Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Cigarettes and Stale Beer (Camden Market) Joseph Mallord William Turner, The Garreteer's Petition, 1809 in my most comforting presence. A Sunday roast, beer I hadn’t asked for, Plans I didn’t make. within vague familiarity, I feel at ease. It shouldn’t console me. Shouldn’t be a place of solace. Shouldn’t kindle nostalgia. It should be perturbing. Should be a thing of fear. Should incite reminiscence. But it makes me want to stay— makes me comfortable with the discomfort. — A.M. Sención 02.2025 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Poems of February 2025 "I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill." -B The Boy on the Bus (31 Westbound) "He knows not / something to compare." 02.2025 Primrose Hill "Dismay— / and truly being alone." 02.2025

Welcome to Moon Prose. This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Discover Moon Prose Hi there! My name is Astrid, a 24-year-old artist, writer, and unapologetic dreamer. I was born in Miami, Florida, to Dominican parents and I was nurtured in a world of vibrant traditions, layered histories, and boundless artistic curiosity. From a young age, I’ve been captivated by the arts in all their forms and I was drawn to the transformative power of creativity, finding solace and wonder in film, music, painting, theater, fashion—each medium offering a unique lens through which to explore the infinite beauty of existence. My inspirations are as varied and profound as the human experience itself. In the grace and intricacy of Renaissance, Pre-Raphaelite, and Romantic art, where each canvas seems to pulse with life and longing. In the written word which enchants me just as much—whether in the sweeping grandeur of Wordsworth’s reflections on nature and the sublime, the soul-wrenching humanity of Dostoevsky’s narratives, or the haunting depths of Kafka’s surreal prose. Each piece I encounter adds another stitch to the fabric of my artistry. Music, however, has been my most steadfast companion . My passion here is equally diverse. While classical music—particularly from the Romantic period—holds a special place in my heart, music in general has been both my anchor and my liberation, a constant friend throughout life’s symphony. As a former concertmaster, I found a voice in the resonant strings of my violin, a voice that, even after putting my instrument down, continues to shape my creative journey with its beauty. My tastes are an eclectic dance of genres and traditions: the ardent crescendos of Romantic composers, the haunting melodies of Sephardic music, the ethereal strains of Nordic folk, the raw energy of heavy metal, the rhythmic pulse of tambores, and the nostalgic croon of doo-wop… that’s only scratching the surface. If you can name it, chances are it’s probably already in one of my Spotify playlists. For me, art—whether it’s a song, a painting, or a poem—is the ultimate unifier, a shared experience that transcends language, culture, and time. It is a phenomenon I find endlessly magical—a thread of humanity that binds us together, even in our most solitary hours. As a child, I was often told that my head was in the clouds. What once seemed a criticism has become my greatest gift. To dream, to wonder, and to wander through life with open eyes and an open heart—this, I believe, is the essence of truly living. The world is an endless source of fascination, brimming with cultures, traditions, histories, and untold stories. The more I learn, the more I find that life’s treasures are often hidden beyond the boundaries we are taught to accept. Though I once kept to myself, I have since learned the profound joy of human connection. There is immense fulfillment in lifting others up, in fostering community, and in sharing inspiration. This website is my humble endeavor to bring these passions together—a sanctuary for poetry, creativity, and friendship; to meet like-minded souls, and hopefully bring a little beauty and inspiration to others. Here, I hope you find a corner of the internet that feels like home; that it becomes a space that feels as warm and open to you as it does to me. A place where every visitor, every story, every dreamer is welcome. Perhaps my words are candid, perhaps they reveal the depth of my hopeless romanticism—but if you’ve ventured into my work, you already know that. And perhaps that is why you’re here—to share in the beauty of dreaming, together. What I Offer I specialize in creating personalized poems for any occasion. Whether you’re looking for something romantic, celebratory, reflective, or entirely unique, I’ll work with you to craft a piece that’s meaningful and tailored to your vision. Each poem is one-of-a-kind, with the style and tone customized to fit your request. Whether it’s a gift for a loved one, a tribute to a special moment, or simply an expression of your thoughts, my goal is to bring your ideas to life in words. Pricing is flexible and varies based on factors such as length, complexity, and your time frame. Once you submit your request, we’ll discuss all the details via email to ensure the final piece meets (and hopefully exceeds) your expectations. This collaborative process is one of my favorite parts of what I do—it’s a chance to bring someone else’s vision to life while adding my own touch of creativity. If you're interested in a commission, shoot me a message! Blinq

