Something so small
Yet I feared it for years
Silent fear
Fear of laying there, motionless,
No meaning,  no emotions, no catching up, no "I love you dads"

Got off the car, entered the room in the little motel in Anaheim
My mother's voice
And suddenly, him
After 16 years of silence
He didn't called me son
He called me by my middle name
Me hablaste de usted

a broken river of pus
an exit door
I laid on the bed
Motionless
In tears
And I said that word I only reserved for you "apa".

The girl with the unpronounceable name
the long *** name
the foreign name
the made up name
the name filled with poetry, memories of war, the name that sounds kinda like when somebody runs away, the name that only her mother knows how to pronounce, fully, syllable by syllable as if she was telling a story (she really is telling a story tho.)  Her mother, she calls her spirit back to her body, old/ancient rituals, spells, foreign foresty magic, she calls her name.

the girl with the unpronounceable name
her eyes get lost sometimes
she screams
and kicks
and people say it's because she remembers

so we pray that one day we can learn her name
and help her to forget
the war
the inner wars
the wars within
wars as lengthy as her name
and as painful as her exile.

she's crazy about him
head over heels
but he's clueless
she awaits his eyes
and thinks of the day when he'll hold her in his strong, white, hairy arms
she wants to know how it feels like to be loved by him
she does not mind to wait
as long as it's real

He walks with chains
his brown skin, his tired, old, tired, old, tired, old-tired hands
his heavy *** memories of lost, dead homeboys, his fear of loss, of inadequacy, of a multiple choice exam, it's easier to hold a gun, to act bad ***, than to be called a ***, after all **** are real men, cuz they know how to take it ... but no, he don't like them looking in his eyes as they dive into his flesh, he flies away and just lets his body there, numb, hot, sweaty and convulsing, filled with pleasure but soul-less, spiritless, without identity, it's just flesh and ***, all mixed into one.

love: i split my tongue
language feeds me

desire: i offer my thoughts
imagination heals me

you: i lay in bed naked, next to you
your hands pleasure me

I rest my case
I cannot win
Against your face
your lips...
you're beautiful

Left standing here
I eat my words
Losing my cool
Winning your warmth

Who cares if I look down
if underneath it all
its you.

Nos quedamos en pause
Esperando el momento
con Los labios al tiempo
Y Un solo pensamiento

Gracias te doy a vos
el canto atroz de las montanas
Llano ensordecedor
Que de nuestro alrededor emana

Gracias viejo profesor
Por cada leccion reprobada
Cada clase repetida
Y la garganta ensangrentada

Gracias amante infiel
Amigo traidor
Lengua azotadora
Hechizo de amor

Porque cada golpe
cada herida
Cada grieta
Me ha hecho no solo mas fuerte
Sino mejor.

How many secrets does it take to get anywhere near-profound-close to your soul
Silence is your key
Old rusty cells filled with phantom - unspoken memories dressed in white
I walk away
Chewing on words as if they were granola bars
Because I'll rather be a witness of your self empowered collapse
Than the one who secretly pushed you over the edge
With gusto.

i’m going to steal you….

In the middle of the night

I’m going to steal you

Like an expensive piece of art

I’m gonna steal you



Like the rain steals the dryness

Of the dessert i cry on

I’m gonna steal you

As you sleep

As you dream

As you mourn



While you eat cookies con leche

While you watch a random movie

As you iron a wrinkled old shirt

As you cook huevos rancheros



I’m gonna steal you



Voy a robarte

A la antigua

A la buena, a la mala



Between sombra y resolana,

I will carry you in my canana

As a bullet for revolution



I’m gonna steal you

While worlds wage war against each other

As the  corn goddess watches over

Little children of a poor neighborhood

In Vegas



Voy a robarte

Y llevarte entre las piernas

Like bootlegged tequila

During the prohibition



I’m going to steal your superstitions

And show you

That words carry such a strong action



So strong

That we seldom belong in our own realities



The realities imposed

By every single law of attraction



I’m gonna steal you

Like la Llorona

El calzonudo

El Diablo blanco

Los gitanos

Or el viejo del costal

As you rest your feet on the floor

Ponderously looking at the sky

In your search for a perfect star

In july’s cielos…



I’m going to steal you…

The world is full of shade and prose
And I don’t know what to do anymore
Audre Lorde said “silence will not protect you”
But I been weaving my silences into a survivor’s quilt
Because I’m tired of surviving
And I’m cold and want to use it as my blanket
Out there in that cold *** world

