Uninspired, I seek your body in the dark and find you naked and on your belly.  The wooden slats in the shutters paint moonbeams across your back in a bar-code of light.  Each panel of your skin holds a splatter of freckles and birthmarks like paint specks and tiny suns.  I imagine you being the blueprint for the galaxy.  The Creator placing bits of glitter onto a sheet of velvet, held between the sparkling prongs of a pair of tweezers.  A moving map whose print doesn’t run in the rain.  I watch the shifting of moonlight until it becomes dawn’s … Continue reading Galaxies …

When you claimed the valley between my breasts And you sunk your heart in mine I began to believe in love. It was the time when we spoke of all Without fears and secrets And when there was no ego between us. The moment when you got out of the room But got inside my heart even deeper As I felt you mine and with me, always. When you had no life and I had no life Yet we were the only life. The most bitter curse on the face of this earth this is The bliss was just a … Continue reading Lost …

In trying to collect little pieces of my morning – a forgotten book, an empty sweater, a muted television, I decide that your question is a deeper one, that somewhere between the stretch of our conversation and a family of little spoons, you had become lost the night before and had to eat your dinner alone. Have I become that strange to you? Have I wandered too far? It is now six in the morning and I can hear my heart beating. I’ll lay here for a couple of minutes more trying to fill my day with things to do … Continue reading June 25, 2012

When they tell you this Tragedy that’s made a home in your bones filled up your body.is not worth our time, pick up your pen and show them every way they are wrong. Scream it out for every other Women desperate to not be Alone in this. When they force you to believe this Pain is not Universal,tell them they are Wrong. When they whisper to you in the dead of the night, you are just another Plath. until she haunts every one of your poems tell them you are the one writing your Own Story, not them.You will never … Continue reading To poetess

‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t write about me. Write yourself into me. I don’t want to be a letter or a verse, a poem or a novel. I want you to give away the words you seek to define me by. I want fingers that bled ink to bleed blood. I want your heart to detach from your brain just for a moment. No second guessing, no self-doubt. Take a breath and let the words fade into actions and let your heartbeat match mine. Take your time. You’ve been hiding behind that wall for too long. It’s time to live for … Continue reading Don’t write about me …

If you were going to take a walk in my shoes, then I do not envy you. For you would be stuck in a maze with no exit, and trapped within walls that would even make the greatest escape artists claustrophobic. And at your feet you would see that the ‘shoes’ you wear are not even there, for you walk bare across shatter glass, cutting you deep from each step you take. Reflections of these broken fragments you walk through are images reminding you of dreams that you once believed in, now destroyed by a series of unfortunate events that … Continue reading Take a walk in my shoes …

Maybe love was a way to grow old. Love has put my friends, family, and all things to grow old together. Time is also counted in a different way when we fall in love. Maybe that’s why we feel it so much, no matter if we are a hundred or a little over ten years old. For the ones who did not love and hurt me I decided not to love them anymore, I have to learn the art of letting them go. By the passions that kindled me and then I thought I loved I kept them. For the … Continue reading Maybe love was …

I woke up from a dream where my hands were held close to another heartbeat, and I learned of love. I learned of the softness of skin and the early morning sun. Love is a small thing. It is whispered, it is an afterthought. Love is what comes in between. It’s what is lost on subway cars as people some walk in and others leave. Maybe even forever. It is the thing that you stepped on as you walked out of your apartment. It is the folded corner of a book, the music that you hum when no one else … Continue reading I woke up …

You long to know what it is to want once more. To feel what it is to yield. Hardened in self-control, in poise, in static splendor; you’ve become divorced from yourself. You make love not through your skin, but through your writing. That which is made up of all parts of you; the wounded girl, the fetishist, the pagan bride, the mystic, the childless mother, the violent pragmatist, the muse, the lover, the loved… the hurting-to-be-loved. You’ve been running from yourself, from him, from her, from the hateful anonymous, from the loving choir. There is nothing more terrifying than the … Continue reading You long to know…

May everyone has a warm love.A save shelter to rest from this complicated world.Surprises for routine days.Who waits for. Who miss you.A name among all.The most beautiful verse. The music that you never forgets. The pair to every dance.For those who wake up. Who dreams before bedtime.A hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on, a hug to live in.A theme for the whole story.A certainty to all doubts.Window lit in dark night.A port where to dock. Calm weather after the storm.A life sewn in yours, with a long piece of wool of time…❤ Continue reading May everyone has …