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Break of Dawn (London, February, 2025)

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Who She Is Manuel Ocaranza, La Flor Muerta, 1868 No, she’s too much, and you shouldn’t let her. She’s quite chatty— I’m not sure if I like that. And her heart Oh, that pitiful thing. Why does she love that way? Has she no mind for what she says? It’s pathetic, that kind of devotion, that form of submission, as if the stars shine brighter to her eyes. Don’t let her get too close, she’ll never let you leave. Or, alternatively, push you far enough away that you’ll forget her name and the way her smile grew when she spoke of it. Lover of life. Lover of love. She’s far too much. And it’s rather discomfiting. She calls it passion when it’s merely madness. — A.M. Sención 10.02.2023 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Cadence “…in the end, they still ask how I am.” 2024 Where The Sky Ends "In this way, / should the moon be unattainable, then you shall fall upon a star." 12.2024 At The Mercy Of Love “The only true fear that possesses me is / that of having you no longer.” 2023

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. The Burden Jean-Léon Gérôme, La Vérité sortant du puits armée de son martinet pour châtier l'humanité, 1896 To crave I’m meant to— and secretly, he wants that too. To be desired, to be needed. Though once it is in his hands, he panics. is overwhelmed, when I am the one balancing society and a home. My longing is an inconvenience, however. And all it is for is to be accepted, to feel safe to be candid, unfiltered, to fall apart and not be chary to succumb to the task. a deepened presence that makes it okay to sleep a presence that leads in trust rather than power. rather than control Because there is no softness in power, and they both yearn for tenderness— one to give and the other to receive; even this is without an owner When he steadied, she found peace, and in her peace, he found his own. Held. Seen. Cherished. Unashamed. Protected. Heard. When there were no more butterflies and he— unassumingly, humbly, unpretentiously— asked her to surrender. Not for his sake, but her own. She did. And here she simply was. He cared not for performance. Loudness— but he did for holding a space where her femininity was preserved and untouched. Inviolable. Chaste. He cares so deeply for building something with the only person it makes sense to do so with, that validation from the outside holds no significance, his essence is unyielding in the face of prejudice, and there is no hunger to reign. His ego remains intact in the absence of either. Satiated by her purity and righteousness— which he never mistakes for meekness. Here he is strong enough for the both of them. He does not flinch. is not threatened by her confidence, or her awareness of her worth. Rather than trying to challenge it, he does it all to meet the standard. Rooted by the goodness he knows lies within her, and radiates loud enough to brighten a room. Stern in resolve and bearing, all the while soft in his gaze toward her. built of discipline and fairness, a steadfast guardian and guide. Still. Clear. Himself. She knows what her body is asking of her, and under the darkness of the skies, as does he— even when words lacked. But I was told I was unlovable. I am unlovable, and in this feminine rage there is a war behind my eyes. I am unlovable, and trust is fictitious, at least when pride is involved to feed his lust for a throne. My father always prided himself on raising a Valkyrie over an angel anyway. — A.M. Sención 05.31.2025 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more The Devil's angel "Men who feel love / never lack a good heart, / so I wished my soul bound to his. " 2024 Who She Is "She calls it passion / when it’s merely madness." 10.02.2024 How Life Loves "...meant to be soft / in a world that moves me with calloused hands." 2024