The world is full of shade and prose
*** workers on boulder highway
Wanna be poets writing in spanglish
White privilege, patriarchy and all
I kinda wish I’d write songs instead of poems
You know, songs about love
But no
Cuz the world is full of shade and prose
Bus stops/stop and frisk
Judgment day enthusiasts/Holocaust deniers
I am tired of “it happened before I was born”
And “I feel guilty but I did not ask to be privileged”
And when I say: Then do something
They ask me “what?”
I reply: NO
The world is full of shade and prose

The chicken never made it across the street
There is so much deconstruction
And so little relief
We will soon end up homeless
And will have to pawn the master’s tools
Or maybe just sell them at the swapmeet
For a dollar or two

I mean who cares as long as we’re in love
If at the end
The world is full of shade and prose.

trigger, strong language

Soy un puñal
certero al corazón
de la construcción social

I am a ******
flaming ******
***… (repeat after me…)
fagggggg
faaaaaggggggg:
soy una fogata
I am fire and heat
I raise from the ashes
of hundreds of years
of silence, love and tears

soy joto, maricon, rarito
I am queer
poderoso, vulnerable
soy “bonito”
soy pajaro, pato, ****
I can fly, i’ve got wings tu sabes
don’t **** with me
soy astuto
soy perra
soy una fiera
mi cuerpo
cruza fronteras
como si fuera coyote
as if I was a pollera

soy de la mano caída
mi mano apunta a la tierra
por que soy fuerza divina

I am multiplicity
survivor, resister
soy grande
como mi madre, como mi abuela
I am all powerful, sublime
if I wasn’t
why would you feel so threaten
at the mere sight of my eyes…

I walked aimlessly
Vulnerable and afraid
In the middle of the night
Luna llena!, a vieja shouted
Es la noche del amor!

There you were, man of stone
Darkest lips, thickest hips, deepest soul

Honey, herbs and songs
Honey, herbs and songs
A ritual of love
Under the full moon
Bajo la luna del amor

Brujo, curandero, heal within
Conjure every star inside your soul
Call on every guide, sing every song
It is ok to live with a broken heart
Brujo, the journey is long
But filled with love

El agua se desborda,  las cosas estan mas cerca de lo que suelen aparentar.

Waves Crashing Against Giant Glass Windows
The waters washing away the lies
Nobody lies to Yemaya
Nobody lies to Yemaya

We sit so peacefully while chaos strikes
Some of us in shock while others run
Nobody lies to Yemaya
Nobody lies to Yemaya

Los barcos de guerra se preparan en el mar
La luna misma ya no quiere brillar
Dicen los viejos que es tiempo de cambiar
Porque al final nadie le miente a Yemaya.

I really wanna write pretty ****
Like about birds singing at night
or the tired steps of the one Mexican maid
as she passes by my house before and after work

I want to write pretty ****
About my mother’s resilience
Her words of encouragement
And the sound of defeat in her “mijo no tengo ni pa’ la leche”

I want to write pretty ****, academic ****, deep ****,
About beautiful man of color
Trying to be anything but black or brown
Girlfriends claiming their white side
The silencing of accented voices
I am dying to write pretty ****

I want to write about her big *** eyelashes
And her fierce makeup
And how her face was flawless when they found her laying there
In a poodle of blood
Why would anyone **** someone so pretty?
It’s as if they hated pretty ****
Like the color of brown and black skin
And green trees and ****
Why do they like to **** pretty ****?
Like spirituality and native languages?
And they give nobel peace prizes to ****** up institutions with ****** up policies that push people to desperation, bomb them, starve them, and at the end blame them,
They like to blame pretty **** too

I want to write pretty ****
Like waking up to the bright sun
And driving by the day laborers at home depot
Some of them look so hopeful, and some of them so defeated
Some of them sleep beneath the little tree on the parking lot
Why do you illegalize pretty people?

