Sometimes he is child-like,
releasing balloons up
in the air; crying because
a piece of candy fell onto
the floor; wanting an item
which someone else
already possesses; creating
a scene, begging to be held,
getting lost, breaking
things, yelling for no
particular reason,
farting in public, setting
out for mischief, falling
and getting hurt, blaming
someone else for the damage
he caused, creating a
ruckus in a peaceful place,
drowning out the thoughts
of others with the
insensitivity of his games
and selfishness,
behaving foolishly,
thinking that medication
is bad, teetering on
the verge of a
bipolar disorder
breakdown,
imaging himself
to that of a
character in Neverland.

You claimed to wear
my love like
a tattoo.

I fought for your
loyalty
so I wear it

like a tattoo. It
fixed nothing
just got worse.

Sometimes
I feel like I speak
a foreign language
to people
of no
intelligence
or
at least
it
seems
that way to me.
My
Puerto Rican
tongue functions
superbly
and I
always give it
a direct rhythm
for a
perfect tone.

The Gansevoort Hotel is where he chose to meet.
I followed the travel directions which he texted and I showed up on time.
I was led into the suite and waited an hour; the diplomat was late.
I was forewarned that in the event that he did not appear, that I was to stay put, enjoy the room for the night, all services and non-services or room charges would be handled at his end, privately, of course.
This is not the norm for me so please don't get it wrong!
It was nothing more than a business transaction behind closed doors, between two consenting adults.
But, as it turned out, I fell asleep, there was no *******, I devoured my breakfast the following morning, still got paid and hopped on a Bronx-bound train, home.
That was the easiest soldi I have ever made.
I never heard from the diplomat again.

Listen,
to be brutally
frank
I am a poet

Modern I am
but Spanish
by birth
a Scorpio

The Bronx is
my November
a million kisses
to Puerto Rico

I am the heir
to Lorca
the paper clown
I sign off

On a JetBlue flight
from NYC
to Miami

Drowning in
my many woes
with inflight

***** and Salsa
music. Just
keep it coming

Senorita. I was
turning it up
before I touched

ground. I was
completely
wasted and had

crashed on the
entire flight. I
guess you ain't

suppose to drink
when you taking
meds and stressed

the hell out, while
traveling to one
of the hottest

places in the
world to party.
I awoke with a

throng in my head
and a wired
flight attendant

poking the hell
out my shoulder.
*****. But somehow

in my confusion
I had lost my
Fedora hat.

Why, why does your
body speaks  
different
volumes to me?

I can't help but to want
to understand the
different
shift between us!

I am keenly aware of the
cold vibes soaking into
the sheets and lack
of heartfelt devotion.

It's as if I am floating
alone on a raft trying to
figure out a way to get
us back to the main land.

The dialogue is far
and few between us
suddenly casts a shadow
of suspicion.

Why, why does your
body speaks
different
volumes to me?

I figured you out
like a decaying
walking corpse
with nowhere to hide.

The fact that you
tainted yourself to
another and are now
mortified with guilt.