Aching
It eats away at you and starves you hungry
You guard it, store it for winter or a rainy day
But eventually
You're convinced more will never come
Once this is all gone
And you're more afraid of the not knowing
Then the waiting
So you go over and over and over in your mind
Wondering and doubting and trembling
Pretty soon it'll have eaten all you have and you were so busy worrying you didn't taste what was in front of you
You ached with hunger all those years trying to preserve the it
But it dwindled despite all your guarding and storing for those rainy days
You wanted it so long, so bad, you sacrificed not having it so you could have it longer
Except now it's gone
And you never got what you really ached for
Out of fear of losing it all some day
You were cautious and careful and strategic and a planner and a realist
All the things not needed in love.

Dear
Brown colored boy,
Mine
Shining in all your melanin filled armor I salute you.
The soldier you are as tall as the tree that bore the wood of the cross they burned on martins lawn.
You burn brighter than those flames
You ignite something in me that wants to melt into your melanin crossing legs and arms and becoming tangled in ligaments that look more like trees before they were torn apart to become those burning crosses.
Mine
Eye closed I imagine you holding a brown boy bore from my trees,
Laying him on your bare chest
Loving him because he's your own.
Not just mine anymore,
I'll look at you both in fear seeing those burning crosses become shining badges and sirens in the distance
Not just mine anymore

Celebrating something you briefly learned and you expect a few dozen people in the plaza, calm and content celebrating the May revolution that happened over 200 years ago.

You step off the subway, walk up the stairs to the sidewalk and it's foggy from firecrackers and grills filled with chorizo. Banderas waving with Eva and Peron's faces. Drums pounded as the people sing VIVA LA PATRIA.

You're alone, but somehow not afraid because even though this holiday isn't yours, you recognize the nationalism they sing of. A nationalism only a porteno could possibly know and love and understand and feel and celebrate. But for that day, you overcame your extranjero and smiled at the kids waving their flags, your friend using two hands to eat choripan, the hunt for locro, and the mosh pit that was trying to get the closest view of the concerts and firecrackers.

When you return to the states they'll remember it as Memorial Day, but you have learned how to celebrate 25 de mayo.

"They'll ask how you lived without things, when you really lived your whole life without knowing they existed. Deprived some may say, but you've made it 20 years without it, and somehow you think it doesn't matter.

They don't really know you before this. That your childhood consisted of running through parking lots, visiting the same park and still finding it like new, now laters hot flamins, peach soda and hoping you'll get to grandmas house that weekend. Brain still being mocked by the Eric B and Rakim your dad always blasted on any road trip.

They've never been to Hampton street or seen the cars drive by with their bass booming harder than ever playing the trap music that invades your house and makes your window shake to the rhythm.

That's where I'm from.
And somehow we both ended up here in buenos aires. Although I never left the states, never made it to the big city. Never got there.
Where I'm from we're hood rich and this just doesn't happen.
Deprived they'll call us, but i never saw a frown even when we pinched pennies.

Mama explained "there are rich people, and those just making it." We always made it and I'm just glad mama got me here."

You taught her how to not fear the future, I've learned to open up to forever. Timeless.

They ask how we deal with distance, I say we just grow closer. Love of my life, he's my friend.

And if they ask, I'll smile and let them know I've never known this kind of love before.