facts of life

I take a sip of truth and I give it to the sea 

I caress your smile from the distance. My little stars in my ears are whispering facts of life. 

Small facts of life, that I enjoy. That I get to remember years after, drinking tea, in a tea shop, surrounded by books and colors. 

I have painted my life as I wished to. 

small lines

my small lines close to my eyes show the deepness of my journey 

my small lines inhabit my face, as they would forever need do.  

my small lines have become together with my soul. Not wanting to alter, but just to become. 

Becoming in womanhood, in motherhood, in any hood that life brings forward. 

rainbow

in this world I am linked to the earth 

as I carry stones in my pockets from early 

childhood. 

the rain is witness to my sorrow as it is to my happy days. 

coming closer to the rainbow in my life. 

wild heart

 whatever I do is not enough

my house is clean, 

but not enough

my life is full 

but I feel things are missing 

My kids are happy and healthy

and this is most important 

I am cherished

I know it. 

Still my heart is wild. 

presence

although I fight against it 

my thoughts follow a pattern 

I  can't yet reverse

I try to be present in every moment

but sometimes my thoughts fly 

and I dont know how to take them back 

I dont know why they follow you in another part of the country

close to where real poetry was born 

they follow you as they don't listen to reason

I don't know why your presence is so next to my heart yet. 

Maria Magdalena

If I were to choose to be one character in the bible I would always choose one - Mary Magdalen. 

As my grandmothers name.

As I think a woman is somehow thorned in-between her 7 demons. Or sometimes 10, or even 100, depending on the time of month, life age or just genetic impersonation of melancholic whit. 

As she decided to follow a man, as most woman in that time of age did, as many woman in this time and age still decide. As she decided for her life to be in his light. For her shadows to be erased by his presence.

But nobody remembers that shadows reappear only in darkness, marked by light.

Amarillo

unslept curves of symbols and feelings 

fully covered lines, white and black 

the only colors that do not answer to any God. 

There is a color that would glance in the distance, would laugh at my curves, 

would punish the God of pastel and would make indiscreet feel normal. 

Amarillo 

that I still miss to read and write in those curves of friendship.