quite country songs—
bring calm
to my breath

I was thinking about the hornero bird today
how it builds its little house
Really, God gives it everything
just like that, for free
So why doesn’t He do the same for me?
Tell me where to find the clay
install in my mind
the coordinates
to build my home
and be
happy in it

Mistakenly
I cried out for you to pull me
out of a hole
you didn’t even know existed
None of it was your fault
you had nothing
to do
with the story
But I wanted you to be
a soldier, a firefighter
who would come to rescue me
I’m sorry for that
Expectations are a **** thing
It took a while
but I understood
I had to go hoarse
at the bottom of that well
to realize
that no one would take me out of there
Only I had
the power to do it
It was bad, I must admit
very bad
because there came a moment
when I wanted to stay there
because it was comfortable
But if it was bad, how could it feel good?
I don’t know
I only know that I looked at the walls of that well
a well that disgusted me so much
and decided to leave
I had to climb
smear my hands
with my own filth
and the dirt others had thrown in there
I promised myself
that once I got out
I’d take a long, thorough bath
I also wanted to promise
that I’d forget the way to the well
but I chose to remember
so I’d know
never to go back
And so I decided to make that path a trophy
a reminder
that I won

I had already understood
that it was about choosing
what made me feel good
but
what if what made me feel good
wasn’t what God wanted for me?
For so long
I chained myself to this doubt
this anxiety
I came to the conclusion
that I was no saint
that the ticket to hell
was free
while the ticket to heaven
cost me far too much
So maybe
I should try my luck
live whatever life could give me at its best
Because only in the end
would I know
if God would have mercy on me

I read something the other day—
what if I want to be a mediocre person?
I felt I wasn’t alone
I felt relief
Because with two degrees
and unemployed
you start to feel useless
For so long I listened
to the voices of my parents
and other people
telling me I should do this
or that
Yet I never asked myself
what I actually wanted
I was always in some spotlight
a little popular
somewhat known
It’s exhausting, really
But for some reason
I kept chasing it
when everything in me
was screaming
to be nobody
to disappear
to be a stranger
in this world
to be mediocre
to have no riches
no extraordinary career
no mansion
but to be simple
insignificant
just another face in the crowd
just myself
That life, with no sparkle or luxury
seemed far better
than any life
I could choose to live

My natural hair is
curly
but when I look in the mirror
I feel ugly
I grew up hearing my hair was
beautiful
so I shouldn’t do anything to it—and I
believed
that it was sacred
even if it made me unhappy today
Yes, my hair is sacred
but because I decide
when it will be straight
or when it will be curly

I don’t want money!
How many times do I have to say it?
I know my verses will lead to nothing
But at least I’m whole
Isn’t that what we needed?
A purpose
I’ve found mine: writing cheap poetry
that only sells to crazy hearts longing to understand
Understand what?
I have no idea
I only know that art is this—being ecstatic
Not trapped in some rule because someone said so
Do it differently
Put that dot outside the curve and
Tada! Art!
Only there does the magic make sense
Sorry, babe, you tried so hard to make me rich
But I found my wealth elsewhere
I know, you’ll tell me that money can’t buy happiness
But it can buy many other things
Still, without it
I found peace