Ain’t freedom pretty and injustice ugly?
Then why don’t we write about justice and ****
About the caribou not having to be fenced
And native land returned to indigenous peoples

Why don’t we claim our inner beauty
And recycle all them ****** up magazines filled with cropped bodies treated as money, souless bodies,
The fashion industry is ugly

And why don’t obama talk about pretty ****
Like reparations and wealth redistribution
And getting rid of Deportations, Deportations that’s some ugly ****

You will love
And it will hurt sometimes
Your frijoles will burn sometimes
And sometimes you’ll put too much salt or not enough
An insult or two
But mijo don’t ever let him hit you
And leave before you hit him back

You will love
And it will **** sometimes
Cocine en olla de barro
Persígnese en la mañana
Use condones y lubricante
Y guarde un cuchillo debajo de la cama

You will love
And it will feel good sometimes
No le eche tanta sal a la carne
Póngale un vaso de agua a sus muertos
Take lots of pictures
And in times of trial, don’t forget about the good memories
Invoke them, que esas lo van a sacar de dudas

You will love
And it will get intense sometimes
Límpiese con un ramo de flores blancas
Hágase un baño de agua florida con cascarilla
Get tested at least twice a year,
Y coma bien, no se malpase

You will love
And it will be sad sometimes
Use grape seed oil instead of mazola
Chia seeds on your water, pa’ la diabetis
Honey instead of refined sugars
******* once a day o las veces que quiera
And never let your ****** desire depend on a man
For all men despite their beauty can be damaged

You will love
And you will be on top of the world sometimes
Don’t eat so many tortillas,
Soda is not good for your kidneys, drink water or brew your own ice tea o hagase su juguito natural
Sea humilde y buena gente
No need to be mean and creido
Crease de su identidad y su lenguage
Ya lo material va y viene
Pero eso sí, que no se lo hagan pendejo que por ahí hay mucho cabron abusivo

You will love
And you will break up sometimes
Don’t overdo it with the drinking
Write a lot of poetry
Listen to a lot of Jenni Rivera
Go out and enjoy your singlehood
Que es bien bonito no rendirle cuentas a nadie

You will love
Pero no se olvide de uste’ mismo
Love yourself
Quiérase musho
Pa’ que ningún cabrón le vea la cara de pendejo
Pero antes de que llore por cualquier wey
Acuérdese de su ama
De su guelita
Y de su familia
Y piense que un hombre por más rico que coja no es todo en la vida

Acuérdese que venimos de una raza de gente fuerte y hermosa
Pero que eso no nos quita lo hijos de la chingada
Y de eso también hay que estar orgullosos
Porque lo hijos de la chingada es lo que nos ayuda a sobrevivir
Nomas no hay que ser hijos de la chingada con la gente que como nosotros sufre y lucha
Sea hijo de la chingada con la gente que nos quiere chingar

You will love,
And love is the only thing that will bring you happiness
Beauty and health
Love pues y cuando le digan que no puede amar a otro hombre
Mándelos a la chingada y dígales con palabras de profeta: YOU WILL LOVE.

She held him tight
While her baby said
“Sometimes I wonder if god loves us anymore”
She replied “She does, but some men won’t”
And she held him and went to sleep forever under the stars.

Se habla de amor a medianoche
Se hacen limpias y amarres
Se llena el sol de miel

Soy un collar de cuentas de coral
Pegado al cuello de una sacerdotisa
Hija de Yemaya

Se llenan papeles de inmigración
Se hacen reembolsos de impuestos
Se distribuyen palabras románticas en las paradas de autobús

Yo soy el hilo que mantiene las cuentas
Pequeñas perlas de jabón, sangre y miel
Tu nombre escrito en pedazos de papel

Vente conmigo Come with me
Deja la luna de lado Leave the moon aside
Que la marea yo te la hago I will set your waters in motion
Deja el sol de la mañana Leave the morning sun as well
Que yo te alumbro las ganas  For I will shed light over your desires

Deja el jugo del desayuno Leave the breakfast’s juice aside
Y cómeme como a ninguno And eat me like you haven’t eaten anyone

Vente conmigo Come with me
Tráete lo de menos Bring the least
Deja lo demás Leave most of it
Y a el And to him
Solo dile que te vas Just tell him you are leaving
Y a mí  And to me
Solo dime que si Just tell me yes
Y nada más.  And that’s it…

Babe you are worse than late night ****
Sinful like fried chocolate cake
Ironic like chicken and waffles with a diet coke
Or using lard based dressing on a salad

You bad
Like menudo without lime
Like hot cheetos to my kidneys

My desire for you is like:
That nostalgia you feel like a lump in your chest
The first time you smoked ****
The first time you came
The first time you fell in love

I’m sad cuz you ain’t here
And glad you’re far away.

