I'm feeling it, is coming,
Is near... My dear,
The year of fear...
But I won't shed a tear.
Courage would be the gear,
I'll wear.
it'll protect me from the spear
that fear may throw at me.

Everyday before dusk turns to dawn,
I read a couple of poems in my bed time,
I also write a couple of poems before I close my eyes,
and I arrived to a possible conclusion that...

It is the silence of the night:
the muse that speaks in lullabies,
and seduces me to write,
even when the contents of the poems have nothing to do with my life.
I feel posses. In a trance.
As if am dancing in a dream
where words are the waltz:
the music that moves me into his arms.
that makes me gaze into his eyes.
as if we were in a ballroom.
Dressed in metaphors.
Highlighted by the moon.
Gyrating with our thoughts.
Having the night of our lives,

just dancing him and I
Just dancing our way out

into the world where poetry is alive.

2015

I wasn't a rose, nor a bud,
I wasnt blooming in love,
I did not have thorns,
I wasn't green either,
I tell you, I am not a flower

I'm made out of flesh and bones,
I have a spinal cord to stand tall,
I'm made with a brain system,
God gave me my intellect.

Thus I'm like the roots of a plant,
I like absorbing knowledge as it was water
Specially when the topics are hot,
Heating debates like summers,
Makes me thirst for more,

But I'm not a flower

Flower me in a *** of love
and let me rise like a rose
with sunshine rays
enlightening my days
till night time comes

You know when you do the right thing
And the thing turns to be wrong
But then it would have been wrong
If you had not done the right thing, anyways!

Well, I really don't know what went wrong.

I tried to let my ego go,
but my ego did not loved me at all.
It did not let me go.

It grabbed my heart tighter,
as if wanting me to believe
that the only reason my heart beat
was for its love

Yet my heart did not beat for it

It only bled

lo que yo tengo
son muchas ganas de escribir
y estas ganas que yo tengo
aun que escriba no me dejan vivir
Quizas, ese es mi destino,
el destino que yo misma escoji.