"Men who feel love / never lack a good heart, / so I wished my soul bound to his." 2024 The Devil's angel Roberto Ferri, Come Veleno, 2023 Men who feel love never lack a good heart, so I wished my soul bound to his. Such tortuous longing and the fire of yearning; how, then, this did I miss? It was clear as day that the obvious way was to carry his heir in my womb. So, I nursed his wounds, torn flesh by better men, and in the water, our love there did bloom. He’s of honest hearts, but only to mine; devotion never misplaced. I traced all the scars; the beautiful art, the terrors of all that he’s faced. Honey and pine on a gleaming night, transgressions of thine untold. What question is this? From the start of time, came I from thy perfect mold. Fear not, love of mine, for I’ll give you the sky, these walls no longer barren. This shall be known; Man and Woman together reach beyond the heavens. He made me his wife, and I thought I knew bliss, to belong to a man such as he. But I bore him a son and I knew I was wrong when, in the boy’s eyes, I saw the sea. Too many reasons, go far beyond love, why I need a cruel man such as this. Men who feel love never lack a good heart, so I wished my soul bound to his. — A.M. Sención 2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more How Life Loves "...meant to be soft / in a world that moves me with calloused hands." 2024 A Poem In Disdain “My chaos. /My midnight storm.” 11.2024 Cognizance "So, behind closed doors, my mother’s doll still sits on linen." 2024

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. A Poem In Disdain John William Waterhouse, Lamia,1905 Never had I met someone just as eclectic Someone who’s pull was too strong Such a deadly storm in which the only safe for me was its eye. Never someone so strikingly, hauntingly, devastatingly beautiful. My chaos. My midnight storm. Someone whose presence alone was as electrifying as it was protective. An absolute dream of a man. The anguish in me is almost as palpable as my love for him, which resides and unapologetically grips firmly upon my heart. The heart that only, and will ever only, beat for him. The prospect of such a cruel outcome shows a sardonic smile every now and then, constricting my throat and filling my mouth with the taste of regret and trepidation. Metallic and pungent. That too seems palpable. And it’s slimy. Vile and oh simply terrifying. Absolute and all-consuming fear. All it truly takes is a graze— the passing of a hand followed by a feeling that scorches up my palm and sears my very being with desire. Such a visceral reaction to something so so innocent. Yet, my muscles go taut at the mere thought. He’s a powerful source. I cannot bear it; never seeing those moss agates again. It’s too much, making me belligerent in my own world. He, the Devil. He who owns my soul. Yet, he refuses to recognize such. For that, I cannot forgive myself. And shall spend the rest of my days offering my sacrifice. Wounded, raw, and skinned. But proudly belonging to him. Be it in his knowledge or not. Forgive me. Have this be a sin and I shall remain a sinner All I ask, is you forgive me. For I will never ever deny my need. — A.M. Sención 11.2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Who She Is "She calls it passion / when it’s merely madness." 10.02.2024 Inescapable Daydream “Nevertheless, you are mine.” 2021 Peaches “Sweeter than the peach / that blooms at the halt of rejuvenating springs,” 2021

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. The Boy on the Bus (31 Westbound) Robert Ladbrooke, Wood Scene, 1806 He knows not something to compare. His cries would be the same where he stands as they would be in years yet to unfold. And his mother’s face does not change in day or night. — A.M. Sención 02.2025 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Poems of February 2025 "I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill." -B Cigarettes and Stale Beer (Camden Market) "...it makes me want to stay—" 02.2025 Oxford Street "...the uncertainty is welcome, / the chasm in my heart, a savory pain." 02.2025

