Tired hands

Refill these hands

That worked hard and bled today

To add beauty and respect

To old clothes.

Hands not smooth and not shy

That travel quick through the stitches

And join the borders of a hot Sunday.

Give them water, a shake, and a rest

In your lap

Until fresh again.

Personal seat

Gracious with your thin arms,
You search your reserved seat
in this world
That makes preferences and fights
personal enemies.
Your request is legit
But the effort is unusual to your muscles
And only time can guarantee you
A fit.

On a Friday

Flattened like a pancake,
My brain is resting
After an intense week of experimental living.
The free findings
Opened new arguments
While the story is written in chapters.

Next

Unbelievable sky
That changes with my life,
Where will you take me next?
My feet are tired, my soul still insatiable
Of moments full of questions
And instants with the legs up.

Angry day

I am tired today
Of smiling at your jokes
And say everything is fine.
Don’t ask me to listen
When all I want is looking at birds.
Stop pretending your topic is trending
Because nobody follows you.
Give me my space
I earned it with hard work
And a juicy competitive curriculum.