I want us to have a little country together

Made up of scratch paper,

Every inch of it overwhelmed with poems and random thoughts.



No wire fences but pens and pencils waiting to be adopted

Taken into the safety of our hands



Not shores or beaches

But open skies filled with imagination and room

Lots of room to think, and question, and ponder

And question, and ponder

And question and ponder



Books will be our passports

Songs will be our visas

No invasions or wars

Only consensual agreements



Our country

Filled with strange people

You and me.

Quiero escribirte un poema malescrito
Lleno de errores ortograficos
Un poema hereje a la metrica poetica
Un poema irreverente a la gramatica

Quiero volverme un rebelde asmatico
Tu amante diabetico
Amor antipatico
Ateo y medio psiquico

Lago en sequia
Freemont street sin puteria
Entre azul y buenos dias
Barrio caliente sin policia

Quiero que resientas todas y cada una de mis ausencias
Como la biblia a la ciencia
Opresor a la conciencia

Ser tu desacato
Tu rebelion
Tu desobediencia
Un beso roto en resistencia
Lo contrario a la decensia

Amor sin contrato
Puta con licensiatura
Medio malo y medio ingrato
Inocente y hasta novato
En eso de pasar el rato
Sin que el corazon se enlode
Igual que cuando pisas el fango
Con tu zapato.

No hay poemas simples
Solo poetas nerviosos

Blanco
Que de noche te metes como sabana en mi cama,
Draping between my legs,
Collapsing on my skin,
Falling over my soul as guilt:
          Colonial guilt.

Tus ojos azules como los del jesucristo de mi abuela,
La vieja escuela,
La escuela antigua,
Me pierdo inocente en tu manigua,
Y me desvelas.
(Que carajo diria mi abuela?)

You held on as one holds on to hope,
Como los clavos del cristo de los blancos,
Callado y con cuidado,
With the overwhelming silence of a temple:
          Worship, worship, worship!

Tu sueno colonial desamparado
Sleeping next to me
Y entre mis brazos
Igual como la yerba en los pantanos.

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.....