The poet loves to write about her muse . Every verse that she writes fits with the words he said to her. The artist loves to draw his muse  in silence. In the silence that they both love to have, one time or another. The journalist makes comments about him in every interview, As if she was talking with him in that moment. The architect loves to construct buildings for her. He spends day and night trying to search for something similar to her beauty but he knows there isn’t an

I always wondered, as a little girl, if the act of change was possible.   I always wondered, as time slipped by, if it was selfish to want that change to happen.   The change in me, for the change in you. I would stop and think, was it too much to ask?   I always wondered, in my teenage years, that if I changed, you would too.   Constant pleads, constant cries, no shift in your ways, no change in your pride.   Now I see, no effort was worth, the change in me, for the change i

You. Me. The knife in your hand. My endless crying. Your face saying I have to do it. I don’t understand. How could you do this? Was it a hoax all this time? I beg you, but you don’t listen nor care. Then, I hear the knife in my body. You held me like it was the first time. You cry. I screamed in a silent way. You left me there lying down. The last thing I heard was you saying sorry but it was too late—you had my blood in your hands. The people said that after you killed me,

1511, 1868, 1950, 2019. What do these years have in common? These are dates when our people got tired. Tired of the oppression, of living below people who only care about their riches, of living below people who do not respect our lands, of living below people who are corrupt. 1511- El Grito de Coayuco or the Rebellion of the Taínos 1868- El Grito de Lares 1950- The Nationalist Insurrection 2019- The Summer of ‘19 These are dates when people fought for their rights, fought fo

Maybe was the last time? If loving you was easy, why does it hurt me? I watch you leave all the time, but this time it hurts. It’s like I...

Watching that window from my bed. The night there, it’s so beautiful. I love this room. I wake up. I walk down the stairs. It’s 7:00 am....

Illustration: Mihajlovna/Getty Images/ The Guardian I dream about her,  like I’ve met her before.  Like I know how many freckles her face...

Photo courtesy of El Museo New York Arlinda, the Puerto Rican Girl, the Spanish Girl, the Spic Are you a Newyorican? Why do you speak...

The stars gaze in absolution, along the frozen hearts of apathy, through pershing traces that lie in remedy's sake, in subjugated...

Climbing high, in the breeze of the night Circling the unknown, in an endless fight, Fearful of the depths where shadows grow Beating the...

She just wanted fresh air In a night full of despair, She just wanted to be free Like the darkness of the sea, The more numbness she felt...

Playing hide and seek, under the open sky, Heart beating faster, under hidden lies With every new game, a truth unfolds Innocence lost...

I can hear the echo resonate within, The way the sound waves push back at every surface of my body, At every frequent bounce with the...

I tell the night my secrets, My eyes are wide awake And heart barely beating. I tell the night my secrets, My hands won’t stop shaking As...

In an age where affection is a death sentence and loneliness is the cure; where the embrace of a loved one will harm more than help and...

A safe space where one can find tranquility. A safe space where one can find comfort. A safe space that does not just meet its main...

Like a small bouquet that does not have any flowers; just thorns. That is how I see them. A clump of them, but that do not necessarily...