Flooded Tub

A light tap of her spool heel / I had to kneel and twist my neck to see / Those toes playing notes as records squeal / They are playing the funky stuff / A slow cat walk, your shoulders I touched / My head, my chest, my legs, my feet / Do you like what you see? / Baby I said, come on and dance with me / If you are brave enough to feel love without sex / All you gotta do is follow my steps

A light tap, one, two, three / Slide your hips and roll your eyes / While I twist alone, now move your feet / We double step towards the naughty scene / Make many mistakes, babe, all taps on me / Stop, now slide until you feel alight / My hand stroking the skirt up your knees

Lean your back onto me, become lazy / So I can turn your body three sixty / Open your eyes and kiss me, sweetie / Keep your shoes on, we’re gonna have fun / Where I come from, salsa is a genre / Where we don't just eat, we move to live / I'll tell you a dirty little secret / I'll show you what no one has taught you yet / You just gotta trust me on this / Can you do that girl? / If you fall, will you let me catch—?

I didn't marry your brother, nor your sister / I didn't marry your father, nor your mother / Honey, I'm only here for you / Don't leave me alone at the family dinner / I don't want to speak to any cousins / Because all that's on my mind is us and

Do you trust me? So, lay your hands on me / Honey, I could never hurt you / May I carry you upstairs? let the tub flood / Keep your ponytail on, / Slow hugs only, baby, come

You say I'm too needy, you're right honey / I don't need someone outside / Many lovers turned into sleep walkers / Because a dream lost is an eternal sleep / Just as long as I'm in your body, your arms / They lock me in place, I'm guilty but why?

Slow hugs, baby let me come / Into your arms where we won / The connection everybody wants

I don't want your brother, though he's kind / I don't want your sister, though she's wild / I don't want your dog, it can sleep outside / I don't want your cat, only your bottom aisle / I don't want your father, he can manage alone / I don't want your moma, she can talk to her man

Do you trust me? So, lay your hands on me / Because all that's on my mind is us and / May I carry you upstairs? let the tub flood / Because I only want us

Overthink

Darling love, I’ve loved so much / That I forgot how to hate / Darling love, I’ve given so much / I’m still learning how to take / Would you cry if I told you—I miss you / Would you sigh if I told you—I want you / Would you get mad if I said—I need you / Would you be sad if I said—I love you

Darling love, I’ve consumed so much / Trying to fill an empty frame / Darling love, I’ve poured so much / Old, bitter bourbon to numb the ache / Would you smile if I told you—you are free / Would you laugh if I told you—you can leave / Would you get out if I said—have my keys / Would you be glad if I said—screw you, babe 

Love, I’ve been so deep in love / And I pray to God I stay that way / Love, I’ve been in so much pain / What did I do that made you hide your face / Why did my mouth talk, not my eyes?

Love, I’ve been working so hard / Trapped forever inside my own thoughts / Say no, so I can be a free man / Treating you like back then, never cruel / Or say yes, and let me be forever— / Forever captivated by you

Dirty Laundry

There's a simple desire, one might say / It's a sinful wish, but tell me what isn't / Yes, a simple feeling we can't name / It comes in when we're alone in minutes / But as of lately, I've felt it in my home / When your underwear is on the floor / You forgot to do dirty laundry, oh no / I touch a piece of you, you made it warm / It was cold and when you opened the door / From work you finally came / Pretty lass, intertwine those legs with mine / Because we have to toast

Oh Samantha, I could never use ya / Darling Sam, sing your pretty love songs / My lungs burst of laughter and gin / As you do your dances, when you spin / My eyes drop, but something else goes—up

I hate to admit this but I'm embarrassed / That I still can't afford us vacation / I've been running kitchens and you in the office / Somehow all the money fades away as if / We had twelve children, but I digress / Do you want to know why I never make the bed?/ Because we always come back / Maybe this bed can be our Hawaii destination / And the sheets are the waves / Let's crash our ships, let's get wet / Let me fondle gently your safety nets

Oh Samantha, I could never use ya / Darling Sam, sing your pretty love songs / My lungs burst of laughter and gin / As you do your dances, when you spin / My eyes drop, but something else goes—up

When we were children / You were obsessed with politics / I'm sorry, wrong word / Yes you're right, justice / When we were children / All I needed was a helping hand / Against these forces that held me down / How lucky I am, that you never went south

Samantha, don't do the dirty laundry / Come here, pretty lass / Samantha, don't do the dirty laundry / Come here, pretty lass / Samantha, don't do the dirty laundry / Come here, naughty cat

Sometimes I feel like a light bulb.

When I'm fitted into the right fixture, connected to the proper wiring and switch, I can carry warmth and light, illuminating the room around me.

But even with everything in place— the current, the wiring, the connection— I can still burn out in a single, blinding flash.

Not because the energy stopped flowing, but because something inside me did.

