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405 · May 2015
black/brown
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.
403 · Jan 2014
She Held Him Tight
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.
394 · Mar 2014
Untitled
Nos quedamos en pause
Esperando el momento
con Los labios al tiempo
Y Un solo pensamiento
371 · Jul 2014
People of God
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.....
359 · Aug 2017
Gaviotas Imperiales
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
357 · Jul 2014
oohps!
I wanted you to be welcomed, part of my flesh; I wanted you to be Him
But every single movement repulsed me
I imagined traveling in a bubble and moving up and up and up away…
And there you were, looking up, trying to save me.
Except I didn’t wanna be saved,
I wanted to escape my mistake,
Tell you I secretly hated you without making you hurt or cry,
But I am bad at these things,
I’m so rusty at loving someone,
And even more at pretending to.
So there I said it
Like a silent secret prayer in the middle of the night
Fist to my chest
Forgive me, for I have sinned (not really)
Except that this time, I made sure there was no penitence, just a quick good bye and a pack of cigarettes.
339 · Jan 2014
manantial
Bury the seed of my love

Deep in the heart of the earth

Let me be a distant memory at best

A big tree with huge arms

So you can sit under my shadow

Whenever you feel tired, or sad



Let me be your manantial
338 · Oct 2018
Literacy
Literacy
“Please don’t tell anyone
My husband beats me…
I am undocumented, I don’t speak English…
And my child, el pobrecito thinks he’s the only one who can defend me
He thinks he’s the man of the house…”

His eyes get lost on the spotless white wall,
Thinking if his dad got home…
Yelling in that cursed language his mom can’t understand,
Language becomes a violent beast coming out of his dad’s mouth.

A monster that smells like alcohol and burnt tires,
Feels like broken glass, blood… and fear,
And he ain’t there to stop it.

What if his mom is calling him for help… in Spanish?
And he’s there instead,
Encased amongst all this English and them four pristine white walls,
“What are these letters good for if they won’t save my mom…” he thinks.

A teacher tells him
That he should learn how to read in English…
He then could teach his mom,
And one day she could defend herself from the beast.

He devours below-his-grade-level books.
Each letter: a weapon.
Each word: a shield.

And he begins to believe that through knowledge he could save her.
Every time he writes a word
He imagines himself as a victorious warrior,

The beast is tamed,
And his mom will one day be safe.

Yesterday he smuggled words inside his old torn backpack,
Stole a fruit cup and the entire alphabet, took them home.
“Here ama, this is for you!
One day you’ll talk so much English you’ll be free.”
332 · Aug 2017
Short Film
Short Film

Scene:

I wished for these minutes to be frozen,
Paused-while-in-motion, congealed, kept eternally intact,
Like a slow-mute-black and white movie in constant repetition,
I, surrounded by your arms: an eternal art installation.

You sparked a procession within me,
All’the sudden… I remembered,
I recalled that which I did not care to forget,
Just like when I would memorize them old romantic Mexican movies grandpa used to watch,
I replayed every dialogue thinking that one day,
I would ride away into the horizon on top of a white horse locked into Pedro Infante’s arms.

Short film:
One which owns no plot,
No cathartic ending or even a narrative of love,
Random flicker of time,
Broken words and missed flights.

I apologize; I tend to arrive late to everything,
Including your life,
My bad.

Short film:
That long lost sense of belonging,
A plant with dumpy roots searching desperately for soil.
Somehow you triggered and meshed some recollections,
You know…
I have not felt someone caressing my mind at the same time as they desire my flesh.
Lost in lust: A short scene between your legs,
A brief script amongst our lips.

