I’m a bad lover
I ask too many questions and some answers make me uneasy,
‘Am impacient, sometimes have low self esteem and sometimes I just think I’m the **** (I do really)

I’m a bad lover
I tend to inundate the objects of my affection with attention, cheesy poetry and random drawings that look more like kindergarden scribble.
Broken promises **** me.

I’m a bad lover
I am inclined to forgive with ease but remember with intensity.
I do not acknowledge moderation when it comes to kissing.
I sometimes prejudge according to my last relationships.
And somehow I am not afraid of being loyal.

I’m a bad lover
I love cats and warm, fuzzy feelings.
I’ll rather watch a documentary than a horror movie.
I turn awkward in certain situations.
I go to sleep listening to democracynow.org but think Amy Goodman should be a bit more energetic, it’s almost as if she’s bored or ******* or something.

I’m a bad lover

She was lost in East L.A.
She was told she could be found
That she’d feel something profound
Once she walked over the streets
Once she would smell, touch and hear
Once she read the signs
Admired the murals
And entered each Laundromat.

Why do you hold on to nothing
as if it meant the universe (to you)
their doctrine: encrypted in your mourning
as if god had branded your soul
to remember (only what/when/where you are expected)

reminiscing about those days (that never happened)
illusions
restitution of dreams
and forgotten pasts (that you've chosen not to remember)
believing lies that make you feel warm inside
because that's what you're made of (according to 'you')
not acknowledging that what we are constructed of is constant transformation

so you remain in delusion
because comfort is more familiar than revolution
and even within the confines of this so called movement
your sight is not set on the walls (as they crumble)
but on the ground
because the sky is too high
and your mind is too little
or at least that's what they told you (and you believed them.)

moon looks sad tonight
It rests on the arms of mother sky
Surrounded by sister stars

When I was little, la gente mas grande used to tell a story
About a rabbit who was raised to the moon
And his shadow can still be seen
(If you look close enough)
…I wonder if rabbit is dead…

You are afraid if we tell you
afraid if we conceal (what we would really like to say)
afraid that we might indoctrinate you
afraid that we would rather like for you to disappear
afraid that we talk about you
afraid that we ignore what you are about
afraid that our words might be too harsh
afraid that we'll walk out without your blessing
afraid that we like to think outside of dogma
afraid that we take pleasure on challenging what you hold dear
afraid that we don't feel defended by your body (or by your *****)
afraid that you might not cut it
or that we will use you (as a souvenir)
afraid that we are [not] conspicuous (sometimes we are)
afraid that (we are quite queer)
afraid of conspiracy and delusion
afraid of truth
afraid of me.

Make love to me in the suburbs,
on the back of a random gas station,
under the starry sky,
inside your beat up red car.

guide me through cold and darkness
for I cannot see, for it is hard to feel,
between all this numbness.

take me, by my love handles,
rise me up to the sky, constantly,
like an offering to our fragmented goddess,

make this a new form of prayer,
where sighs and moans
are sacred words
from millennial, heavenly languages.

Make love to me in the suburbs,
on the back of a random gas station,
under the starry sky,
inside your red, beat up car.

We’re not supposed to be
It ain’t our moment

Even if suddenly you think of me,
And if dream after dream
Life keeps telling me
To keep my promise,
Some days I’m feeling weak
Some days I’d rather walk
Some days I fly to you and don’t want to come back
And some days I hate you deeply.

I often lose my self
And cannot find me
Then you ground me
Your grind me
And throw me back at the sky
(Why can’t I remain in your arms?)