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.

My body

My rules

My territory



I wish I knew the words to express what I’m feeling beyond tears

Beyond feelings of betrayal, abandonment, inadequacy,

Silencio que la memoria va a hablar:



I usually remember in Spanish



My uncle, he said that those things were normal and done to little kids,

“It will make you pretty and I will play with you”

So I let him dive into me because I believed that in order to be loved I had to let men hurt me,

And I saw my father beat my mother unconscious several times, but “he loved her”

So I learned that pain, invasion, abuse was a normal part of love

It has taken me years, broken relationships, years of putting up with abusive elders, friends and partners

And I remember that the only thing, the only place I felt safe was in bed, next to my teddy bear.



Decades later,

This man reminds me of my uncle,

This has not been the first time we’ve seen each other,

But it’s never been like this

I asked him to stop, this time I didn’t have to be in pain, I didn’t have to be hurt, I didn’t have to do what I didn’t wish to do, my body is my political space, my spiritual temple and I decide who will worship in my body

In my temple

And I don’t need to hurt in order to be loved

So he decided to go forward and violate our bow of consent

Decided his pleasure was more important than my well being than my ability to write poetry, my endless debates about activism, the love I have for my mother, the times I lay on the ground in worship as I ring the prayer bell, waking up early to go to work, singing in the shower, going out to random restaurants with my best friend, smiling, he decided I was not worthy enough of safety, and he felt entitled to me, my health, my consent, my body.

I confronted him, he responded with indifference and anger.



I went to the hospital, felt silly asking for a **** kit, and sat in a room for over an hour.  I felt exposed, vulnerable, opened, disrespected.  Like the goats in ritual offerings, I felt lifeless, I felt broken.

Days before the incident I went to a second hand store and I remember spending about 15 minutes looking at stuffed animals, thinking about how I haven’t gotten one in years, yet I have given a couple to guys I’ve gone on dates with… I haven’t gotten a rose in years, I thought, or a teddy bear, something to make me feel safe.



The victims advocate walked in the room and gave me a teddy bear, isn’t it funny how the universe works?



My body

My rules

My territory



My body

My rules

My territory



It has taken me years to learn that love is not the same thing as abuse, that I do not need to compromise my well being in order to be loved or feel accepted, that I love my body and each inch of it because it’s the one I got and I need no one’s validation but mine, that pleasure should always be mutual and that I refuse to be with someone who does not find me attractive, ****, and worthy of respect.



I want to thank my closest friends and family who have hugged me, cried with me, held my hand and guided me through this incident, I love you and I promise you this will only make me stronger.



Friends, never be ashamed, afraid or embarrassed to bring your attacker to justice, for you are worthy of love, respect and no one has the right to violate your body, your desires, your boundaries, your humanity.

Consent is beautiful.

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.

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…

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.

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.

Los dioses moriran, lo dijo un viejo sabio, con un tono de agravio y un poco de ansiedad
los dioses moriran, porque no hay sacrificio, y solo por beneficio se mueve en sociedad
los dioses moriran, y sus conocimientos, sus treintamil ascentos y su conformidad
los dioses moriran, un tanto por olvido, el otro por descuido de la ingrata humanidad,
los dioses moriran, que dioses tan humanos, quizas algo mundanos, y un poco de maldad
los dioses moriran, entre piedras del rio, escencia de rocio y fragancia floral
los dioses moriran, cantaran los ateos, suplicandole al cielo que vuelvan a brillar,
las estrellas del cielo, el sol y su cautelo, la luna y su desvelo, las corrientes del mar,
lo alto de la montana, el verde de las plantas, pero sera muy tarde
los dioses moriran.

Y vendrán tus monstruos a buscarte,
Escondidos en la solapa del pasado,
Recordando aquellos tiempos escaseados,
Donde existías sin necesidad de responsabilizarte,

Y vendrán tus monstruos a buscarte,
Todos ecos de tus gritos y tus golpes,
Alhajados con mil manillas de cobre,
Donde hay llaves que abren lo menos deseado,

Y vendrán todos tus monstruos a buscarte,
Desde el más pequeño y recóndito rincón,
¿Te recuerdas cuando te decías campeón?
Ahora vives haciéndole ofrendas al amor
Esperando que te vuelvan lo invencible

Y vendrán tus monstruos a enamorarte,
Pegándote los labios al oído,
Repitiendo cada prosa ya olvidada,
Con la que te hacías decir que eras un dios:
Los demás no valían nada.

