Biography of Brenda Arroyo
When I write, I clear my mind...
I do and say everything that I was afraid to accept while awake, in my Conscious self, surrounded by the world around me...
I guess my explaination of it doesn't make sense on account of, when I write, I am awake, in my Conscious self, and surrounded by the world around me...
But most of what I know and what I am doesn't make sense either...
That's what's beautiful about it all, I suppose...
I discover things as I go... even if explainations are down to a minimum...
I am a human that's being...
What more can I say?
Alot I guess.
But I'm just one of those people that has to be known through people to people interaction...
I will say this:
I like to smile... It's a lovely feeling.
Myspace me at:
Brenda Arroyo's Works:
I've had my poetry published numerous times but no books yet...
The farthest I've gone with books was for nanowrimo.
But given time- I'll have books out there.
Just wait and see.
Brenda Arroyo Poems
Love Like Stone
Love never came to me that night, As I sat there, starring at the statue of Eros, Waiting for a spark.
I’m crippled by the stars that glisten outside the night sky. -Beautiful. Burning me with their silver essence.
Something To Remember
Everything was soft that day... Like the color of grace or The scent of mercy. The air, the sun, and the wind were all soft.
A Seeming Less Heart
I hear my thoughts scurry fast across the horizon... I see how the sun rises but I can not retrace my mind. For now, it seems that I have no words (not righteously, at least) . Not even the least.
Tranquil nights find closure beneath chaotic stars, And forever finds a way to seep into our dreams. Today I say:
Sometime In May,
Mercy falls like morning dew on newborn rose buds, Not really falling at all… Just forming. Appearing as liquid dust,
I Am Not A Bird;
Five or six life-times ago, my name was cursed to infamy. You see, Morning had come when I had not yet finished stitching my dreams into the night. And so, I have slept in a cold daze ever since.
For as long as centuries can measure in my lungs, I have breathed in the ages of this place… Every single season that has passed, every cloud that has breezed by, every star that has shone out, I’ve held it all in.
Days seem to come and go, fading into my skin… Disappearing, yet never really leaving. Time lingers here, weighing down on my breaths.
We'Re Still In March
The sun rises bright And the air growls an icy breeze, It’s just the way March does its talking…
Silence is the thought that screams beneath my skin. It is my loudest prayer, The only thing I’m good at…
The Stone Beneath My Skin Melts,
A soft moon dangles above our heads, Talcum powder moon dust mingles in our hair... My eyes are aboard the sea of yours and I fail to notice all but you.
On My Way Out
Sometimes the moon shatters across a glossy horizon... I stumble aimlessly and fall aimlessly... Losing my sanity, baring my nude flesh to society, exposing my skin for all to see. But none can see at all...
Tomorrow Dried In The Hopes Of Reaching ...
The silver glow of a lazy moon floats and infects the aura of a late, starry, night. I wander off into the desert in search of you [again]. The wind howls her discomfort but I don’t stop. I never did, I wouldn’t now.
Something To Remember
Everything was soft that day...
Like the color of grace or
The scent of mercy.
The air, the sun, and the wind were all soft.
So soft, that summer’s heat melted into my hair as I tried not to be.
And as I roamed about all those empty faces,
I could not help but to not think at all...
For I was empty too.