I give up on you
Men of appearances
Men who will crumble as you question their true level of intimacy
Men who will feel forever shamed by their weight, class, **** size, *******
Men who will not think about stepping over you in order to look taller
Men who will never love, but unconsciously choose to live in a constant state of crisis just so they can feel alive
Papi, I give up on you

I give up on you as you tell me you want to be friends,
Then you call me in the middle of the night as you feel insecure because your grindr hookup never showed up, or showed up but left you feeling alone, empty, used, *****
So you come to me for healing, to build you up only so you can leave my bed feeling new and ready for your next fall
I will not pick you up again

You need to learn that love is mutual and something more than laying down to cuddle, love is a deep and transformative understanding, love is not Hollywood or healing **** sessions, it’s beyond that, and it feels free.  
And every time you leave I feel entrapped and know that you will only come back
When you fall.

Malinche
Traitor to my race
As I dig into your white thighs
as I dive into your body
500 years of colonization
Your blue eyes
blue like the oceans your ancestors crossed to invade
invade the land I call home
just like you invade my thoughts, my flesh, my desire

Malinche
traitor to my cause
as you kiss me i keep thinking
will i be one of them?
one of the men of color accused of not dating his own, loving his own, desiring his own
buying into the "pa' mejorar la raza" narrative

Malinche
as you are laying over my chest i keep pondering
if it's ok to desire you
to hold you
to tell you you are beautiful
and i wonder how many times you've been told that
by someone like me

so i fall asleep in your arms
wake up in the middle of the night and asked you to leave

Malinche
traitor to my desire.

Monster

Darkness falls amongst your thighs.
I disappear in the middle of the night to search for unfulfilled fantasies,
Long lost dreams, illusions of water-like love that melts away from my hands into a deep and dark blue sea.
I want you to take me to the bottom of obscurity and show me what it looks like there:
Show me the beast (but hold my hand please)

I lay in bed next to you thinking about tomorrow
Imagining that your skin is made of fertile soil
So I plant poems and kisses and water them with my tongue
My tongue
My slip open tongue, accented, venomous tongue
Sometimes I forget to speak kindly
And I become this monster filled with words/lost in desire
Desire to keep you close forever
Yet with enough words to send you away and never think of you again

But all in all I’m just afraid
Afraid of me and what lies at the bottom of this heart full of knots and unspoken truths
This heart that does not trust
But longs to believe every word you say to me,
So I await your words, the touch of your lips and your callous hands every evening …
Praying away my slick tongue, my quick thought process, my heart full of assumptions and a monster made of memories and emotions, memories and emotions, memories and emotions.

If we were the people of god....
we wouldn't **** our neighbors....
if we were in the promised land....
blood wouldn't be shed....
if god indeed promised the land to all of us (Muslims, Jews and even crazy Christians)....
it might be that he wants us to coexist ....
instead of driving them away and pushing them to the sea....
if Moses was to open the waters again....
who would he guide to ....Eden.... but the destitute of today’s most normalized genocide?....
Those whose rocks are replied with bombs....
Those who we hate, and hate us back....
Those who make a great political slogan (on both sides) even if one side is more ****** than the other.....

Those who we call terrorists as we bravely launch missiles in to their elementary schools....
Because we ought to defend ourselves since we are the people of god....
...But we probably already killed Him on an airstrike.....

he
him, miralo
he has nothing special
he gets lost among crowds

she
her, mirala
she swears we're beyond racism
sexism, citizenism, heterosexism
classism,
and many other isms

they have something in common...

they think they're free
which is very different to
they think (therefore) they're free

because indoctrination has  infected their thoughts
they call themselves patriots as they proudly wear the american flag
on small pins
they even have a yellow "support our troops" sticker on their bumper

i'm telling you
she thinks she's free:
mrs. successful latina
"embraced" by america's corporate world
she "broke through" the glass ceiling
(then sealed it again)
no... other latinas would be too much of a competition
they need to have their own merits
have it as hard as she had it

she feels good about being tokenized
she's glad that "America" gave her such opportunities
"Why her?" out of so many others
she's so lucky
so why bother
**** the rest
as long as "she's free"

He thinks he's free:
"What's with this feminist *******" he says
he raises his fist
but not in an empowering way
instead
he threatens to land it on a woman's face
"that's what she gets
for trying to be a man"

They think they're free
"we're over homophobia
they're just isolated cases of intolerance..."
"i mean as long as you go about your business
and don't bother no body
i mean
don't preach it to everyone
don't show it
don't say it
you're free to be who you are
but just hide it...
why do you want to get married?
it doesn't make sense
i mean it might only be a phase..."

we think we're free
"we do the jobs no body else wants
this is not our country you know,
we need to follow the rules,
be good citizens,
don't ask for too much,
make sure we don't make them uncomfortable,
keep the status quo,
stop...they're starring...
we should wait...
let them set the rules"

today:
they think they're free
but one day
they'll think
and therefore
they will be truly free...

xtp

los angeles, march 3 2008

Tacos fritos oil's drip
     drop by drop
          skin by skin

i eat the flesh of my own
     taste their blood
          drink their sweat

i become the piece of glass
     that cuts their knees
          as they kneel

i am the extra chili on the sauce

     i'm the rock in the beans
          the high pressure in their veins

               the cents of their paychecks

dry cement on their boots

     in their hands:
          i'm the most hurtful cut

i am a sign in their thoughts
    
     i'm a moment in time

small piece of their soul

     the beggar's ***** clothes

           oil stains in the streets

i am the memories of dirt floors
    jalapeños
      pork skins and sour cream
          the pains of poverty...
xtp

el hombre que yo amo

ni sabe que lo amo

he doesn't dream of justice

he's not even conscious

even if i'm meters away

he can not see me

he's blindfolded by social constructions

..

the man i love

doesn't notice

que desde hace tiempo

my love has been receding

he can't look me in the eye

for he is afraid to see his reflection

the man i love

is full of fears and demons

..

el hombre que yo amo

is totally imperfect

he's not even my type

too low for my expectations

easy to forget

hard to keep loving

yet something inside

deep inside

keeps revolting

..

el hombre que yo amo

no sabe que lo amo

tal vez le importa mierda

si me voy al con~o

..

deep inside he knows it

deep inside he feels it

but he's such a ******* coward

weak

and full of *******

..

el hombre que yo amo

..

mas bien

el hombre que quien sabe si lo amo

worships indoctrination

colonized perspectives

he's materialistic

he can't see beyond flesh

sometimes i even wonder

if he has a spirit

..

el hombre que yo amo

como un gran pendejo

vale pa' pura verga

no se ni por que lo quiero

i guess that says a lot about me

very ******* telling

..

i'll turn on a candle

and do a little prayer

para asi olvidarlo

..

el hombre que yo am