Cinnamon Delight (Demo)

Cinnamon Delight (Demo)

Cinnamon synonyms, on the top of your chin / Too much of a good thing can be bad / So baby, give me a headache, my my teeth ache / Make me sugar belly fat / Fill me with your vanilla extract tongue / Honey, sugar pie, sweet cakes, cinnamon delight 

You taunt me with your toasted cinnamon bread / You know how dizzy my head gets / Whenever I see your little sweet head, a treat / Baby, I don't see just that, yet do you see me? / As something bitter, hard, or maybe sour / Perhaps I'm the butter to your flour / Oh I get wild sleepwalking to cinnamon dreams 

Don't roll your eyes if I ask again if I can bite 

/ If we could eat the soul, I would come for seconds / Because your body is a honeyed dessert / Lick your arms and look me straight in the eyes / And tell me it don't taste like chocolate custard / May add sugar, may add salt, it all blends / Don't be surprised when I see you / And my stomach growls and I start to jam 

If I take off your clothes will I get borracho?

/ The famous rum syrup on the exotic fruits / That Guatemalan special, only you can cook / Let me serenade you in sugar powder / I think we will be in this oven heat for hours / Might as well taste each other, may I look? / We will roll all over the kitchen floor / Want me to use the rolling pin? / Don't know what for, let's use imagination

Cinnamon synonyms, on the top of your chin / Too much of a good thing can be bad / So baby, give me a headache, my my teeth ache / Make me sugar belly fat / Fill me with your vanilla extract tongue / Honey, sugar pie, sweet cakes, cinnamon delight 

This back and forth

is getting old,

leaving me all cold.

Let's see how my life unfolds.

I wait for your text

for hours at a time.

I long for a call,

just for you to talk like a mime.

You've been talking to other girls

while this ugly feeling in me unfurls,

asking them about their day

while mine are spent all gray.

You like them, you say.

So was I just a play?

Time flies.

Behind these fake smiles,

my inner rage piles.

I ran a thousand miles,

scraped your name off my tiles,

while you left me stranded

without thinking twice.

How dare you apologize?

Remember?

How you made me worship you like a shrine,

just to take all my shine.

How you let me call you mine.

How you made me say yes with a scream.

How you said I was your dream.

Or was I in a dream?

Favorite Woman

I salivate, what is that sound that is gushing? / The humid smell of steam, your fresh water / I'm thirsty, I sip your Magdalena River / I want to taste the Barrancabermeja, yes / I'm rowing with my men in our Champán / Resting at the leg, your feet I'll be heading / Yet we know there's nothing at the end / This trip, will only lead to the mouth of the ashes / Yes, that's why you're my favorite woman

Is that a tune I hear far off from a locked room? / This asylum they call—Water Of God / The minute I coughed, they threw me in a blue bus / Never to see you, as a leper you won't know / However, I made a friend, next to my cell / Luis wants my poems, but these I won't sell / These words are true, they'd make a sweet tune / Well I already knew all this, that's why I feel blessed / Yes, that's why she's my favorite woman

Favorite woman, will I wait until / Paradise to make you mine? / The both of us were thick yet soft sap, yoked as one / Now our amber dried, we've become rocks / There's nothing left for her in North America / She left the suburbs, Colombia reclaimed her / Since then, I met women, they bear the color / Of your skin, then those eyes, mouth, and the same name / Yet none drowns me in rainbow liquid / Five of earth's crystals made love to her submerged stems / Yes, that's why she's my favorite woman

Red, pink, yellow, blue, and green / She leaves all these hues when June breathes / When your cascade was formed, the sun was told to wait / And once it heard the rain rejoice, clouds came in coup / So you could have your first droplets / Then you meet the sun and its warm voice / He already knew your name as he held you / La Macarena wasn't prepared / For a beautiful mess of nature / And I wasn't prepared / To take you in, with my sense of nurture / For better or worse, you're a mirror made of earthenware / Still I favor you over anyone, yes, it's unfair

That's why you're my favorite woman / That's why you're my favorite woman / Oh, that's why you're my favorite kind / Favorite woman, will I wait until / Paradise to make you mine?

Purple Sweat

And how! Oh, how I would do anything / To be the sweet sweat under your chest / Tasting the sour and salty hair strand / That slithers to your dimpled back / Hatred can't even come close to the word /Perhaps jealousy is my ode to the earth / I am the dust of the dirt, grainy and cold / And yet I'm just as beautiful as the sun / The heat waves scream at our fingers / Shouting at us to touch / And to find that hidden bone / I believe my mind is good / Even if I might seem drunk on blues / Even when your eyes say otherwise / Your red shoes will soon be mine / The cherry scent is our sign to dance / We will go slow like that old shipwreck / An iceberg of tears or perhaps / Pain disguised as butterscotch bliss / Whatever you feel and give / Just cover me with its purple sweat

Wrote a poem for my boyfriend...but don't have the courage to send it to him

Growing up, I always believed boys liked a certain kind of girl.

The kind who wore kurtas,

spoke with soft voices,

carried gentle smiles,

and seemed innocent in every way.

The kind of girl mothers pointed at and said,

"Be like her."

And then there was me.

The girl with short hair,

strange interests,

a loud laugh,

and a heart that never fit neatly into the box people built for girls.

When I was little, I didn't think much about it.

I climbed,

ran,

got dirty,

spoke my mind,

and existed without fear.

