#illustration
I sat down
to draw
a picture
of you.
It grew
so expansive,
so beautifully,
colossal;
I fell in love
all over
again.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 11:57 PM UTC
Maybe the way the curve of your spine fits into me is an indication
of how the earth meets the sea.
Frothing, frigid and free
Maybe the way our lips convene is an illustration
of a star being born
Colliding, rising, expanding
With every breath we whisper to each other
the wind caresses the mountains in such delicate manners
Maybe the way our eyes meet
searching for a long lost landmark
{Home at last,
or at least until tomorrow}
reveal the discovery of deeper mysteries
Cold, comforting, coalescent
Maybe the simplest brush of skin
brings earthquakes to our veins
Seeped with unspoken words
warmth and peril rolled in one
Maybe, just maybe, the first ****** between two lovers
is the modern tsunami,
a flood of pleasure, teeming with emotions and laughter
The rain that lulls us to sleep
is the same as the water that cascades down cracks and cliffs
Racing to meet her soulmate,
Salt water
Fresh water
Two hearts beat in solidarity
Melting one into the other
Tongue on tongue
Fingertip to fingertip
Maybe the way we started is the way we end,
with nothing but empty space and deafening silence.
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
Whenever pencil and paper smooches,
Fascinating Illustration is made !
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 2:48 AM UTC
Mirror mirror on the wall. Who's the insecurist of them all? Who's the one who looks back a second glance to see if there's any drastic changes
In her weight
In her face
In her hair
And in her waist
In her smile or in her teeth. In her skin or the way she speaks?
Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the dumbest of them all? For looking at you and seeing the opposite. For avoiding you because she's afraid. For looking at you and feeling disgusted or for not accepting for how she's portrayed.
Mirror mirror on the wall. That's all you really are. You don't lie. You don't hide. You're just a mirror. With no pride. You reflect the piece of art a woman really is. But in her eyes it was all a big, fat, giant miss.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 4:30 AM UTC
My mother asked me what was my best and favorite year.
I said 2002.
Because in 2002 I was a happy 6 year old. My father was the only man I loved and my mother was my best friend. The only stress I had was getting up early to go to school.
Money didn’t mean anything to me. Survival wasn’t important. The media was just a loud picture box. And opinions were irrelevant. Just Saturday cartoons and the world being the color baby blue.
From 2002 and so on and so forth, everything started to change. Baby blue was turning to a less charismatic gainsboro; and then a Spanish gray.
Before I knew it. It was 2006. The loud picture box was now a god. 2010 is where Mr. Washington and Mr. Lincoln were now looked as tickets for treasures. Second to last is 2014 where you'd get awarded for taking a **** and then forgotten that same week.
Now it's 2016. Far away from the baby blue. Far away from the pastel pink sunsets I use to gaze upon my second floor apartment balcony.
Tired is now a common word.
Napping is a blessing.
Stress is all too familiar.
And as everyday goes by, the farther I feel from ever having that 2002 feeling again.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 3:49 AM UTC
I think I would give up the world right now to be able to sketch.
These images appear in my head day and night
making me want to spend hours on end drawing.
Drawing vivid illustrations
The ones that constantly replay in my head.
I want to be able to see some sort
of physical image of me and you.
one that makes the heart melt
one that is lost for words
One that shows
what I see
what I feel
I wish I could explain it.
I can't even put it into words.
these words don't exist!
But I know every single line
of every sketch.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC