The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something…  ❤ Continue reading Arts …

He called me his lioness. He liked the way my hair curled down my back, the way the sun would bathe me in soft rivers of light. I met him as he was whispering French poetry to himself. It made me happy that we only spoke a few words of each other’s native languages. It meant that we could let our bodies speak to each other, let the silences and the long looks speak for themselves. I was only there for a week longer. He held my hands to his face and smiled. I thought it was love. I wanted … Continue reading …guard your heart

It seems miraculous, doesn’t it? That somebody can articulate something clearly and beautifully that exists inside you, something shrouded in impenetrable fog. Great art reaches through the fog, towards this secret heart — and it shows it to you, holds it before you. It’s a revelatory, incredibly moving experience when this happens. You feel understood. You feel heard. That’s why we come to art — we feel less alone. We are less alone. You see, through art, that others have felt the way you have — and you feel better…❤ Continue reading …and you feel better

What defines beauty? That is such a large question; To me external beauty is transient as a passing breeze, it comes and goes. Yet true beauty from within will never age. Therefore, I feel that a person’s true beauty is internal and not external. You could define beauty as a flick of the hair, a graceful move, a slender frame, a beautiful face; But a beautiful face with no true self behind it, is not really beautiful. It is a hollow shell, it’s just there. Yea these things are aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but they are superficial qualities of … Continue reading Beauty…

  Sometimes I get so tired. Closed doors, keys that do not open the closed doors, the anguish for not yet knowing how to open them. The will that weaves its nest in the most verdant branches and passes times hatching the eggs that seem that they will not break anymore. The waiting for the flight of the butterflies that take the pupas to get rid of the cocoons. The repeated emergence of the ‘Not’ when our lives prepares restless banquets to welcome the ‘Yes.’ The ‘almost’ that goes on so long that it seems to be endless. And, lurking, … Continue reading Sometimes I get tired…

You are a beautiful soul to make me word; to convert mornings of uncertainty into poetry, resounding memories of the two of us as strings that vibrate together, sing together and cry together their longings, wanting to make something inevitable, something to be avoided: to feel them complexly. For if Love is land without a path, I have lost myself because I want to find you. And every step I take, I give myself away, because I always come back to two of us, and we both do not come back. The syllables of your name are confused with the … Continue reading Seeking…

Words are desires and dreams bottled up in sound that plays in the wind to sow Life itself. Word comes from within, comes from the source, comes from the center of immensity and silence that seeks to become here outside of the people; word is charming murmur of the lips to color the time of many impressions; word is the charm of the silence in ecstasy that invites your mouth to carry out your plan of Love. Word is also the path that trait and reality that I choose before my size that reaches the Highest. It is poison, but … Continue reading Words are…

I write because I dare. I write to lose myself, and to save myself, to find answers in between lines of life I do not see when I look outside the window. I write the window, and the whole garden. I also write coloring shadows that live inside of my heart. I write to confess my truths and adorn my lies, to bring you nearer and to dive in you. I write to be able to erase you, and to relive you among yellowish loves, torn pages and limpid dreams… 😉💭💬 Continue reading I write …

Desire is language overrun. Spilled paint. A mouthful of fruit. I have changed the canvas. Show me the delicate flowers. Enact. I have pulsed from red to depth blue. Blood flower. This is poetry searching through skin. Damp. Rhythmic. Imaginary. Shh. A woman must split herself for this. Fragrant poppy. Pillow book. Sliced apple. I paint a name blushing red. Silence the canvas. Refuse you. I write out the forbidden syllables. This has everything and nothing to do with skin. I’m writing past you. Desire is white heat. Blue veins blistering. Thirsty. Wanting. Reopening. Scent blossoming. Skin burning to a … Continue reading Desire is…