Weakening Strength

I’m weak and tired,
shaky and damaged.
Why does strength make me
weak?
Why every time I stand strong
do I shake and inside,
turn meek?
Strength rips off my flesh
and tears my insides
so the timid, helpless child
can no longer hide—
No longer hide
the tears, the screams
the slashing, the gashing,
the moaning the pain,
the ashes, the crashes,
the rain, no gain.
Strength grabs me, it stabs me
and sets me afire;
it slaps me, it snaps me,
running me down
to the mud and the mire.
I walk proudly
as strength kills me from the
inside out.
I scream and shout
but my pain reaches not one ear
while I fall and shake,
cry and break;
yelling for something to save
me,
for strength to stop raping me
and killing me
with every breath I take.

Wishes To Late

I wish that you could hold me in your arms.  
Hold me close to you where I can escape from the pain.
I wish that you could comfort me and make me feel at ease.  
I wish that you were here now.  You did this to me.  
Why won’t you fix it? I wish you would fix it.  
I wish you would mend my broken heart.  
Just put the pieces back together.  
I wish I knew what you’re thinking. How you’re feeling.  
I wish you were here to talk to me.  To give me advice and listen.
I wish I could pour my heart out to you. I wish I could cry on you shoulder and not have to fight the tears back.
Knowing that you won’t attempt to dry them at all.
That you would let them all slip from my soul until I drowned.
I wish that you could make me stop crying or at least try.
I wish you never made me cry in the first place.  
I wish that I could feel your heart beating.
Your head resting on mine. Your arms tightly holding onto me as if you never want me to leave.
I wish I could have that feeling back one more time.  
Just one more time with you to show you how I feel.
To have that feeling that words can’t even come close to describing.
I think I love you but it is too late.  
You’re gone and now I want you more than ever.  
I wish you were mine to hold.  I wish that you knew.

Mexico: Capirotada

Recipes for capirotada — a bread pudding served on Good Friday — vary across the country, but it's usually made from:

• Bread similar to a baguette (bolillo), which has been soaked in mulled syrup made from sugar, cinnamon sticks, and cloves.
• Nuts, dried fruit, and sprinkles are common toppings.

Capirotada is meant to signify the crucifixion: the cinnamon sticks represent the cross, the cloves represent the nails, and the bread represents Christ's Body.

Concreção 9202 - Luis Sacilotto

My Own Broken Mirror

It’s my perfect distortion
My face mirrored, and split by emotion
Toyed with and tainted as I move
From one to another, I fit to the grooves

Of the loose ends of sharpness that gather to unite
To be perfectly fitted
And renewed to the mirrored spite
Unnoticeably broken
But brittle and rough
Stand from afar, and admire the muffs

Help with the pane
Move to uncertainty
Lure the cheery light
And cure my fearful fright.

It’s my perfect distortion
That I recognize so well
But help me see
What the others see but tell.
Are the pieces lost?
Slipped through the cracks?
Fallen through to the dangerous high acts?
I’ll never know of my pieces that are missing.
Mold the old to fit the space
Kiss the glass, even of bad taste

Forever, but never made
To be new
Just molded and distorted
To create a familiar you

Of mirrored light, broken,
But Forever Bright.
Please stay with the brittle pane
Until the sun goes down
And pain fades
And new lights of distorted beauty
Reign again

Join us from 6 to 8pm tomorrow, November 6, for the opening of Richard Prince's exhibition "Folk Songs” at Gagosian, 555 West 24th Street, New York! The presentation features never-before-seen recent work by the artist: https://t.co/uSQaf9cKmx https://t.co/ZrJ76270I3

🎨✨ The beauty of art lies in its power to express emotions that words often can't capture. Every stroke, color, and texture tells a unique story. Let's celebrate the creativity that brings us together and inspires us to see the world through different eyes! #ArtInspiration #CreativityUnleashed

After the Storm

It was a warm fall night,

And scattered around the ground were leaves,

As the wind blew the empty tree's gently in the breeze.

Whispers could be heard as wolves were howling steadily.

The moon was bright, the shadows were mysterious.

The laughter's slowly diminished as the fog rolled in.

The land grew dark, the shadows not as sharp,

But the waves kept moving peacefully -in and out.-

The tide was high, the moon was full but slightly hidden in this merely fog that had moved on shore.

Clouds slowly part as the stars can be seen, lighting the colours of the forest.

As our boat entered the harbour's lights, we knew we were finally home; safe and sound!

Our journey has come to an end on this warm fall night, so we thought...