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Time Herbert James Draper, The Gates of Dawn, 1900 How to begin a concept with no beginning or end. A concept that simply is. Whether one will accept it or not is a narrative subject exclusively to customization. A man-made creation like luck or the Devil. Except this one is real—and all we have. I wish not the life of another, for the music would not sound the same, the books would not call to me, and these words would not stumble so poorly. The sky would be a bit bleaker, and the duck on the curbside would have meant to me what the sand is to the stars. So, see, I yearn not for the life of another. Not that life. The stability—or security, though not to be mistaken to go hand in hand— brought forth by that life and the decisions it’s taken; that is what is desired. So fiercely it is incapacitating, and consequently, stagnating. But do not mistake my dreadfully imperfect words; I wish not to live a life that’s not my own. ‘But it is so easy. Find your vocation!’ What to do when it all is? Time is not enough to perfect yourself in it all. Yet, if you dip your toes in all the absurdities it has to offer, in all that kick starts your brain even remotely, just for a blink, then you remain a dilettante. A dabbler, a fake. Fraudulent, even. A cold and grimy room. The same one I am also uncomfortable in upon becoming a virtuoso only at the expense of sacrificing all other knowledge and devoting myself to the profession I chose out of a hat. Now try too little and you’re a coward. There is too much I enjoy. so much to experiment with, to learn, to inevitably mess up so colossally I become disgraceful, to appreciate and cherish. This rock has a stupendously overwhelming amount to offer. How, sensibly, am I to choose one over the other? Thoughtlessly or not, should I not choose just one, then I remain a cheat. If there is one thing time has made us all, even if imperceptibly so, is selfish. True to myself, but selfish, nonetheless. Because I want it all. I want to speak of it all, to share it all, bond with it all. And not just the words I string together to call a book. A husband and a confidant, a companion, and a father. Naturally, a family, and this career—which, Time, o Time, has forced me to pursue— and enough friendship to make me dizzy. None of this can I deny; I am as selfish as they come. And there is only one to blame, though it is not I. I thought perhaps it was youth, the one haunted by this Time. But it’s simply the same merciful ghost that guides tired souls over. It’s the one the nescient— from pride, guilt, or fear—equal in measure— run away from, and the wise accept with open arms. The only cord you cannot cut. Time, fortunately or unfortunately is entirely up to oneself, is all. It heals, only to turn around and do the exact opposite. First, it’s anxiety: When are you having children? When do you graduate? When are you moving away? To turn into bitter regret: Why didn’t you accept? Why didn’t you visit? Why didn’t you try? The only constant is the sand filling the glass bulbs. Time passed or the one we eagerly, or contrarily, very dreadfully, anticipate. To my unpleasant surprise, my time appears to be everyone else’s, and theirs mine. What best to do with this incessant thing? To love, it seems. To admire and value the way the skies darken only to shine again. Or the lizard’s dance at your doorstep, a greeting after a long day of work. The way she asked if you were alright. What a pesky friend, that Time. The one I’ve no choice but to keep around. — A.M. Sención 2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Inescapable Daydream “Nevertheless, you are mine.” 2021 Wish It Wouldn't Bleed "Should it hurt more to grieve if the lover was fair?" 12.26.2024 Peaches “Sweeter than the peach / that blooms at the halt of rejuvenating springs,” 2021

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. At The Mercy Of Love Laurence Koe, Idyll,1908-1911 Lying bare next to you makes my mind surge like the fire in my veins. Perhaps it’s the way you study my eyes, or how your gaze flicks over my lips, now chapped, dry, like the inside of my mouth; a symptom that comes as well with sweaty palms or a racing pulse and it’s entirely your fault. After all this time. I grow impatient, even sensitive. Mousy. Timid. Vehemently nervous. Ardently willing. Yet, it’s not so much an anxious, unnerved feeling like that of butterflies. In conttrast, I believe that to be far closer to a warning than the opposing. Rather than that of a love bug. It’s your entire being warning you of concealed trouble. Instead, I feel relief. Safety in your eyes. The only true fear that possesses me is that of having you no longer. Hanging to every bit of hope, even faith, I tread on convincing myself that your hands will want me more tomorrow than they do today. But Lying bare next to you does as much. Overt, vulnerable, plain and clear. Transmitting something I can’t yet fully distinguish; your eyes making all of me a puddle. Perhaps, it is simply love by its purest form. Anyhow, it works my head too quickly for me to understand; too quickly for me to keep up with. All I truly understand is that I want you— for as long as my heart beats; far beyond into His deathless death. — A.M. Sención 2023 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more I Can “…when all the difference lies in ink and paper.” 2024 The Devil's angel "Men who feel love / never lack a good heart, / so I wished my soul bound to his. " 2024 Exchange Between Heathen And Believer "As do I." 11.2024