Lesly Garcia was born in a small town in Florida amongst the winter of 1999. An american to some but a Hispanic to many, coming from both lovely parents who were raised in Cuba and fought to come to the state to build a better future for their daughter. 20 years old and currently a junior at Florida International University. She is doing a double major in English with a Literature track and Fine Arts in Art.

She is a writer, poet, and painter at heart thanks to her parents. Growing up with her nose rooted in a book and deep in her own imagination, it came as no surprise to those who know her that she wants to write a book of her very own one day. Pulling inspiration from her personal adventures growing up, being in love, battling mental health, and the brutal pain of losing it all, she digs deep into her own woes and allows the sorrows to fuel her writing. Lesly still lives in Florida, with her Canis lovers, Hershey and Nini. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys collecting photocards and love letters, baking sweets, shooting on her vintage film camera, playing her untuned guitar, sipping Cuban coffee, and painting on canvas.

She is a stranger, lover, friend, and daughter experiencing the new sight of Miami through the history from the past that has shaped one’s life, to the many variety of cultures found in a city. This is a city where there’s endless possibilities of creating new memories along with the old whether it is through people, place, or things.

Miami isn’t just a city but a home to many, a home where different cultures come together and become one. A home where strangers become friends and friends become family.
Through this class she will experience a new perspective in life, learning through the meanings behind art, what life is in general when it comes to the environment, and the people that makes the city a better place. This class will offer not just to her but also her peers an opportunity to appreciate what they haven’t before.

A quote that matches this class in which she’s always carried with her is “the two most important days in your life is the day you were born and the day you figure out why”.

Welcome dearly friends to Miami in Miami.


FIU- MIAMI- September 11, 2019.

Oh! dearest love, sweet home of all curious creatures hopes, and joys, and painting miseries.
Tonight, if I may guess, one’s beauty wears a smile of such delight,
as brilliant and as bright as the next.
Each lost in a soft amaze,
I gaze, I gaze into the far distance.
Strangers eager to come out and play,
jumping from one town to the next as the bridge is what separates one from the journey that awaits.
A thousand dreams wrapped up in the feverish man who crosses its way from one side of the metro to the next.
It was in the goldenrod of the morning that strangers and I sent wishes up to the heavenly sky, whispered behind crooked teeth and twisted tongues.
The day became a place where our love lived, departing from one unfamiliar place to the next where we once belonged in a distant past.
A silage of what will one day be a nostalgic memory that only we can recall.
I’ve had dreams like this before- and still do
Strangers and I pacing down the winding roads trying to catch up to one another.
Perhaps it was my overwhelming desire for belonging and acceptance that helped me build a home for each passing person.
A home where one can be seen as equal rather than being separated by just a see-through door of a metro.
Differences and alikeness are what creates us as humans, a past history, a present time, and a future that lies ahead of us.
But even now, to this day, my weary bones are still trying to catch up to that dream that seems far away.
Strangers sitting apart from each other never really conversing with one another,
a line that seems hard to be broken whether it is due to color, age, or social status.
If pushed together even for a small period of time maybe it’ll spark some kind of acceptance with one another.
A metro is not only seen to get from one place to the next, it is a place where one can find their next soulmate whether it is through a romantic love or platonic love. A soulmate that can be through music, art, conspiracy theories, politics, etc.
A see-through door may separate one stranger from the next,
However, it only takes one person to break through it. Breaking the chain of what society says who to be friends with and what or who to love.
May this dream consume me whole, for I am a creature of habit just like the next.
Rummaging through the corners of one’s mind, waiting, tenderly, for one to come out and play along.


FIU- COCONUT GROVE- September 25, 2019.

A September spent by the secret gardens of Vizcaya, varying in different shades of flowers and sculptures. Images of what life could have been in the 1900s struck me, keeping me still in front of a waterfall.
A woman running carelessly across the warm sand bare feet as I chased after her for a wet, sweaty embrace. Layers upon layers of sunscreen on her freckled cheeks, the place on her shoulders already turning cherry as time lingered. Her heart becomes one with the garden in front of her. Her walls become high, blocking any passage for anyone to discover her true intentions about life. Her voice makes any flower grow from underneath the ground.
Through her eyes, I saw all the beautiful chaos swirling around her retina. Her pupils dilated in the dark, standing below the cave as she caught her breath, casting an unformed shadow of a woman with enchanting green eyes. Giggling and spinning in circles. It was a guide, a guide that I must follow through. The guide consists of teardrops, which enhances her own surroundings with an outcast of sympathy and serenity. Her dark hair rustled up with tree branches and petals of blood. It was an unusual sight to see.
Her Amazonian figure sat well on her wafer-thin body. She had a decanter shaped waist and her complexion had an impeccable, ochrous hue. Her full edgy eyebrows eased down gently to her black, beetle’s-leg eyelashes. A sculptor could not have fashioned her seraph’s ears and pixie’s nose any better.
When she broke into a smile, her beguiling, oyster-white teeth lit up the room. It could jolt me like an electric current when that megawatt smile gave me her full attention. Filed to perfection, her Venus-red fingernails ran through her nougat-brown hair. Spools of it plunged around her photogenic face and hid a swan’s neck, elegant and smooth. I loved her nebulous, Eden-green eyes which were a-sparkle with the ‘joie de vivre’. They were like two beryl-green jewels melted onto snow.
When I slowly got close to her like a predator ready to attack its prey, she sprinted, holding her dress up. She moved around the maze of the garden, I slowly being able to reach her with my fingertips. Her giggles, become a sound of music to my ears. She touches the sculpture in front of her and screams “Ha, I win what’s my prize?”
With a smile of mine I responded, “What would you like it to be?”
“First and foremost, I’ll need someone to escort me to the founder’s ball…” She slowly walked away, a smile still playing on her beautiful lips.
“I will be honored with pleasure,” I softly said to her.
She stops from her short walk, “the smart and kind Garcia coming to my rescue.”
We climbed up the steps and sat on a bench, capturing her hand in mine. I thought, ‘I would love to have this moment live with me forever’.
Our lips crashing together in unison with every wave. Her calamine-pink lips tasted like rose petals. It surprised me that they were plump and not botox-boosted as she had a demure, timorous personality. She whispered to me in a dulcet voice as sweet as any songbird. Her voguish clothes still kept captive an aroma redolent of cinnamon and meadow-fresh mint.
The images slowly faded away. Her delicious scent lingered around my surroundings long after her presence had gone. Her eyes became an image stuck in my brain as I left Vizcaya behind.

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