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 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
11
Take my hand
place it over your chest,
off centered to the left,
and breathe.
There is so much nostalgia
in the way your heart beats,
I feel like
I've spent my whole life
counting the spaces between them,
holding my breath till your next.
Take my hands
between yours
and look me in the eye:
I will love you,
love you till I can't remember my own name,
and then some.
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
There are vibrations rippling through my body
Strumming the strings in my heart
Until the notes sing from my throat
In small, rhythmic gasps,
In deep spasmodic cries:
Music, in every way,
Moving me,
Moving you.
You pluck my strings like guitar chords,
Reverberating in your rib cage,
Bouncing around in your head,
And strike the keys
Up and down my back,
Melodious "I love you's"
And comprehensible nonwords-
Sighs and gasps and moans.
I feel the pounding of your heart
Like a steadily faster drum beat:
Drums, like war signals,
Drums like music,
You have won, you have created,
Battles, art.
There are my tears-
Shed from the overwhelming beauty,
From the warmth of the embrace,
Of the music you and I create,
Like poetry:
A call and response.
From the night of  1/6/14
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
10
There is a universe in your eyes,
Your dreamlike, dreaming eyes ,
An ocean at your fingertips,
Soft and fluid,
Warm and slow.
There is the way I can reach you
On the tips of my toes.
And I stopped being the Moon-
The way I became the Earth,
Orbiting 'round you,
The Sun,
And everything became brightness.
There is the way we love,
Sweaty crazy love,
In 10 degree weather,
Snow on the ground
And so much warmth on our skin.
The way your hand whispers
Secrets over my scars,
And your kisses scatter hopes
Across my back.
There is the way time has disappeared,
Irrelevant,
Because the eternal
Doesn't count its seconds,
But rather lives it
Like there is only now.
There is your smile,
Soft,
Right before you kiss me again,
Right after I am sighing again.
There is you, love,
My anchor to this world,
My wings to the heavens,
My dreams at night
And purpose in the mornings.
There is you, love,
My Northern Star,
My children's father,
My soul's light.
There is you,
Your eyes,
You.
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
Us
There had been a few signs before,
But the hurt from before had me incredulous,
Wary and cautious;
I did not want to be the fool.
There had been a few signs before,
And I pretended they did not exist.
That weekend I chose to be myself,
Or so I thought.
Every now and then I caught myself
Looking for you from the corner of my eyes,
And seeing you looking at me head on.
I did not want to understand.
The day progressed into night,
Oh and how young the night was.
I sat on the hotel bed,
Surrounded by so much youth,
And feeling so old.
You with your chess,
And I with my book of Benedetti poems,
Me, pretending to flirt with
The cute accent of somewhere down South America,
And you pretending not to care.
The girls fawning over this person,
And I could only see you,
As the night blurred more and more,
With that elixir, the one I associate with love,
With you,
My roots and my sky.
I began to read out loud,
And I chose each line carefully,
Each poem for you in a room full of people,
Where my only audience was you.
Slowly, every drop was burning through my resolve:
Somehow we were somewhere else,
There were more people now.
There was that guy with his arm around me,
But all I noticed was you in front of me,
Watching, silent, a little concerned,
But appearing aloof.
That woke me up: I had had enough pretending.
I went back, and you followed, concerned
And I so, so confused.
I thought I wanted to be alone, like I had always felt,
But then I, I felt so relieved,
With your steps soft and carpeted behind me.
I said I was confused.
You said, it's ok if you choose him.
I thought you were crazy.
For a second I wondered if you were that anxious,
That anxious to get rid of me,
That you could see me
With the first loser that showed his face.
I said, I have and will continue, to choose you.
You stood quietly.
We sat down.
You said you'd understand.
I told you I wanted you.
Did I want to go to sleep?
I was losing myself in the buzz, and I nodded.
It was natural from then on,
How you slipped into the covers with me,
For the first time,
And my body turned towards yours,
My arm wrapped around your neck,
My face nestled under your neck.
Not assuming, not imposing,
But effortlessly,
And you held me, without malice,
But tenderly and sweet instead.
And we continued to whisper to each other.
Me asking questions and you soothing them,
Until you began to drift off
And I thought I was talking to myself when I said
Your name, and you simple murmured a "mm?"
And I said,
"Open your eyes. Look at me,
I am still here,
Like always."
And I settled into your breath, your skin,
And prepared to drift off.
It was some time into the dawn
And I felt the urgency of asking you,
"Do you love me, even a little bit?"
And you hugged me tighter and said,
"Yes,"
Like a painful whisper.
I fell asleep with your smile on my face
And my lungs full of hope.
The next day was a blur,
I remember getting dressed
And how you kept looking at me,
Even though I still couldn't understand.
I remember the sneaked note that fluttered my stomach,
Too much coffee, you following me.
I remember going home, comfort in your arms, you walking with me to my house.
Lingering at the door, a kiss and goodbye.
Later that night you wished we could've talked,
And you ask to see me again tomorrow.
And I hear you struggling to tell me something,
And it's so obvious but I don't get it.
12/7:13
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
9
The time it would take to grow a child within me,
We've spent growing a child between us:
This love that continued to grow,
That  began like a tiny cell inside the twinkle of my eye,
And endured a cold winter, an even colder summer,
Months without the food of your eyes,
The water of your touch;
That blossomed the next winter,
On Christmas like a child,
And sprung, green and ready, in the spring.

