In times where I was doing great
There will always be insecurities sinking in;
Shades and tones of blue cover my windows,
Layers of sunlight becoming thin.
If I had an eraser for everything,
I gather up enough confidence to mess it all up again;
When I had an extra paper to correct typos,
I empty all the ink from my pen.
No wonder every artist hated their jobs,
They had millions of eyes staring at their errors;
That feeling where there were no curtains to cover them,
And everyone you trusted became traitors.
Perfection was no longer an adjective
but people, and I know I'm not one of them;
Everybody walked too fast and slept too deep,
No one knew my intentions, just my name.
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Poems From Puerto Verde
PoetryDuring this pandemic, we find more time removing each layer of our identity. The deeper we look out our windows, more stars appear. Our hair grows longer and longer. Everyday is spent like a time loop. As Milan Kundera says in "The Unbearable Lightn...