She speaks of a past she never lived
During an uncertain present
thinking of a shady, shaky future

Her words are careful and well thought of
For each may be the seed that if succesful will feed her for years to come
She then speaks of water
And how dry her mouth is
She seems thirsty
her thirst is real.

My eyes feel heavy

Simmering and hot

Like the canela I drink to lower my blood sugar



I dream of you leaving

Entering that hotel

And me: motionless, helpless, and waiting



You want to eat the world

And I want to eat with you

You want to fly and feel

I want to fly and feel you: your heartbeat, your breathing, your stories…



I want to love with you

I want to believe your words

I want to hold your lips sacred



May be I am not as open minded as I thought I was

Maybe it’s my internalized sexism

Or maybe I learned to hold on to what I love with all my might and strength

And maybe I just don’t know how to love

But I want to re-learn it ******!



I want to hold you

And warn you that what’s out there ain’t always cute and cuddly

That these men we call our lovers will tell you anything

Make you lose whatever little dignity you have

Whatever little love you got left

To fill you up with their flesh, *****, lust, damage.

I’ve been with these men, these men we have fantasies with, these men that will touch us but won’t feel us, **** us, but won’t kiss us, **** us but won’t hear us. And you dream of these men, and you touch yourself thinking of these men, but these men will never make contact with your deeper self, con tu espiritu, con tu corazon.

Not to say I’m not possessive, overwhelming and impatient.  I just want to hold you under the rain, and let you know it’s ok to be wet, but not soaking the whole day (pretending to be dry.)

Good  Night

All to say, our mother’s are right: be careful out there.

Why do I cry about love when children are dying of hunger?

Why do I feel empty about you, when millions live on a dollar?

Why do I cry about love when mothers are burying their children?



I want to cry for the right reasons

I want to cry for injustice

For wirikuta

I want to cry to my mother, my sisters, my grandmothers and beg them for forgiveness

Forgive all my sexist trespassing, all my alliances to abusive men, all my silences

Forgive all the times you cleaned after me and served me

All the awkward situations I put you into for defending me

And my right to be queer



Forgive me mother

Sisters, aunts, grandmothers, godmothers

For allowing you to be undermined in ceremony

For stepping up and not letting you speak

For speaking the words that belonged to you

For not singing soft enough for your ears



Why do I cry over men who don’t love me

And forget about the women who raised me to be the queer that I am?



So I place these tears as an offering of love

Will you please accept them?



Mother earth

Mother universe

Will you please accept my offering?



Why do I cry over love,

          While others have tears no more?

I want to engage in a conversation with you,
Because in our love negotiations
My divinity is not on the table.

No you can’t love me in fragments
I don’t come compartmentalized
Love me whole
Or I will fly.

I want to build a nest
With you, with all your words,
But remember I’m a migrant bird
And I know how to soar away,
You don’t understand my way of love.

I do not sing in cages,
I do not live in fear,
I live, I love, I worship,
I am a living symphony.

Baby, I am free and thriving,
Whole like the bread you got at whole foods
And I know it's complicated:
I am complete and happy without you
Yet I know I could also be whole with you.

quiero escribirte mil gordas,
gordas formadas en líneas,
gordas tiradas en el pasto,
gordas con sus lonjas libres y sin fajas ni pantalones dos tallas menos que asfixien los tejidos de mi piel:
quiero cantarte una gorda canción.

gordas pinches gordas,
gordo el culo gordo el corazón,
gordas las piernas y los muslos,
las caderas.... tentación.

gordas !gordas son las anchas glorietas de la avenida gorda de la ciudad gorda donde todos los gordos y las gordas bailan un son que dice:

tu eres golosa golosa y glotona, tu eres golosa golosa y glotona,
pinche gorda poderosa
tu eres fuerte tu eres diosa
tus curvas son deliciosas
templo lavado con miel
para mi tu eres sagrada
dulce, fuerte y cotizada

gorda tu eres toda gorda,
vos sos toda gorda,
amante gorda,
gorda estudiante,
gorda madre,
gorda hija,
gorda espíritu santa.

¡bienvenidos a gordaztlan!
donde mandamos las gordas
y nuestro proceso de colonización conlleva amar nuestras lonjas,
nuestra panza, nuestras chichotas.

¡donde nada es imperfecto!
ni el lunar bajo del labio,
ni los pelos de la panocha.

¡pasen pasen! por las anchas puertas de nuestro gordo destino,
dicen que la vida es flaca
pero gordo es el camino,
en una mano el elote
en la otra mano el pepino,

con tortillas, chile gordo,
gordolagas con tocino.

