you have a mind of your own
you do what you want
up down this way and sideways
i cant control you
to be tamed would be to kill
submissiveness would mean you dull
how is it that i got you
you politically incorrect mess
a problem to be fixed
yet here i am still dealing with you
i could not give you up
i love your spontaniousness
you bring a surprise everyday
never will i hurt you
never will i let you go
my my my
what i do for you
out of control.
i used to cradle her bleach-cracked hands in mine
and decode the stardust resting within her fingerprints
up until the day that i lost touch with the art of reading braille
and she stopped slinging tall-tales for me to fetch
and rest the plot-twist at her feet
often in the post-script
i'd find my train of thought highjacked by the sunlight illuminating the rainbow of earth-tones ablaze
in her frizz-ridden curls
as if she'd been washing her hair with the damaged case of beer
she'd gotten for half-price at liqour depot
she never did quit drinking
but neither did i
at least we tried
in the middle of the night when nothing was alright
and we'd barely survived another fight
her face would catch my glance
cast aglow by a flood of lava-lamp light
the sea of freckles resting at the crest of her cheeks
rose lips perma-pursed in half tilt
her resting heart-rate so high that i could almost see it
pirouetting within her chest
it was then that i'd love her best
amidst the ruins of who we were
just moments before
things that rhyme with you --
cum, coma, three meters of ribbon that are your veins
the emerald sea
any other gemstone-like thing, girls
boys, angels with wings,
pasta noodles with big gaping holes, curls, frizz
buckets of saltwater,
honey, fingertips, promises in two different languages
Skin intimately kissed by the golden sun to a permanent brown tan,
Not olive but brown like the chocolate that melts softly on your tongue
Brown like the sugar that sweetens your tea just right
With kinky hair that refuses to stay down
It radiates and bounces up with a frizz and a twist with a spin like a dance
Yes I dance because I'm proud to be a black girl
Created imperfectly perfect by the artwork of God
summer, spring, winter, fall,
it always carried a whiff of cleanliness, like lysol,
bleach and daffodils had made a not so secret love
there were never any marks. no signs of mistakes,
the floors glistened like the sun beaming off a black
the windows, you couldn’t even tell they were
windows. not without the panes.
transparent like the shores of the Mediterranean.
I never touched anything.
I held my breath among glass, ornaments, picture frames.
afraid one intake would show up like a smudge that could
never be wiped off, no matter how much one tried.
she fits the house. like those china dolls, polished to perfection.
blonde hair rolled in unison curls. no frizz. never any
face just like those windows, eyes raging in a storm too far away.
his room was the only one i could sink in.
(i always stepped on the yellow ones)
clothes fuming with dirt and almost manhood.
his posters crooked, carrying characters dressed in
armor, or tuxedos, animated, weapons in hand.
his bed, never made, incasing the last impression of his body
(he always slept on his side)
a spot of drool still visible, blankets holding his scent.
soap, laundry detergent and oranges.
game controllers trashed, bite marks, dents, too many battles.
i finally breathed when i walked in.
too small her upper lip
kink of hair too much frizz
not quite hourglass shape
pudge of tummy give or take
thighs too big to make you breath
more cellulite she doesnt need
too much hair, hair everywhere
uneven portions she only stares
the mirror you might want to break
she understands that its okay
these things you could obsess
she merely looks at them with bliss
its okay to not be perfect
she is not here for you
Wearing a fun skirt
Spinning in circles, dancing
Hiding painful truths
Fading purple hair
Curls and frizz hiding the face
The sad, frowning mouth
Wear sleeves to the wrist
Fashion, layering the shirts
Hiding skin of scars
Fuck; Stupid body
Damn; Mind control of the soul
Hell; Where she lives now
Sopping, strung out
You look hollow
Lying on a hospital floor
Was too soon for a coffin
Hands smooth down frizz
Your mouth, ajar
Bits of chalk, grinning
Only you could
You itch at the humans
In and out
Who couldn’t oir tus palabras
Thinking, too young and stupid
So you sat
For the gringos tontos
To fix you.
On a whim,
we packed up what little was
left of this strung-out relationship and
rattled out of town in your raucous,
I thought for sure the engine’s cacophony
meant we'd be stuck on the side
of the road in no time, but you
just smiled serenely into the mirror,
pressed the pedal to the floor.
This is why I love you, you know,
because you're calm even
when I'm freaking out beyond
belief and my hair starts to frizz.
Baby, this rope may be
frayed and burn us as it slides along the
palms of our hands, but we hold on
nonetheless, to all that we are,
never slowing, never stopping, rolling
on and on.
God, it must be a magic trick, how you can make lights from pollution seem like the city beyond golden gates, the windows down, scarlet curls of frizz illuminated.
I was jealous of the shotgun, and you asked me if I had a good view, and the only answer I could think of was that I didn't, at least, not of you.
Four seasons later and I'm back in the backseat of your car, it's summer again, only this time everything is different.
You still somehow manage to summon the small hidden youth I've got left in this old soul, even though the roads are blocked and sirens are on patrol.
For a start, I smell like ammonium
Fresh from the salon
A change to reflect the change I feel in me
A change for myself
Not for you
You just got lucky
Destiny conspired against me
to bring me here, too fresh
with static frizz
from polyester layers.
Fresh from him last night
and the boy before
My greatest right
is my greatest privilege
and I'd abuse it with you too.