Welcome to a space of reflection

—a sacred pause—where I share the poems that have accompanied me throughout my artistic journey and spiritual awakening.

01:10
I have a forest inside me, and it walks alone.
Among its mountains, you can see rivers falling from my memories.
From the waterfalls, droplets have dried on the rocks — crystallized,
becoming an element that covers my skin.
I am my thin skin.
I am the one who sheds her skin.
I am the one who tells stories when no one is watching.
Inside me, animals dwell deep in my being.
The forest holds a density of transparent, luminous, iridescent honey.
I am each part built from the experiences I chose.
I’ve come to walk this life with my heart and my doubts in hand.
Walk with me.

02:20
Berlin, I get soaked in you.
I’ve stared at you for three years, and you’ve given me something no other city ever has: solitude.
But don’t get me wrong, my love —
this solitude that rises from my ankles to my hair is stained with you,
and you inhabit it with your big-city surprises,
city that knows itself ruined and rebuilt —
that gives you an edge, for falling and rising again is your expertise.
City that shelters me in silence,
for in silence I wander your streets,
and you keep filling me with stories.
This is my story.
The story of when I got lost in a city,
of when I thought silence could no longer pierce my ears or my heart —
There I was, facing myself in the mirror,
telling the tales of the life I was meant to live,
in this city, where I got lost
just to find myself again, in a new skin.
I changed my skin, I changed my voice.
I became what I had long expected of myself.
But first: life — for I no longer run from life,
because it always finds me.
Now, I long for life, with all its stories and all its wanderings.
Here is the tale of a constellation woman, full of life.

03:30
There’s a building in front of my building that hides me from the sun.
A building that hides a man.
There’s a man who hides from the sun.
A man in front of a building who steps out onto his balcony every night.
A man in front of my building who steps out onto his balcony every night and doesn’t see me.
There’s a rumor outside my building, about a man who sits on his balcony every night.
There’s a woman who spreads rumors about a man — she says he feels lonely.
There’s a woman who feels lonely,
a woman who tells stories about the life of a building.
There’s a rumor about a man who sits on his balcony every night.
A balcony in front of my building that blocks the sun,
a balcony strung with Christmas lights.
There’s a man who decorates his balcony with Christmas lights to hide the fact that he’s stolen my sun.
There’s a man who feels alone and tells stories about people who feel alone.
There’s a man who keeps others company when they feel alone.
There are lonely people.
There are people who want to be alone.
There are millions of excuses people tell themselves not to feel alone,
like watching a man sit on his balcony, decorated with Christmas lights, in the building across the street.
There’s a street between two buildings that holds the distance between rumors.
There are kinds of solitude best lived together.
There are kinds of solitude best told through a window,
while the wind splashes the night with silence.
Silence —
and the man doesn’t realize
there’s a woman watching him from across the street.

04:40

I have stories dwelling in my heart.
I have women dwelling in my heart who walk with me in the shadows.
From the shadows... women dwell in my heart.

And now, they appear as whispers of the night.

05:50
When I was little, I didn’t know what it meant to breathe.
I remember waking up in the hospital—
a little sore, a little annoyed.
A doctor in front of me asks me to take off my clothes.
I look at Mom. She kisses me and promises no one will hurt me.
No one hurt me.
I woke up hungry.
Mom kissed me again. We went home.
And then, after a few hours, I felt it…
For the first time…
The air running through my lungs.
After six years of life, I breathed for the first time.
I breathed for the first time.
For the first time… I breathed.
I wanted to breathe everything.
Mom warned me, “Be careful,”
that I had just had surgery
and that I had scars on the inside.
Bah! I didn’t understand that — scars on the inside.
I only knew the scars you get on the outside,
when the swing throws you hard into the sand.
But I didn’t care—
I wanted to breathe it all, the sweet scent of nothing,
nothing,
nothing.
Just the act of inhaling,
again and again,
again and again,
again and again…
Until it becomes clear that to live…
you have to breathe.
I don’t think anyone remembers that.
But I do, thanks to a malformation in my nasal passages
that had to be corrected when I was six.
But then… life happens.
And again, you forget—
and begin to understand what those scars on the inside really mean.
To breathe…
that air that suddenly invades your lungs
when you remember you miss someone,
and without warning,
it escapes as a sigh…
But to breathe for the first,
to breathe for the first time,
For the first time: to breathe.
Call it life, if you want…
I call it poetry.

06:60

Poetic encounters catch secrets.
Real ones catch concrete glances.
Poetic encounters are beggars, with their hands suspended in the air, never catching a gaze.
Real ones… long for the currency of connection.

Whispers from the night

Right in the middle of the night, a question appeared in my heart—
And us—where?
The silence was so overwhelming
that from the bare canvas of the night
my ancestors appeared,
pounding on my chest.
They asked me—
And us—where?
And us—where?
I watched in silence from above…
they marched, calm, unhurried.

The chants rotated, the flowers were shown,
there was food, offerings,
and the chants continued
as day broke.

They kept searching. I followed behind.
Alone.
Not belonging.
And they kept asking—
And us—where?
Us—where?
It was night, and then it was day, and I kept dreaming,
asking again,
And us—where?

The constellations at night dissolve,
they shed their skin,
and with them, space transforms again
into a blank space,
ready to begin anew.

I remain sheltered under an umbrella of luminous light,
waiting to be called forward
to continue the path.

Halfway Smiles

Today I stand with my heart in my hand, watching it.
Last night, a muffled cry of longing appeared in my dreams.
In doubt, I feel more honest—
in observing that heart… taking it out of my chest and looking at it with curiosity.
“Open your chest,” you used to tell me!
"Open it and discover yourself eternal!”
And to discover myself eternal…
Like when desire rises from my legs,
urging me to open wider, and wider.
Heart and desire, holding hands.
I opened my heart—
and there I saw you… barefoot.
There I saw you, barefoot, opening your chest… halfway.
And so, my smile… seeks you halfway.
I open my chest and find myself eternally in love.
Now, it is your memory that I fall in love with,
for your face has faded with the distance—
just like your embrace.

to open my chest and know myself eternal and full of desire,
to caress you with my thoughts,
to know myself vulnerable,
to know myself cheesy.
Cheesy with my chest wide open!
An open chest, and these pages get stained with cheesy cheese love
Cheese in my blood,
red blood,
blue blood.
Blood that pumps through my cheesy heart full of your name.

When the heart remembers your bed,
and my nose is disturbed by the memory,
because while I write these lines,
I’m wearing your shirt—
the one you once took off me in your bed.

Sing, cheesy! Come on, let’s go, cheesy!
Cheesy I come, cheesy I am,
I come to sing what I want today:
your hand on my chest.

The excuse of one who won’t admit they spill over with love: Cheesy.

07:70

The heart, stained with the inks of the night,
and clouds filled with your scent,
waiting for the dawn’s sun
to evaporate it into whispers.

To discover my heart in your letters.
To discover your heart in my ink.
To discover the ink in small doses,
like a medicine for melancholy.

To discover my heart in melancholy.
To discover my vulnerable heart.
And your scent has left me vulnerable.

And your scent in small doses
may not be medicinal.
And in the medicinal,
I find myself in the letters.

And in the letters, black ink falls.
And the night gets darker.
And the night always brings more memories.
And we begin again.

Dancing in secret

She remains, sitting on an island, in the middle of a cellar.

She repeats the same steps she was taught over and over, to feel barefoot and free.

Once, they secretly told her that she would have to remain barefoot all her life.

But the secret did not know that she likes to feel the earth under her feet.

Her heart dances in secret, every night, the same song, waiting for the encounter.