Y vendrán tus monstruos a devorarte,
Como punto final de breve historia,
Llegaran mofándose de tu gloria,
Y no tendrás más que callar
Y volverte una memoria.

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)

Salt Lake city what the ****
Dancing with a spider, a cow and a hawk
Vino, whiskey, cerveza, maricones con destreza
Perdiendo la cabeza

Jotas de hoy

Tengo una cajita de secretos

Llena de poemas, astillada,

Vieja, desgastada, pero llena de poemas



Caben muchas cosas dentro de ella

Pudiera llenarla de problemas

Mas la tengo repleta de poemas

Repleta de poemas



Quiero regalarte mi cajita

Y que la llenes de poemas

De frases cursis

De citas comunes de filosofía

De literatura sin esquemas

Ah! Y de poemas, si muchos poemas

Mujer de la falda larga,
Grande, dulce, poderosa
Diosa
Diosa

Tu falda como el manto de la Guadalupana,
Cúbrenos a tus hermanas,
Y entre llantos y despedidas
Sabemos que las grandes como tú nunca se olvidan,

Que cada llanto es un poema de vida
Que allá en la casa del cielo
Tú sigues cambiando vidas.

Mujer de la falda larga,
Grande, dulce, poderosa
Diosa
Diosa

Fronteras de piel y construcciones sociales
Madre de los desacatos radicales
Eterna reina
Entre adioses terrenales
Te conviertes en santa solidarizada con nosotros:
Los marginales

Los pobres, los inmigrantes, los jotos, los que no somos “normales”

Mujer de la falda larga,
Grande, dulce, poderosa
Diosa
Diosa

Confidente y adversaria
Mujer revolucionaria
Mujer de la falda larga
Cúbrenos bajo tu manto
Y llévanos a ese mundo
Ese mundo que tú imaginaste
A esa tierra por la que luchaste
Grande, dulce, poderosa
Diosa
Diosa.

Quiero salir de tu cielo
A otros mundos más felices
Volar como las codornices
Con nervios, pero con vuelo

Quiero salir de tu cielo
A otros campos más bonitos
Andar descalzo y solito
Lejos de cualquier recelo

Quiero olvidarme un momento
De serpientes y puñales
Y dormir entre nubes blancas
Como las de las postales

Quiero salir de tu cielo…

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.

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.

Homeless aspirations:
I left home for you.
Made myself a hut,
A cave, somewhere where you could hide

And you did it well,
You did it so soundly
That I no longer see you.

I can’t find you.

Problem is:
When I found myself
I had lost my vision
For you, for us.

So I redid myself
Ate in moderation,
Was less emotional,
Unconditional, went to sleep in the darkness, holding myself hoping I would come out whole after your interventions of solitude… I was wrong.

Dry mouth, dreams, cautions,
Don’t you know I can see beyond your eyes, even if I try not to?
Don’t you know that I can tell through the tremor of your flesh when you leave home?
Even when you’re next to me,
I know.

So I’ve become an obstacle, clutter in this obscure path that leads nowhere.  As much as I try to see beyond this tunnel, there is no light, there is not a happy ending.

Love should never be silent,
My grandma said give enough hugs because one day you will run out, ******* grandma! I thought, but now I am here, holding myself wishing she was here to hold me as I allow myself to break.

I have known you from before, I’ve known you from my father’s abandonment and emotional manipulations, I’ve known you from my darkest moments, I’ve known you, yet I still believed in that glimpse of light I often mistake for love and potential,
I was so wrong.

You said your hands will one day touch my flesh,
Leave marks over my skin so that I can always remember…
I wish it was poetry you are talking about,
I wish it was a word, yet words are so scarce nowadays, words… even words resist the temptation to fall out of my lips.

When will I speak, again?
So I perform, act on a daily basis
I look forward to the day when I will wake up again:
On my own,
Or maybe with someone brave enough to hold me:
Even at my worst.

We were supposed to make poetry,
A kingdom of illusions falling into pieces as I slowly await universal restitution.

I am not trash
I am not clutter
I am someone who thought “maybe if I” the issue was that I forgot to see beyond I and I ignored the obvious.

I woke up this morning again,
On my own.

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

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

Papeles pa’ que los quiero

Si tengo mente pa’ pensar

I think therefore i resist

My humanity is not made of plastic, ink, paper or congress



It’s made of flesh, soul, sangre



Who will be a citizen?



            Silent tongues, grateful bowed heads, patient hands, traumatized spirits, beaten souls, tired eyes, tinted dollar bills, recycled cans, college degrees. Corporate dreams.



