inside

wooden doors swing through, teasing the eyes to wander, blowing bright colors in scarves, brushing her lashes that frame the peep hole of the doors. standing in movement, she feels the compass running into directions, opening past transits and extending its roads across forming space. pieces slide together as memories disappear, giving her the golden entrance. she turns around quickly to shut herself in only to realize there was no door; it was her

coquette

nada no mas silencio
puro silencio
nada en mi

me haces reir
como sales
de lado
y te busco
para solo encontrar
el vacio de
tu lado

nada sin nada
deja los lados

considera

sin empezar moriste
en creer en la mentira
regresa no para vivir
no para sobrevivir
ni para seguir
solo
solo
solo
por
Ti

aprendete

la luz llega sin respido. la luz se prende sin fuerza. la luz brilla sin caricias. la luz por ser luz, vive sin vivir.

forward

the candles linger, burning her sight in red. shadows expand their form, hold their breath to ache her heart. though she can feel their fright, her vision rests in a place far from where her exhale begins. here and there, her attendance is accounted for, with marked points to allow access past the gates. she stays everywhere, with the agreement of brief encounters. movement is oxygen. and her strings must remain free, to pull the others together. any part that stops, turns the flow in contrary angles, causing disruption to the symphony that plays in your heart.

reality

its madness. how a fleeting dark car can pass and pull me into its weight, where i open the truck and place myself in, allowing it to lock me hostage through the end of the night. and usually when the sun arises, i remember i have the key to get out. tragedy, irony, comedy

stationary

she likes the way the creek flows through their eyes. its force calls her name. listening attentively, she falls into it, spiraling into blurry temperatures for seasons at a time. the cycle continues again and again. drenched in defeat, the flow of gases catches her innocence, hanging her to dry with the white linens on a summer afternoon.

before its sway can pull her again, rugged rope ties her ankles to the hidden corners of earth. her ears are plugged with ringing oceans and lotus petals bury her rods and cones. she is still current.

with time, stability forms near her ribs, strengthening the arched dam by her crown. her channels flow swiftly, like the gliding flock of birds that drink from her streams. elliptical arms amplify waves, massaging nadir to rise with zenith, arranging crest waves to circulate time.

necklace

sequence chains loosen threaded knots. needles at first glance cut the skin only to pierce through the pain. deep within shades of darkness, sleeps an amber clasp, protecting a jewel. its radiance magnetically embraces the pupa. all around its glow, flows osculating feelers, sparking fate into polaroids for all to wear...

play

accordion lines collapse into her lungs, expanding her body in expression, pouring tides of tones through her pallets, while bringing semi-colons to rest. some days, she plays pitches that force the ground to hover under shades of safety. but it's only when she listens that her articulation resonates in lullabies. afraid of the stark contrast, she removes the straps to the box. holding her fragile fingers, she sits in silence. it's a blackout in loneliness; until she remembers she is the instrument. her signature is not within the sounds. she must simply let the songs play, play, play on and through

choose

stars

feeling so easily; blind in discriminating waves, accepting and absorbing the lightness and darkness equally, overlapping in four, quadrupling in grids, dissolving matter as dots scattered across the evening sky.

fly

i can see my patterns. i can see the fight. i can see the distance, i push myself, from the light. i have a way that brings me down. it kicks and screams, and shields the night. its dark with force and dwells in growth. without words, it closes doors. i do not know, why, i am this way. i am the knife and the movement within its slice. how can this be, i ask? or is it Shiva coming to end my time? and suddenly it feels to slip on its other side. and the light stands right, inside to guide the tide that washes through, to free, to free, to free the child all the way to be, a ball of light. and with every wave, i exhale its tail and claws or outer costume frock. it leaves me softer, calmer and brighter with delight. the rhythm sings of the same beat. yet with every wave, it feels as cain but in truth it is more, more than me, more than us, more than i imagine it to be. because only love could patiently continue to stay with me, through the changing ways. and only love could cleanse through walls of pain. and only love can hold me still. yes it is more. it must be, it is, definitely, God's love, for all, to be

free

it was elevated. it was a story, sketched into the rocks, drizzling pinkness into the sky. it played with the sea, turning circles inwardly to stand so still. like a shooting star, it flew into the dawn and existed by night. an embrace, cracking the shell and opening the heart enough to feel past the breaking waves, past the childhood dreams to the deepness of why it came to be. this feeling, this shift, melting desire to be so quiet, so quiet, so quiet in the tumbling of the storm. and as it parts, its magnificent Light shines, bringing me to fall, in a sweet humbleness to be so near, so near, so near. and the rest seems to rest as it was never meant to be. and it's no longer about me but more so about Thee. perfect lotuses spinning in love, so free, so free, so free

yin-yang

i used to feel you inside my blood, like a venom sucking the light from within. i felt you so close, sliding through and crashing upon my fragile bones with hammer strokes. i felt so weak to your impulse. i felt a slave inside a cage. i held my breath, paralyzed from the knees. And despite the sea, the clouds, the feeling of love, i could not find the strength to move. i imagined you to be a ruthless beast. but today i see your face. and its beautiful.

ants

the abstract patterns on this dress slips from my shoulders. i can no longer hide within the lace. i am so raw. so exposed to the dark claws that creep up my legs that try to pull me into its mouth. but free from the ruffles and over-volume-sphere like skirts, its eyes are clear and suddenly i can't help but laugh for its tinier than i thought. and in the joy of this surprise, it shrinks beneath my feet. and i can breathe. i can be free from the weight, i hid beneath, underneath my wings. i can fly higher. and i see how it was never quite me.