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“Sister: What I Never Said (An Ode to Absence)”

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Sister Dear Sister, Since we were kids, you said you protected me. I never really understood why — not until recently. You loved me more than our younger brother. Those were your words, spoken when we were older. I remember almost nothing from childhood. Just blurry snapshots in my mind. The memories I have of you are scattered and faint. I do remember people saying, “Your sister is brilliant, the best in her class.” And you were. From the moment I became aware of the world, I lived with that shadow. “Be more like her,” they said. That part stuck. We grew up, and you left. You flew fast. You always knew Santiago wasn’t for you. After that, silence. Until I followed your path and started flying too. That’s when we reconnected. You welcomed me. You guided me. I know you did more than I’ll ever know. You gave up things that were yours — and things that weren’t. I was unaware. I lived inside my own head, chasing a career, trying to find meaning. I didn’t see the sacrifice...
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Love

Love It’s as worn out as old bed sheets. No color left. Once meant to cover the bed, now only to hide it. Out of shame. Out of neglect. And out of pain. Your heart dies away. And when you think, you cry. They’ve taken everything. Even your dignity. But like an old dog, you refuse to be patted. Out of pity. You don’t want sad looks. You just want peace. To be there with your few hairs and wrinkled face. In a static position. Or in motion. But your motion. You’re tired of being told what to do or not do. Wrapped in a blanket of empathy and help. If you want things to change, start by changing yourself. You think. While lifting weights and looking in the mirror. Your eyes don’t lie. You’re 42 now, and in your glory days you never went unnoticed. But now, what’s happening? With all the exercise and healthy eating, cortisol won the battle. And your belly looks up and laughs in your face. You shower and lie down. On that bed that’s clean. And empty. So clean from ...
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Ropa de Cama Vieja

El amor Está tan raído como la ropa de cama vieja. Ya sin color. Que de cubrir la cama pasó a ocultarla. Por pena. Por desidia. Y por dolor. Tu corazón se marchita. Y cuando piensas, lloras. Te han quitado todo. Incluso hasta la dignidad. Pero como un perro viejo, te rehúsas a que te pasen la mano. Con lástima. No quieres miradas tristes. Solo quieres paz. Estar ahí con tus pocos pelos y tu cara arrugada. En una posición estática. O en movimiento. Pero tu movimiento. Ya te cansaste de que te digan qué hacer o qué no hacer. Bajo la manta de empatía y ayuda. Si quieres las cosas diferentes, empieza por cambiarte a ti mismo. Piensas. Mientras levantas pesas y te miras al espejo. Tus ojos no te engañan. Ya tienes 42, y en tus días de gloria no pasabas desapercibido. Pero ahora, ¿qué pasa? Con tanto ejercicio y dieta sana, el cortisol te ganó la batalla. Y tu barriga mira hacia arriba y se ríe en tu cara. Te bañas y te acuestas. En esa cama que está limpia. Y vac...
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“The Lens”

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A living masterpiece, captured in stillness. The Lens A Portrait of Surrender I look at you through the lens. The topography of your face slices through my eyes. Your skin glows across every millimeter of your form. Each feature of your face drives something within me. Like an avalanche without brakes, my emotions rush over your valleys. The mind won’t stop imagining what the heart feels. I draw you closer, then pull you back to see every detail—you never disappoint. The quality of your camera does you no justice. Your deep tones, your highlights and shadows only make the act of looking more addictive. Some might call this positive stalking , I call it Art. Writing about lips is cliché, sensual, daring. Writing about bodies is vulgar, some would say. Writing about Art is commanding, when what you call art is something alive, something that will change, that will age, and one day, only verses will remember. To see you through a camera I don’t own, d...
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"Two Photos"

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Two faces, a visual melody that stirs the soul. Two Photos When a picture says more than words, when two photos shake your world. You look at them, and with each breath, you retrace your life, and a storm takes over your thoughts. The colors of your soul echo in every shade of gray. And you ask yourself: How can so much beauty fit into one face? You feel it, you just know it, You move me. And it’s real—nothing forced. Even in black and white, you somehow bring color to everything. Two photos , a melody that feels written for you, for this moment, for your story. You are the life that flows through the veins of anyone fortunate enough to contemplate your beauty. Félix M. Pérez Cuza 05/16/2025
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Moon Woman

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Moon Woman Dedicated to all women who have survived breast cancer. Especially my sister and aunt. To speak gently Of what I feel, Of what I see—your imperfection— And to know how deeply it weighs on you. We pretend, With smiles that say everything is fine. And you are beautiful, Just as you are. You are powerful. You are all those Who were left behind, Fighting for breath, Losing pieces of soul In the battle. Woman, you are vast. You have endured storms, And still, you rise. You persist. In the end, life Is nothing but dying slowly, And of that, You know more than most. Go on, show your scars. Yes, you are beautiful. What’s missing Speaks only of your Strength. Fight. Breathe. And find joy— The quiet joy of knowing That in your brokenness, God is glorified. Felix M. Perez Cuza Florida 05/2025
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Oración.

✨ Oración    Por Felix Perez Cuza – Florida, 22 de julio de 2025 A man kneeling in light, by Felix Perez Cuza 🛏️ La soledad    La soledad. De estar en una cama. No solo. En una casa. Rodeado de nada. Inspirado por la presión en tu pecho. El saber que las esperanzas no son más que productos con espinas, de las palabras huecas. De otro ser. Que en su soledad. Te pide a gritos. Que no le abandones. 🙏 La fe en medio del vacío    La soledad. Que en Fe sabes. Y te repites. A veces dudando de tu cordura. Que no estás solo. Sabes. Que Dios. Siempre está contigo. Y aun así. Te cuesta admitir. Que te sientes solo incluso en su presencia. El hecho de no poder ver Sú sombra. Te hace dudar. Hasta de tu cordura. 💭 Ansiedad y pensamientos oscuros    Soledad que te escribes en la ansiedad. En el abuso de un pensamiento mierdero. Donde te es imposible no pensar en desgracias. Y con desespero pedirle a ese Dios que no ves. Que te devuelva lo malo, que te hacía s...
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