Oh, but do we reap what we sow?
9 months later-
Your eyes are the color of chocolate,
Sweet and warm,
And they tell me without words,
That you love me.
I have learned your love is uncondtional.
12/7/13
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
La curva de su vientre,
Pandeándose de vida.
Deseo tanto ese momento,
Regalarte tal dicha,
Sentir el amor crecer,
Pataditas de ternura.
Sueño, tanto, llenarme así,
Con el resultado de este amor,
Sincero y puro,
Y siempre tan creativo.
Hacer de mi cuerpo un hogar,
Hacer de nuestra casa un castillo
De luz y risas de niño.
Quiero ya tener en mis brazos
Tierno bebé, testamento de nuestra historia,
Con tus ojos y pestañas de niño,
Con mis rizos alborotados rebeldes,
Que tenga las piernas largas y fuertes
De su papá,
La curiosidad insaciable mía.
Tanto amor hay dentro de mi por ti,
Amor,
Que amo a nuestros hijos desde hora,
Desde antes de que sean posibilidades,
Ahora que sólo son ese brillo en mis ojos,
En los tuyos.
Ver a una mujer embarazada, más de mi edad, me pone siempre un poco celosa. Quisiera estar ya en la etapa de tener hijos de una forma sana y productiva, donde yo pueda proveer y cuidar bien de mis hijos. Estoy con la persona con la que se me cumplirá este mi más grande sueño. Sólo falta que yo cumpla mis otras metas primero.
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
He kisses the scar from that day,
When fear and pain collided,
And we were alone, together.

He said it was beautiful:
A small scar,
From a big scare;
A reassurance that we were ok.

He passed his fingers lightly,
As if they were, too, afraid,
And leaned in for a tender kiss.

My navel has been home to many things.
Butterflies and boiling acid,
Bubbling over and out my mouth.

It had known his rough calloused palms,
The lightness of his tongue,
The red, red, red pain.

It was in comfort now,
Warm, with his little butterfly kisses,
Tracing petals around the wound.

The self consciousness blushed pink,
My hand rushed to cover the scar,
"No, you are beautiful."

My scars mean I overcame.
I continue to live and grow.
I am beautiful despite all.
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
Cuando respiras y mi cabeza recostada
Sube y baja y escucho el aire escapar tus pulmones,
Que son míos también,
Me tiembla el corazón,
Que es tuyo también,
De ese sentimiento de saberte mío,
De saberme tuya y de sabernos juntos, siempre.

Cuando sin pensarlo acostados
Cabe la silueta de mi rostro,
Las curvas de mi frente y mi nariz, mis labios,
Contra la curva de tu cuello,
Para qué caiga mi boca justo ahí,
Donde te gustan más los besos, y te hago suspirar,
Me sonrió al pensar que te se cuidar.
12/7/13
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
Once I heard something about
Love between a god and a goddess
And I don't think that would be
A story worth hearing.
No, could a god love a goddess,
Beautiful and eternal,
More than a mortal woman,
Wide-eyed and naive,
Awaiting so nervously
The rendezvous of this king's wishes?
No, a god would feel
Too many empty spaces to fill,
A constant comparison,
An eternity of discontent.
There is pleasure in the temporary,
Like how a rose so delicate
And passing,
Will always mean love,
Like a cactus could never,
Even though love is more like
The prickly leaves that don't wilt
At the first drought,
But rather produce red flowered fruits.
No, a god would love the brown curled woman,
With the warm lips,
The hands that bake and wash clothes,
The legs that walk miles.
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
There is

the bitter taste of the last cigarette

on the roof of my mouth,

a sourness on my tongue

and i try to remember the last time i felt like this.

or rather…

the last time I DIDN’T.

seems like as time goes on, every day becomes a struggle,

and some days more than others.