Who will you have to become now?

How many more masks should you wear?

Where will you leave your soul at night? Before the sun shines and you go off to Corporate America, soulless and blind.



Will you also be genetically modified? Layered, self censoring resistance thoughts… who will you be? Who will you have to be now?

It’s 2014 and they’re still talking about the feminine mystique
Gurl es que no puedo mas ya
So I am gonna throw some shade
I will pray to Yemaya
To wash them with the 4th wave

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

We live galaxies away
thinking of different things
chasing contrasting dreams
you... you run towards the light
while I ponder about it in darkness

You know...
I too have learned how to tame my shadow beast within:
the one you tend you unleash
with that luggage filled with insecurity
and lies...
...and secondary places in your life
(meanwhile I am your primary care
your home, your flesh, your receptacle of tears
your plate, your soil, your forgotten sketchbook)

how far away are you?
I wait for this chess game to restart
so we can go at it once more
waiting for a different outcome
with no plan b
without a care in the world of what can be
and contrary to advice
good customs and common sense
I will make the insane decision to submerge myself again
in love

The last poem you wrote me

I folded.



A drop of honey at the center

a small piece of cinnamon

A red ribbon

a good bye…



then, left it in the freezer

all the way in the back

behind the popsicles and the personal pizzas



hoping my love for you will freeze

and be kept there

safe and cold

until is time

to snack on it

again.

I defy you
As I continue to rise
I belittle your curse, your gossip, your unexplained hatred of everything that is me.
I defy you
As I ****, as I ***, as I moan
I rebuke your negativity and I reclaim my body
As mine
Sacred temple where many decide to worship,  and yes, I do perform miracles.
I defy you
Because I understand that no matter what I do you will still dislike me, so I choose to give you the best reasons to hate me, and one of them is not hating the irrelevant.  
I defy you
And until you love me again, your hatred will slowly crumble at the sound of each "I love you" I say.
What is written cannot be erased.

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.

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...

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".

Challenge



Nobody wants an easy love

You say

There needs to be a challenge



Like not calling you for days

Like pretending to not care

Like being a dismissive/distant ****

In order to make you feel like you should really want me



Boo, that’s not challenge, that’s buying into the same ******* we are told to do as men:

Do not be intimate, vulnerable; do not surrender to love,

Pretend to be numb, strong, emotionless, and cold, be a man, be loveless,

Be a challenge, so that you may want to conquer me, conquer my flesh and colonize my spirit,



But neither my flesh nor my spirit needs for you to claim them

I need not to falsify my emotions in order to attract you

I do not want to pretend to be a cold lifeless chimera

I am not what you are looking for, but I am what you need.



Challenge:

The real challenge is interrupting old stories of masculinity

Letting me enter you, letting you enter me and surrender to each other’s flesh without guilt or fear of eternal damnation

Standing by me, standing by you even when it does not feel safe

And yes… it’s ok to tell me you miss me, think of me, are triggered by me, hurt by me, impacted by me, I want to know, silence is no challenge to me, knowing you and learning to love you as you guide me through the streets of your inner city heart is.



Vulnerability, communication, surrendering: challenge.

Igual que San Lazaro bendito
diambulas las calles vagabundo
Un trago de vino
Para apaciguar el recuerdo profundo
La memoria opaca
Vas viajando por el mundo
Tembloroso e inaudito
Igual que San Lazaro bendito

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.

Inches away... But in different worlds
I quietly await for the dream you promised me,
Instead I see you buried in years of solitude,

Quiet,
Unwilling to rise with me,
Because there may be something in the ground waiting for you,
Something that seems to be less fast paced and quite more traditional,

Since
I am so unconventional,
So queer,
So foreign to you.
So I tear my wings in hope that I can wait for you
As my flesh burns in desire.

I want to awaken you...yet not even the sun accomplishes such task.

And I am afraid that in your deep sleep one day my heart will be unwilling to compromise,
That impatient heart of mine that likes to walk away and destroy long term possibilities.
That needy heart of mine that yearns for the feeling of your breath over my skin,
Your soul over my soul,
Your flesh over my tongue.

So if and when he leaves
Don't ask where he has gone,
He's never told me.

(But he's there)
Impatiently waiting at the terminal of "maybes"
Measuring the time with the rise of the sun
And when he sleeps he dreams of your hands surrounding him,
Touching him,
Making him feel
Like you and him
belong.

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

El agua esta verdosa;
I take a plunge:
blindly and innocently,
hoping for the best.