¡gorda! ¡gorda!
sube tallas
¡y ven a bailar conmigo!

Nail polish residue is dangerous
So are your memories
But I still bite them away
As if they were my fingernails

Left over mascara
Bad make up
brake up letters
Tacky drag jewelry
I save them all in a big Walmart bag
Just in case, you know,
Just in case...

Almost like a dream
pa' que quiero el cielo if I could touch you
if I could feel your lips

I can write endless poems over your flesh
with the tips of my fingers
bite your knees
taste your legs
as I hear you sigh... suavecito... y con pausas...
our only language is the tremble of your thighs
your sudden fast breathing
a moan.. or two
your *** over my hair

asi... we stay in passionate silence
almost like in a dream
we speak of broken times
except we do not speak
we write

asi holding you tight
as night waves passed by us
I catch your dreams
you slept
your lips spoke to mine
I learned to hear you with my flesh
never had silence being this sublime

“i like writing with you
it feels like a long poem... one that I enjoy...”

As each second rises to the sky
I pause
I stop breathing
so that I can hear your heart

then, I refrain from blinking
just so that I won't miss your sweat sprouting as wild flowers after summer rain
I want to witness the ****** expressions you make
as you reach the mountain top
while clasping against my skin, my face

I pause
as you break through my flesh
as you scratch and caress
as you bite
as you call me “papi”
Papi...I pause

and I taste all your flavors
and I lick, and I devour your thighs
we become dark as night
lost in the fire at dusk
as the sun chases us...
I pause... to feel your lips again... pressed against mine... before you walk away... I pause.

1100 main
that's where he lives
the one boy with big dimples
the size of apricots

his big juicy smile
talking to me
he puts his hand over my thigh
and digs
as I dip my tongue between his lips.

It's late to believe in sunshine
after dawn
why not think about the endless possibility of darkness
for instance, last night
when you slept in my arms
as I licked your face

They tell us of places and theories
speak of the radicalness of our flesh
say that we must take responsibility of ourselves
as they sit behind their hard earned desks

they speak of their authority
and empowerment through words to the point that I wish to acquire such audacity

isn't that what our liberation is all about?
Recreating patterns of oppression
reach elitist capacities
sound … well structured and become one of the prodigies they can throw in their collection of so called advancement

I no longer seek validation of my processes through your bureaucratic systems
my knowledge does not emanate from intellectually justified sources but from las historias passed down to me by my fore-mothers

keep your favors, sympathy and unreasonable accommodations

yes, I will move on
but con un nuevo entendimiento:
de que ustedes no dictan las bases del feminismo
ni la capacidad de mi criterio

resisto sus juicios
y no acepto sus terminos
no firmo
por que mi educacion
no tiene fecha de expiracion
ni es un producto o contrato
al mejor postor.

Why won't the driver stop so that we can look authentic... mundane enough to deceive reality

at the end of the day, one only reaches normalcy through pretenses.
it's true... for example:
I like lying to you... when I tell you “i love you” just so that you'll **** it a little faster... for a bit longer... I really kind of love you though...

With my hands, I want to erase 500 years of colonialism off your flesh.
With my lips, I want to placate your christian guilt and burn away your evangelic shame.
With my words, I want to travel through your mind spreading a new gospel of love.
All in all:
I want you to become your own savior
breaking tradition in little pieces and rising in passion as a whole until you can touch the moon without having to be crucified.

I want you to leave me if that's part of your liberation.

It is imperialism and not god that they worship.
Being touched by the holy spirit as they turn deaf to the cries of children in Iraq... and on top of that calling the poor woman of color who just had an abortion a murderer. (meanwhile their pastors and priests **** children nonstop.)
Begging for donations to build the next temple as people in intervention torn countries die of hunger (all of this while Bill Gates and Carlos Slim become richer.)

