Untitled 

This a collaboration with the artists and writer @Masproblemas. This is one of his illustrations. 
You see heart breaks, I just see new material to write about.

I will immortalize you with my words even if you don’t deserve it.

@Masproblemas

Is that your new hobby to break damn good hearts and then going around shallowing your pride?
Mark the lines of this poem with
another piece of your phosphorescent lies
I’ll make sure you regret it
I’ll make sure you won’t survive
I’ll show you what a real woman is like
making you full
reminding you where you came from,
the same tunnel you are running away from.

F.P. @Mujerconvozpoetry

Escape

[A second collaboration with a teacher and writer @unclewalts]

I want to follow the stars
with her until we have been
to places unknown and
tasted foods and fresh air
in every clime, until time
seems to stand still and
we become one, together
in a strange land, until
we finally unite and bind
our souls as one.

— m r @Unclewalt2

I want to find you in the
mold of the bathroom floor
(with pastel colors and dramatic lines),
que tú braid the uncontrollable
chaotic hair of mine,
and then I can react to the
smell of your pensamiento 
– kind of in Inglés – which
is traveling from the vocals
of the siren in the autopistas 
of the world, but only coming
to salvarme a mí, rescue me.

— F.P. @Mujerconvoz_poetry

Poem X

(This poem was co-written with a talented Dominican writer)

The flames of the axes from Earth are stationed in his eyebrows.
He kisses with his feet the unconscious mind.
I’ve seem him in the foam of the wind, naked as a hurricane.
He is one, inside of millions of thoughts.
The mirror is his age without
a flesh tissue from an orgasm with an expiration date. I want to hug him…
unnamed in the tentative curves of his existence.
Him — unreachable and fleeting, without a body and a breath from the universe.
One who lives in a jail inside the abdomen of the horizon.
He would be the intense desire
until he stops being what he will never be.

— F.P. @mujerconvozpoetry

And perhaps it never will be.
But in his attempt, he has given me everything that can be given.
Torrents of stroking caress down the
backbone of the Galaxy.
Illusions of having his sight embodied
in my horizon, and let the sea foam alone embrace our bodies.
Merge into one.
And wake up in the gusting arms of the wind,
which encompasses with the rapidly beating of our beats.
While the crystal clear reflection of his eyes shows me the infinite tortuous
pleasure that lurks in the womb of desire.
He — volatile as the wind, faceless
name among millions of thoughts.
Meanwhile,he offers me the world
without being.
And maybe, it will never be.

— D.C.M.F. @dcmf3

Photo by Oliver Gonzalez-Santos