The Star and the Wanderer

Star and Wanderer,

Two strangers in paradise.

Faithful sketch of us.

A star brilliantly shining,

And a Wanderer in pursuit of fate.


We both from different world,

Our path could never meet.

You are the star that everyone adores.

And I'm just the wanderer,

Existence that you won't even realize.


The first time I saw your smile,

I fell and my heart tumbled.

An angelic face that can melt down a thousand hearts.

The charming voice that feels like lullaby.

A star beyond compare.


Everytime we meet in my castle in the sky,

It feels real and right.

But as I wake up,

I know it's too good to be true.

My pie in the sky can never be turned into reality.


There are a lot of theories about stars.

People say a star form as the cloud collapses.

And all stars are results of a balance of forces.

But the most basic way is simply look at it,

Even with just the naked eye it is possible.


I found my star the day I met you,

But never have the courage and chance.

I hope one day beyond shadow of doubt the clouds will open.

And the world we live in find its balance.

Then I can finally meet my star.

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Angel Mist

Venus and Earth,

Too far, yet so different.

Like night and day,

So impossible to entwined.


We are both strangers,

Not even know and like you.

But now I'm just like a magnet,

Can't stop being drawn to you.


So cold and arrogant.

But as I look in your eyes,

So delicate and warmth.

The eyes that can never lie.


Crystal, beautiful like the moon in the sky,

Surrounded by shining night stars.

Unknowingly the existence of a day star,

Hiding in the comfort of a wall in clouds.


Just like Jack Frost,

Always waiting to witness the beauty of the moon.

That can never be nourish,

But can only be perceive.


You are the dream,

That can only be imagine.

I am the dreamer,

That lives in reality.


Just stay blest and divine.

The label that they call you,

It's just a byname, its not who you are.

Don't be hurt and SMILE. 

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Partners in the Night

My Everything

I watch you sleeping. So silent, so still, so perfect. An incredible sight to behold. My eyes fill in marvel; driving the longing for your speckled blues that dance in life with mine. Until morning breaks I'll cherish you. With the ever so quiet night as my partner in our secret adoration.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The hum of night surrounds us. As if time siezes and everything is struck by your beauty.

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If You Were My Everything

If you were a song, you would be the most harmonious.

If you were a flower, you would be a field of roses.

If you were an ocean, I would be a fisherman.

If you were a rock, you would be a gem.

If you were a memory, you would be unforgettable.

If you were a bird, you could soar to heights not seen.

If you were the night, I would be the dawn

If you were a flame, you would be eternal.

If you were a shoe, it would only be fit for a King.

If you were a breath, you would be the wind.

If you were a cloth, I would sow you to my heart.

If you were a gift, I could never stop praising the Sender.

And, if you were mine, I would love you forever.


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Written almost a year after I looked into your eyes for the first time

I don't remember what I saw

I don't remember the first time we spoke

Most would say that the moment a foundation is set

(because you only meet a person for the first time once)

you're supposed to remember


But I'm going to take a turn for opposites and choose tails instead of heads.


The little things matter.


Here's what I do remember:


The first time I confessed to you 

something about me because you had just done the same.

201 closing shift, I think it may have rained.


The first time you told me you didn't succumb to networking norms because it has no purpose.

Disappointment, yes.

Reminder of what friendships used to be before requests, much more yes.


Our lingering moments in the shelves,

digressions of the nonsensical shards of pain life had rained on us.


Notice how it always seems to rain.

That's how we'll know we're okay.

Our beings survive every time.


The first time we talked about going in

Man. Women.

Not a moment too soon, no hesitation.

We knew.


Every time I made you laugh,

the first time I snorted,

the way Big Brother must have seen us in the shelves

and thought our brains were distorted.


Little do they know...


But we're more sane than any living part of nature

Our senses are accute

Our eyes on radar

Our hearts, deeply wounded

Covered in patches that need occasional changing

Because people like us see the world for what it really is


A mission.