I want everyone to be my friend,

but i wonder where this inferiority complex comes from?

it paralyzes me and i do not want to speak.

meeting people, seeing my ideas put into words

by other lips and others’ gestures,

and yes I agree,

but ******* you make me so tired.

no, i do not need your hugs,

and no i do not need your validation.

and hell no i do not need your apathetic agreement

because like hell you would understand,

like hell you would know that

you can’t bleach this brown skin of

all the slurs and all the stigma,

that you can’t flat iron out the

ethnic tangles of my afro-something hair,

that you can’t even guess,

cause even i don’t know,

even we don’t know,

if i’m black or native or forcibly half white,

if i’m 10% this or 50% that,

like I have to be broken down

into numbers and percentages

cause I just can’t be whole again,

cause we just can’t be whole again.



They took everything,

they came and took everything

*******,

and yes God ****** us,

your ****** God ****** us,

you came and you traded

our generosity, our good faith, our sustenance,

you took all of that

and gave us biblical ******* about a God,

some overbearing, vengeful Lord

that didn’t even love you,

oh God, and we were the savages?

You came and you stripped us naked,

took off layer after layer of dignity and prosperity,

we gave you firm hugs of solidarity,

and you groped our ******* like they were worthless,

we gave you kisses of peace,

and you rammed your tongues down our throats,

demanding we choked into silence,

and we were supposed to thank you.

You came and you ***** our land,

our mothers, sisters, and daughters

and we were supposed to be compliant.

we were supposed to be quiet,

and we were supposed to be content,

happy to fill our wombs

with children who would later struggle

with the realization that the reason the color of their skin

was neither yours nor mine,

that it was neither milky white nor toasted earth,

was because my people had been ****** by yours,

figuratively, literally but most significantly, forcibly

generation after generation,

subjugation after subjugation

for 400 ******* years.



And here I am.

400 years later and I don’t know who I am.

They say I could be Chicana,

or Mexicana,

I could be Mexico Americana,

I could be Latina,

or even, god-forbid,

Hispana.

I could be but what does that even mean?

what does Mexican mean?

a land where the majority of the people

descend from the great people of indigenous America,

or the great people of Africana roots,

or these chaotically beautiful blends

that result in the sweetest of dark coffee- soft caramel of spectrums,

still say “indio" like an insult,

still say “*****" like an insult,

still say “prieto" like an insult.

still say, “baby girl, get out the sun,

what you tryin to get darker for?"

still say, “hell no we ain’t african!"

like that would be a bad thing.



and ******* it i am ******* tired.
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
What are your hands like?

cold, trembling fingers

trailing down my back.....

the anticipation of your thumb

caressing my hip, softly, unassuming;

or, your index finger

brushing the hair out of my eyes;

or, the thirsty way your *******

reaches, earns it's indecency,

within me;

or the way your pinky

grazes my lips, tenderly.

They are rough palms,

pressing against my navel,

holding my knees steady,

they are

nails cut short,

and knuckles callused,

sheer effort

and strength,

a warm embrace,

a subtle claim.
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
I promise the usual things:
to love you and respect you,
to hold you and want you,
to make you smile
and laugh, and dream.

But I also promise:
to hold your hand
when you are trying
to get something done,
just because.
to kiss you
in the middle of a sentence,
and make you cry with me
when my feelings overwhelm you.

I promise to look at the sky,
and name the stars for you,
I promise to learn you,
I promise to teach you,
share a million little useless facts,
about unimportant things.
I promise to show you,
the simple things that get me going,
like the liveliness in your eyes,
and I promise to remember
your aspirations
and what side of the bed you prefer.

I promise not to get mad
when you forget my birthday,
(I know, you’re not that good at that…
it’s kind of cute),
and I promise to interrupt you
with something I just remembered
from two weeks ago.
I promise to quote random books
and random people,
and maybe they won’t be that random,
if a particular phrase reminds me of you,
of me, of us.

I promise to sing,
maybe just once, to you,
and every day to the scars of our love
(when the time comes).
I promise to give you my all,
and learn how to cook,
and I promise to take a break,
every now and then,
from everything
so we can do silly things.
I promise you the usual things,
to love you and to hold you,
to be as certain of this,
as I am of evolution,
as sure as the roundness of Earth,
as steady as the rhythm of your breath
that night I felt you sleep underneath me.
I promise you myself,
I promise I will be happy for you,
and with you,
and because of you.

And I promise I will finish this someday.
4/8/13

anata he <3
 Nov 2015
Fa Be O
dejad que escriba nuestra historia
-no, espera-
quiero decir, mi historia de nosotros.

que proposito servira escribir?
si ningunas palabras comparan
a lo que es tenerte,
amarte,
quererte
asi?
2/19/13
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