I close my eyes
prepare for the worst,
and yet
it does not feel that bad.

I am here again,
surrounded by your arms,
resting;
god knows for how long
but at peace
again.

Your eyes like your destiny ever-changing

I was getting to know you

I don't know you anymore



Leftovers, unfinished conversations, longing, wanting, needing,

You wanted to be selfish, self centered, goal oriented

I wanted to be held, caressed and felt



You left slowly, fading away like a spirit after a séance

leaving me with the need to cleanse myself

of your leftover emotions, your demons, your denials



Agua con añil de la palangana, flores blancas, colonia...

    " Me voy a limpiar, me voy a limpiar, con el agua del rio, con el agua del mar... "



I rise above my wants

my needs and my desires



While I am made of flesh

spirit never expires

you do and so do emotions



I will hold on to nothing that's not worth waiting for

you eyes forever changing

my eyes forever brown.



" Se van los seres, se van los seres... "

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

He has all the wrong signs,

Every red flag,

Says every **** scary word on my  “Girl ruuuun for your life” dictionary,

And yet I desire him.


He is everything that is wrong with me,

He is me 10 years ago:

Surrounded by spirit,

He is music without lyrics,

He is all that is wrong with me.


The embodiment of NO,

He’s a bird with no song,

Wingless, dreamless and plastic,

His standards are elastic,

And he won't let me breathe...

He is everything that is wrong with me

And yet

Object of my desire

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.)

Honeyed voice
Your throat is filled with stories about old days, old days when love used to be tangible and real.
Tell us, vieja,  tell us again about the one time you fell in love, en aquel portal de ladrillos, tell us vieja about the one time the priest threw holy water at you both and said that word that you now say with your honeyed voice: lesbiana.

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?)

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…

let your fire burn through me

mark me

be the drum that never ceases to play

the sound that makes life happen

the melody of love



let your rumble be the change that we need to see

let justice rejoice

let us dance at your pace

let us be free with you, my king



the king came back as thunder!

Be the thunder that calls our hearts to fight against injustice

Be the song that reminds us how to struggle

Be the fire within our souls, and have mercy over our enemies.

Ashe.

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.

Anoche te encontré
Flor de selva encabronada
Lengua libre y encontrada
Antiguo amor

Antenoche te encontré
Piedra de montaña verde
Amuleto de mi suerte
Antiguo amor

Ayer te vi
De reojo entre mis brazos
Escuchando la poesía de tus abrazos
En tu regazo amanecí
Antiguo amor

Amor dulce
Lento, perezoso, poseído,
Amor de viejos
Amor que triunfo después de ser vencido
Amor de esos que no mueren y se quedan ahí
Como humedad en la pared
Antiguo amor

Amor suave,
Te de arándanos y hierbas dulces
Mirada onda y media pérdida entre sus luces
Dulce poesía color azul
En todo su esplendor
Antiguo amor

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...

Love is beaten out of us

Every particle that begs to stay

Every little bit

Mercilessly we chip away each memory

And fill it with venom

Because it makes more sense not to love

I’ve come to the conclusion

That perhaps loving is harder than forgetting

I want to be in love with you… and never forget.

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.

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

Y entre las piernas destruidas del imperio azul
Navegamos negadas gaviotas del sur buscando el sustento
Aros de plástico nos traban los picos
Y vemos miles de posibilidades más solo nos queda volar, imaginar y morir de hambre
Cuántas gaviotas cansadas no venderían sus alas por un bocado
Por hallar un puerto en medio del acantilado
Por caer al vacío en medio de un cielo oscuro y estrellado
Gaviotas pendejas
Acostumbradas a los vuelos tan normales
No sabiendo que ellas son tan desiguales
Y que a su imperio no le hacen falta más que para morir de hambre
Gaviotas acomplejadas
Que se limpian el plumaje
Y se quedan viendo las olas
En medio de las corrientes atravesadas

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

Loving you is a political act

A radical act of revolutionary love,

Loving you in the morning, in the middle of the night,

Loving you in a time of war,

Loving you: your spirit, your skin, your depths,

In a historical warfare where we are not meant to be wanted,

But gunned down in the streets,

Detained, criminalized, displaced.



My tongue, which is supposed to remain silent

Turns into poetry at the contact of your lips,



My accented language turns into lullabies of love

Asking your body to rest, your soul to rise,

Your spirit to become one with mine,

As we shield each other from this world of ****

And whiteheteropatriarchalcitizenist normativity

That we love to interrupt as we breathe

Against each other’s flesh.