Melting glacier within
Resting ***** face
And cut…
332 · Aug 2017
Salvacion
En sueños yo te salvo sin querer,
Y vuelvo hasta el antaño en un segundo,
Pensando en lo vano, en lo profundo,
En lo sincero y en lo vagabundo;
Y cuando tú apareces, mediodía,
Con el sol paralelo a tu sonrisa,
Desarmas las estrategias y guías
Y ganas la batalla por un día.
De noche yo te abrazo de costumbre,
Buscando el calorcito de tus brazos,
Escondiéndome como un niño en tu regazo,
Huyendo realidades con engaños.
Y a veces tú me miras "diadeberas",
Te das cuenta que existo y me liberas,
De lo mortificante que es quererte,
Sin a veces saber que puedes verme.
Quizás yo por mi letra y mis consejos,
Debería de quitarme de complejos,
Buscando algún guiño en aquel espejo,
O una señal de vida en tus montañas.
Yo soy expedición de vez en cuando,
Y tú un dios que se esconde en el ocaso,
Me vuelvo eterno como el firmamento,
A ver si en tu creación te pertenezco.
No quiero ser tu vida o tu sustento,
Ni tú necesidad semi-quimera,
Quiero ser tentación y vicio eterno,
Ser algo como una suave condena.
Vivimos entre espuma y medianoche,
Entre miel que nos cubre los adentros,
Llenando poco a poco los silencios,
Yo me lleno de ti
Y tú
Me salvas luego.
Spanish Español Chicano Xicano Latino Love Amor Poema de Amor
292 · Jan 2014
on strike
i want to write a poem

about you

but my mind is blank

my creativity has gone on strike

and my heart beats beautifully

at my own rhythm this time
287 · Apr 2014
April 2nd 2014
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
269 · Apr 2014
April 1 2014
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.
243 · Jun 12
East Las Vegas
East Side LV
My country is you.
My nationality is you.

Calles tostadas por el sol,
con palos verdes de flores amarillas.

Folks coming out to walk after 7 p.m. ‘cause of the heat —
elotero tricycle (and golf carts),
mangoneada con mucho chamoy,
trails with broken light posts.

My nationality is you.
Taquería on every corner,
señora selling sunflowers en la esquina,
countless Brown entrepreneurs.

Accent thick as atole, or thin as mezcal —
home away from home, but home nonetheless.

A Yeti trapped in the desert,
front yard nopales, roses, and Guadalupes.
Trunk tamales.

Pick-up trucks, college degrees,
aspirational wealth,
a proudly stubborn Spanish,
unwilling to leave our tongues —
and if they cut our tongues,
we will still dream in Spanish.

My nationality is you.
Mariachi singing the national anthem,
horse-riding vaqueros,
soccer-playing muchachas.

Botánica in the middle of the swap meet,
sacred drummings on scorching hot weekends,
birria Sundays,
underground rivers.

Working class,
rich in culture,
color,
envy of many.

East Side LV —
My country is you.
My nationality is you.
Not sure if you realized it by now,
but this is a love poem to you, East Side LV.
195 · Jun 11
Ice Cream Trucks
I wrote a letter when I was undocumented,
Became a large brick wall filled with nails and empty voids,
Degrees, certificates, notebooks, notes, random *** poems, receipts, papers, papers, papers,
Overcompensating for my lack of status.

I hid under Las Vegas’ scolding sun while wanting to be seen,
Always missing the Aguascalientes’ springs,
When you didn’t need AC.

Sometimes I still wonder what happened to my elementary and middle school friends,
The ones I couldn’t say good bye to,
Because we left so sudden,
Grandma and I.

Randomly aftewards…

I wrote a letter to my future self:
“Whatever you end up, remember you are an educator…”
I inherited my teaching spirit from my mother,
I imagined that words one day would set us free;
They didn’t,
But they sure helped,
Helped a lot,
Especially them three words “United States Citizen”.

A former friend of mine once prophesied that 10 years after the Obama administration
Folks would realize the harm they’ve done to innocent people, immigrants.
It’s been more than ten years,
I want my money back.

I stopped worrying about Ice Cream trucks once they stopped selling chocolate tacos, I prefer the raspado man.
0 · Jun 11
Un Columpio
Un columpio
de mi patio hasta San Juan,
para que, cada que quieras,
puedas ir a visitar:
la brisa del mar,
el café de abuela.
Tus greñitas llenas de arena y de sal,
unos tostones,
un sándwich con pan sobao,
un café Yauco…
un mofongo los gorditos.

Una llamada cada semana
que se vuelva presencial en Caguas,
un vuelo directo, sin escala,
y quedarnos meses aquí,
con una serenata de coquís.

Una máquina del tiempo —
para salvar a aquel niño,
unos tostones de pana,
unlimited bacalaito.\

Una isla independiente,
un gobierno incorruptible,
una casa con cimientos fuertes,
una luna de ámbar que nos alumbre.

Dos tripletas,
tres cocas de dieta,
cinco dulces de guayaba,
y una piña colada…

Un columpio gigante que te lleve
de nuestro patio a San Juan…

— The End —