Gather your followers.

Get rid of the strays.

Keep the few and live.



You're still here.



The first time we told our stories.

The way you listened and I knew you knew because even when I didn't know you, I knew you, but now not yet then.




We rediscovered the beauty of speech.

I say I admire because in my mind you conspire with my emotions.

The voice of honesty.

The voice of reason.

Daily prescriptions.

Personal stash of self-help books

free of charge.


A bond is what is sent to you when you've overcome your battles

But the battle never ends because you live it in your head

So, before we know what's happening,

before we can understand,

we're assigned to each other

Glued, unremovable, roots to a tree

Before you can even stop and question

You have yourself another chance


But if I'm being honest,

I didn't see then what I see today.

A year ago I didn't know what I was trying to get to

A year ago I didn't realize how much more healing my deeply burdened soul needed

A year ago I was questioning every possibility

from here to world's end


I admire because you're unreachable to many,

but you let me grab on.


A year ago you let me stay

And I've never felt more okay.



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Hey, Jane


Hey, Jane, you taught we never need a cross

To get to heaven or to go across

We sing Taylor's old country tunes

Yet you also like '22'


Oh, Jane, I like the fact that you don't judge

Even though I've gone way too far and much

But what I like about you the most is

How you make a smile with your tender lips


I remember that post-test walk

A lot of things went to our  talk

About that boy's common game

Know that his name rhymes with shame


I like the fact that you like green

You tell the things that you will feel

I hope you won't love that cheat

'Cause when girls cry, he does feast

Author's Notes/Comments: 

"HEY, JANE" is a poem dedicated for my friend in college.

Grace, she resides...

I'll love you like you're broken,
there's a grace in all your faults.
I have the knowledge and the fingers,
to trip the locks on all your vaults.

There is beauty in your sadness,
I'll bend the pieces til they fit.
Carve my wooden heart outside me,
into a throne for you to sit.

Traverse the distance of your smile lines,
curve my finger to your chin.
Because there is no sweeter season,
than the autumn of your grin.

So if you'll love me while I'm broken,
we'll take the parts and make brand new.
In this world of black and white,
we could be the vibrant hue.

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The wise wooden bookshelf

I remember how enthusiastic he gets whenever he wants to read a book, and how his eyes open wide whenever he sees such the simple rectangular shape of the book. If I were his sense of smell, I would swear that I would like the smell of old books. If I were his sense of sight, I would affirm that I would like any shadow of any book projected on the table. He tells me with a smile on his face that he has loved books and knowledge since he was a kid. He studied and read on the roof of his house every afternoon until a faint ray of light announced the arrival of the moon and nighttime. He doesn’t like to throw out his books. Instead he keeps them on the bookshelf in order to have them protected like a pearl inside its shell. Whenever he wants to read something, he goes directly to the bookshelf, and because he knows how the books are put in order he doesn’t spend a lot of time searching. I observe his behavior when he’s near the presence of the books, and he seems to be happy in the moment he opens them. Hundreds of small letters written on white paper and elaborated drawings every second page he understands and knows as if they were very old friends. He orders his books according to their size and thickness, but he never orders them according to the color of the cover. At home and in his office, not only are his bookshelfs always full of papers, documents and books, but he also keeps CD’s there of his favorite music. He loves to show me everything he has there, as if to explain to me that if someday I want to see something about his life, I can find almost everything there I want to know. I remember him reading books in front of his bookshelf for hours, and it seemed that his only moments of distraction were when he stood up from his chair to find another book on the bookshelf. He takes care of it as if it was trunk filled with treasures, so he tries to check that every book is placed there, cleaned and organized. My father also takes care of it as if it was a time machine that transports him to the past of what he has read and that will transport him to the future of what he will learn. This wooden shell of a bookshelf will show us my father’s memories and pieces of his whole life written on paper. My father loves books.