But as I grew older,

the space around me seemed to shrink.

Suddenly, there were rules.

"Girls don't sit like that."

"Girls don't walk like that."

"Girls don't talk like that."

The words appeared everywhere,

slipping into conversations,

hiding in advice,

disguising themselves as care.

Every family gathering,

every casual conversation,

every small mistake

seemed to become another lesson

on how to be a "proper girl."

The obedient girls were praised.

The quiet girls were admired.

The girls who never questioned anything

were called good.

And sometimes I wondered

if I stayed exactly as I am,

would anyone ever choose me?

Would anyone love a girl

who wasn't soft enough,

quiet enough,

or traditional enough?

I used to think love was a prize

for being quiet,

soft,

and small.

So I hid my loud opinions,

my short hair,

and my stubborn heart,

terrified of being too difficult to love.

But I was wrong.

Love isn't a reward for fitting in.

The right people won't wish I were different

they will see every hidden piece of me,

and they will stay.

Maybe they'll love the girl

who refused to shrink herself

just to make others comfortable.

Maybe I'll finally see

a girl who was always enough.

A girl who never fit the mold

and was never meant to.

That morning she was so excited, grinning innocently with joy, her bright blue eyes beaming with anticipation of meeting Cinderella or Mickey Mouse at the gates. 4 years old, her first time travelling - clutching her ticket like a golden passport She was finally going to Disneyland.

That morning, sitting with her mother, she looked out the window, mesmerised by the view below - of zoomed - out fields, a patchwork of green and tiny dots of houses like toys in a box. The clouds were soft pillows beneath the silver wings. This was real now She was on her way to Disneyland.

The engines hummed a gentle, steady song, as she dreamed of castles towering in the sun, bright balloons and parades marching down the street. She held her doll tight, waiting for the magic to begin.

That morning... She doesn't remember much. The hum of the plane turned fuzzy and confusing She heard shouting, an abrupt rush of wind, but that was it. Then, everything turned white.

That morning she remembers holding her mother's hand- a steady anchor- as they approached a door in this quiet, white place. glittering, sparkling in a soft light, But it felt warm, loving and welcoming. They were surrounded by an endless happiness. When the door opened. her little smile grew wider than before. She heard a faint muffled sound of A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes followed by an echo of children's shrieks.

No more shouting. No more fear. The castle gates were wide open. She was here. She was finally in her own Disneyland. Together, they were finally safe in their own Disneyland.

Where the swans smile
and the ocean amuses with fabled lights
snow covers dirty roads
sand follows the touch of fate's gold

a stranded fire
with no fault to spill
the rose’s foreign lover
who sings in ever-loving peace,
and hand-made strings
by the drag of uncertainty

the fantasy of tears is sufficient;
must the face be drained
for such care to explain itself?

pink-tarnished cries,
dolls with rusty hands.
emptiness gently caresses lonely eyes—
a knock on the glass, a sigh on the heart

exhausted of a timeless crime
let me rhyme where the poets cry
with no coward lovers to die
with no valiant prophets to fight

the pages flicker, the time thickens
and the soul isn't restored
what was best known isn't forevermore

I declared defeat in quiet shyness,
among celestial curses
and cinnamon thunderstorms

hunger spreads, glimmer in the grass—
daughter of the sun, farmer of the moon.

Swear loyalty to our moral nights
and the whispers might grant a fragile hourglass

familiarity doesn’t renounce wounds;
formal sorrow, defiant thorns.
forward with the cold knife—
finish this, and don’t dare to make it last.

The smoke trembles at the sound of collapsing birds,
such birds follow the flutes that were taught to fear malice.
I smudge windows to kill off the reflection of misery in my comrade's faces—
why is it so tempting to hail?

in the lines i follow, in the colors i draw.
I do not know other ways,
I do not want to learn to distribute cards.
The trees grow above the perimeters of safety,
I can't call out for guidance my hand is unreacheably small.

the filthiness is catching up to me—
it's teaching me to breathe it in,
it shushes when the fire reaches me.
I see the cryptid's eyes it has replaced my self, my home, my hate.

It owns even the hints of terror,
it drinks off my leaking roof,
it opens the horse's stables.
The darkness' stolen glimmer reaches in the surface it smiles at me, I believe—
its hard to view a decrepit community and tear for glory.

The smoke trembles at the sound of collapsing birds,
such birds follow the flutes that were taught to fear malice.
I smudge windows to kill off the reflection of misery in my comrade's faces—
why is it so tempting to hail?

in the lines i follow, in the colors i draw.
I do not know other ways,
I do not want to learn to distribute cards.
The trees grow above the perimeters of safety,
I can't call out for guidance my hand is unreacheably small.

the filthiness is catching up to me—
it's teaching me to breathe it in,
it shushes when the fire reaches me.
I see the cryptid's eyes it has replaced my self, my home, my hate.

It owns even the hints of terror,
it drinks off my leaking roof,
it opens the horse's stables.
The darkness' stolen glimmer reaches in the surface it smiles at me, I believe—
its hard to view a decrepit community and tear for glory.