I will love you after-wars
I will love you before-wars
I will love you during-wars

7th grade: ESL class...
I thought afterwards was “after-wars”
it wasn't until I took English 101 that I learned the proper spelling/meaning of this word
meanwhile I constructed a whole theory as to the origin/definition of such word:

such word according to the carlito's little immigrant dictionary is used to describe that time in which one is fatigued by so many battles, fights, skirmishes, attacks, abuse... and begins to see and feel all things around in a slow but certain process of apacigüe
that very moment in which one feels the cool air caressing each wound, each bitter memory.
Like a teaspoon full of honey after coughing to the point of bleeding.
The moment in which the universe seems to have mercy of/on the oppressed: when grandma's hoarse singing and laughter suddenly emanated and filled our hearts with a sense of peace after-wars:

Guadalajara en un llano
Mexico en una laguna
me he de comer esa tuna
aunque me espine la mano

during-wars: our time, in the middle of societal scrutiny. See? They don't seem to care much at sight, yet their thoughts of exclusion tend to disembowel us, hang us in public and use us as examples of what can happen when you bend or brake the rules. Yet it is not hate but love that can save us... and them. You and I, by practicing this horrendous act of resistance called “amor” are in fact saving the world, or at least diminishing the painful moments.

And one day, I promise you we will touch the stars... after-wars.

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?)

Diabetes, babe
Why can’t you be kind to me?
I appreciate your sweetness and all.
Setting my life on “reset”
And making me feel like ****

Diabetes, my love
Can you please be nice to me?
Give me a few more years to live
Stop making my mouth dry
Stop making ‘ama cry

Diabetes, chiquito
Tratame bien corazon,
No me metas tentacion
Por que de ver los tamales,
El pozole, el salpicon
Se me olvida que el suicidio
Se esconde en un chicharron

Diabetes, mi rey
Anda pues no te hagas wey
Que la dieta sea mi amiga
Librame de la fatiga
Y de la azucar maligna

Diabetes,
Let me live
I want to eat cheesecake again
Life without sugar is lame
And equal is not so great

Diabetes, babe
Let me be…

You spark:
a chemical reaction in my brain
that is hard to control or forget,
waves of energy from my love handles
to my fingertips

and I have to tell you
once again
that I love you
and that you make me feel crazy things

I miss your voice in my voicemail
I miss the feeling of your nails running through my hair
I miss when you push me away
I miss your ***** fits and the even how you made kool aid

I miss how you complain about how much curtido I put on top of my pupusa
and how you stare at me like a lechuza
I miss you Mondays 11:30 am...

I wish I was unbroken, without baggage, and free
I wish I could make you a house out of cardboard and dreams
Take away all your worries, rip and recycle bills
If only I could hear you singing to my ear… before I go to sleep

With you I’d:
Ride the bus towards freedom
Walk into alleys of autonomy
Streets where we could freely hold hands
Cover you with bed sheets filled with poetry written by our skin

I wish so many things… but now, it’s my deepest desire to feel you next to me.
I wish it was a lie. I’m gullible, you know… I still believe in love, yes, even at first sight.

I encourage you to abandon your faith
imagine the uncondonable
do the unpardonable
and rest in the arms of father mountain

I encourage you to go beyond your thoughts
appeal to your animalistic self
let go of your inhibitions
and tear me up in bed

I encourage you to try the impossible
reach the corners of your body
where pleasure is indigenous
where there will never be colonization

I encourage you to learn a new language
to not be patriotic
and worship your own flesh
resist majoritarian temptation
and dig an altar to yourself

I encourage you to love me
without strings, with no chains,
corral me, make me struggle,
and deep your soul within my veins

love me whole
sin fragmentations
love me across borders
without concessions
with negotiations
and complications

I encourage you to love.

Papi, we won't struggle no more
I promise you
it will be fine

papi, i'm gonna buy a car
and take you out to look at the stars

u won't have to ride the bus
with all them weird fools
(they probly think we are weird as **** too)

papi,
your skin is like the sky at night
do u remember how I held on to your back?
(but u never called back)

It won't go away
it negates me
and it remains
imperialistic and entitled
penetrating my nostrils
my eyes
my senses
my memory

this pain
is like that ***** stain
you left on my bed
(it won't wash away)

When your lips touch mine
they share centuries
historias enraizadas
struggles, shy moans
star dust
desert cactus
ocean

when your lips touch mine
I can hear the ocean's roar
I can feel one thousand waves under my toes
and I want you to hug me
for hours

when your lips touch mine
I forget anger, and lust,
I feel found and lost
lost and found
(and something deep and profound)
when your lips touch mine
I see the sky in your skin
in see the sea in your eyes
I feel the warmth of desert's sand


when your lips touch mine.

You are beautiful to me
your eyes, you hips your lips
the warmth of your smile
the subtle of your embrace
your skin
your laughter

even when you're a mess

you are beautiful to me
you are beautiful too
you are beautiful
you are
you