Yo soy pro gay camiseta

Poetry in Spanish. La dama y el vagabundo Blahnik bajando el Cayenne, balayage a media espalda. Vienes, pasas por delante llevas tu gloss escarlata. Soy un objeto, un servicio, todo terracota, escarcha. Oh mar, tenerte no puedo. Poetry in English. A World of Opportunities. I heard a song that was mournful and warm Sculpting from ivory things that are lost, Soft as the liver-spotted hand I hold.

Crumbly pearls, thin lips rouged rusty Underwater, bacteria eat the steel but leave the grand chandelier How cruel. You love the ocean You love her despite her caprices. It confuses me sometimes. But on a calm day. He, who dreams of being a Lawyer So he can lead change for the better From afar, in downtown Niger Doubts that his voice does truly matter.

She, with a baby in her tummy, Bearing at 12, as she was married, Wonders how to fly away from reality And have her own life back before giving it.

He, who goes around with a secret Feeling different, disregarded, desperate Afraid that being illiterate Forever makes him less of an asset. She, the only girl of her village Allowed in school, for her courage Fights great battles at her young age Wishing to break free from her cage.

He, young boy whose heart is wild, Taught to keep emotions inside Feelings and fears: he learned to hide For a Man must exhibit strength and pride. Six little beings and a muted scream Their young souls lifted by a dream: Escaping from the well-known shore Discovering a new world to explore.

I have nothing to say but absolve myself from blame I stand still while the hail splashes the water. The lively din of the sooty city Crawling with deadly rodents and vagrants, Here we come upon a sleepy pond Beside the lake where you sank to your grave. You come to me at night.

A ghost? A dream? You were my wife when we made promises … But what purpose is served by marriage? Do you even know who gave you that child? Were you paid well for the effort of sex? You stole from me the esteem I deserved Now, my regret is marrying you. Did you die from your own harsh violence?

You, disappearing for weeks, withering You panted, you sank, you trembled, you expired. Violently gasping for some fleeting air, Only after the struggle did the pond lay still. Short Story in Spanish. Noche de sombras.