One day I will tell my kids the story of how the sun became a weapon burning us to ashes.
how ballute papers were suicide notes as we put a cross next the face we handed out souls to.
how every voter Got crucified in their own crosses.
how Lucifer is the holy one, Africa have became a twisted colony of evil.

But my kids will know
the stories of how we were condemned for complaining after spending centuries of oppression.
They will know how our enemies gave us a religion that said we must forgive our enemies, the irony.

**** it, I will show my kids the ocean, the only grave that took our forefathers during the slavery ships,
since pyramids were crafted in our souls called the triangular trade.

building news
Scientists discovered a heart lost in the bemuda triangle.
far offshore was a man drowning in love
for sure the ocean was Valencia.
a curvy woman, he rose with tides as his hands hope to hold her.

breaking news
Love is a conspiracy theory formed in the chest like the triangular trade, we are slaves to our hearts. slowly dying in the hands of the ignorant.

in other news

insecurities are like sharks' caudal fins , tipping in our visibilities everytime we hide it.

Love comes when it's least expected.

tell me
is it worth it
when we stay all the night
looking at every little thing
but we can’t have
a slight gaze
at the stars

every Love poem I write feels like a suicide note, as I let a part of me find another home.
love articulates a passionate soul caged in my ribs
wrestling with every beat to break free.

Some say if U love a flower don't pick it coz it will die, so I planted mine next to yours.
for the roots to meet beneath the Earth's surface.