I look for answers but only find questions.

I look for gratitude in self,

But sometimes find ignorant expressions.

It’s so sickening to me,

Of the possibility of who I could be.

I peacefully fight for positivity.

This devilish divide in me,

Multiplies my pinnacle plea.

What an excruciating place to be.

And I know I’m not the only me.

Ten mattresses down I feel the pea,

Even all the way to 6 feet beneath the trees.

Death is wet.

Life is fire.

I grow young and tire.

I regress yet still aspire.

I feel old and lose desire.

I melt and cease to inspire.

But then the cardinal directions and sacred seasons,

Dance around my faulty logic and reasons.

Decade by decade,

Century by century,

Millennium by millennium.

What a mess I am in.

What a masterpiece I must pin,

To a board when I’m most bored.

Can I just cut off my ear and be queer to these damning thoughts I hear?

Or can I fake it until I paint it?

Sell it until I make it to heaven’s forsaken consummation?

The ultimate concentration of the holy mind’s consecration.

It’s so overly obvious, it’s ballistically blatant.

I just hope I can have that prestigious patience,

While I wait for myself to finally make it.

Oh wait, I already did that with today’s cosmic cadence.

-Christopher Andrés Núñez


I see faces and they’re laced with pain.
I see faces in the sacred and profane.

I see faces in the face of me.
All of the the beautiful faces are facing me.

I can breathe with the thoughts that I have faithfully.
Supported by the rest of me that I’m faced to be.

Hope in destiny with a creative plea.
Everything is a lesson from Blessings University.

We have the ability to feel the universe universally.
Understanding human empathy both physically and mentally.

Rest in peace to the old ways to be.
Because we are of an unseen masterpiece.


Synesthetic Aesthetic

When I taste the color blue,
I feel more like I do.
When I hear the color green,
I think more like me.
But when I smell the color purple
I become the dream I want to be.


Paradigm Shift

Pieces of painful pixels fly by with a swipe,
Fluttering in the eyes by flashes of light.
Helpless like the ones damaged by greedy wealth,
We are drowning in a well of self inflicted hell.

Where is our hope?
When is the heaven?
What makes the difference?
And who can save our children?

Is it conservative Christians?
Is it green washing corporations?
Is it the fake-to-speak politicians?
Or is it the common men and women?

I don’t have the answers,
But I certainly have the questions.
There are complicated solutions,
To the problems of all nations.

Time is the essence,
And the hard-to-learn lessons.
Universal missions,
Are like rotting flesh of chickens.

Are there a right amount of emotions,
Stirred up and cooked up like potions,
To make change effective,
For the whole of the human conscious collective?

I taste what I see.
I smell how we bleed.
I cry on a seed.
And we dive into the despairing seas.

War torn screams and the damaged pleas,
Ring like church bells from a Medieval scene.
Dreams to me are like seeing the unseen.
It’s a part of the story that has no category.

It can’t be organized,
Until the wise realize,
It’s time for all of us to die,
To the old way of life…

-Christopher Andrés Núñez

There’s a First for a Everything

Sleepy and worn,
Tired, tattered, and scorned,
Half the world watches,
As it all lights up and burns.

Some sit here and feel bad for the white,
When we need the black just as much as the days with the nights.

What’s wrong to read,
Are the opinions that bleed,
All over our phones and TV screens.
Comprehend for yourself,
Reach out past the bonds of self wealth,
And look past your bounds of self help.

Sure war is brutal and bad,
But it’s all we’ve known and had,
Sense the ability to seek back,
To do something a little more profound than the last.

-Christopher Andrés Núñez


Humanity sleeps as only some of us weep.
The collective sees all the hurt and the need.
Like a weed we pluck out what doesn’t work.
Our biophillic desires will never rot like old tires.
I do not tire of the new intellectual spires,
Of glory masts and incomplete pasts.
Excavating and waiting for the dirty truth.
But with every cycle of the moon,
We draw closer to doom.

Cracked glass in my teeth.
Bitter sweet garbage taste in the streets.
There is a symbiotic drive to survive.
Strangled by the very vines that keep us alive.
If nature is sacred and humans are profane,
We own a one way ticket on a backwards train.
Urban crumbling blocks of thought.
The war front battle is always fought.
There is death, sadness, and the primal urge.
When will people and peace finally converge?

-Christopher Andrés Núñez

A Hint of Pink

I saw the most gorgeous sunrise today

It immediately eviscerated my pain

It some how brought me hope

It kinda made me cry

Tears filled my eyes

As they synchronized with the colors in the sky

Serendipitous symbiosis

An embellished celebration

A deep knowing yet unfelt

Leads to the next greatest creation generation



When we soar high, we fly by luscious light.
Graced by an angel with iterations unfathomably bright.
Brilliance so effervescent, the darkest oceans would glow with bioluminescence.
What is happiness but a platform to converse?
A want to be needed, from day of birth to day of hearse.
Is it the way we whittle away pain with love and a name?
Is it the way our mother dabs our shirt to pull a stain?
Crescent moons don’t mean anything unless the sun shines too.
Imagining intangible touch is seeing where the canvas smudged the brush.
From one genetic sequence puzzle to another:
You are my family, sisters and brothers.
I am dirty earth.
And you are the cleansing water.
They are the flames we pray.
And we are the winds of colors.
Our ancestors of stars brought us this far.
A mighty vibration of frequency flashed before the eyes of god, the universe.
Blink once and it all began.
Blink twice and we are back to our holy land.
But blink three times, and know that you can.
You can be that shine.
You can be that strong.
You can be the one love.
And you can be enough.
You can do that thing.
You can be that feeling.
You can be the change.
And you can be what is needed.


I’m disappointed by pizza sometimes, because it doesn’t always get the job done.

The thing about beer is that it can’t go back in the bottle.

Cold mornings are for cold hearts, as they give space for chilling thoughts.

I’m usually warmed up by fires but I get too close and burn myself.

I like most foods like an Australian likes didgeridoos.

Nothing one does or leaves behind on this planet matters any more or less than anything else.

What matters is how one feels about oneself, because that will never go away.

We sit here on tides of good hopes, searching for a sunset that may never dip below the horizon.

We feel an immeasurable amount of emotional pain in mere seconds, and that’s something worth celebrating.

Just like the love of a friend; one who sees the infinite beauty in a mere tap of a key or stroke of a pen.