“B”

I thought I knew you

from another room,

but you said your name was Gaby

and I only knew one of you,

(and I didn’t want to know Gabby again).

So I crumpled up “b” into a box,

pushed it to the back of my closet,

burned the closet,

and looked up, at you.

 

You are bright, flowing, happy.

 

You make New York trees laugh in winter,

the ones with no lights on 27th street,

swaying on sidewalks.

 

The voice, the energy, the knowing.

 

Who knows why.

 

Your voice draws me in:

low and light and dark in one moment,

calm and cool, you collect me up,

make some joke about not knowing street signs

so I laugh,

I walk west,

explain what west means in a city on the East coast,

far from home.

 

I’m wearing the hat that made you laugh

and call me cute, and I smile,

because I know I’ll see you again soon–

new room, new puzzle, one less “b.”

 

December 5, 2018

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To Men Who Take But Don’t Give

You’ve taught me:

it’s hard

to love yourself

when you give yourself up

like meat for slaughter

when you’re taught

you are not an animal,

you are the meat;

you are a hole to be filled

and wiped clean afterwards;

you are the microphone

through which he speaks.

 

Even before I fuck you

I’ll remember my name,

part of the heavens you’ve never seen,

let alone touched.

 

Leave me alone to write, without you.

 

Your gaze makes me too tired to speak.

 

This is my time to breathe,

not your time to sink me down with you.

You’re 4 months into America

and you think you can laugh at our president?

Tell me what street to take?

 

Sex led me to you?

 

Is that what we did?

No.

 

You cannot touch

what you cannot see–

your heart is nowhere on this table,

on this bed. Your ego lifts you

(to make up for your small dick).

 

Am I right?

Do you believe in “right”?

Me neither.

But I do believe in justice.

 

What do you believe in?

 

December 6, 2018

Life as She, as They

To look upon a lover

and see new life

coming into being…

when you didn’t know

that life was beyond

a baby and a cradle,

that this moment

of one life manifested

with another that is god damn

beautiful

enough to allow a new life

to emerge–

a love that is a life itself.

 

And so I must challenge myself.

 

We all want that love,

so why not work on it on our own

stake your claim

on yourself

put “you”

first, middle, and last

interwoven, intertwined

in all other loves that come your way.

 

Love is only two manifestations

meeting after all;

that’s all it takes.

If you’re lucky enough to find

two, three, four–

my darling,

devour them.

 

Wonder how you got so lucky

but do not ask why

because you are here,

and this is now,

and only she knows,

only they know,

only Life knows,

the sum of all nows.

 

July 17, 2018

Rebel

Lets celebrate
the gift that has been lent to me–
let us remember
that thought is unnecessary unless there is a problem…and there is no problem here.

The curves and edges of elbows and shoulders and thighs and necks
swooped over the sides of balconies,
either wishing for a way out or a way into
this life, this body, this mind and energy granted to us from some source unknown
and yet completely home;

let us celebrate the pleasure of being in it, of stomping up and down stairs when we are mad,
of walking away from a first kiss, drifting,
of eating a warm flaky croissant, of feeling
the fat roll around my insides as my heart grow outwards, reminding me to celebrate the choice
to observe, to take in,
to learn about what is worth thinking about, challenging, questioning — and what is worth knowing to be truth
and nothing more.

Celebrate your womanhood.
To be a woman
and to pleasure in it…
that is rebellion.

January 21, 2018

Stories

Waves of story –

that is an emotional life…

trauma informed you have to mentally be still,

learn to see the busyness in your body, in your mind, practice

often, even though it isn’t fair you were born into a god damned

patriarchal, capitalistic, racist, classist, sexist, homophobic society

that favors my white Latina skin, that denies my queerness,
that pokes fun at my gender
every   single    day.

And stories- stories are life’s meaning that, in their fullest,
most fleshed out form, make us human.

I want this to be an ode to SBU; to HC;

an ode to Bruce,

my body, my breath;

an ode to my throat; an ode to my face;

an ode to my familia, my Kenny, my mother; an ode to my father,
brother, sister, to friends long lost;

an ode to America, to nationalism and Puerto Rico’s remains;

an ode to my pen;

an ode to emotional bodies laying dormant, untouched,

by a warmed soul lingering underneath,

pure animal energy

born in the womb of the Earth, returning to the universe

once I dare to turn each story around…

December 6, 2017

Love or Life?

Do I choose love,

or do I choose life,

down in here in this pit of society

where I can chose 1, be a woman

or 2, be someone, something else

I don’t know what that something is,

exactly, but I do know

it is something of a warrior,

everything of a human being

when love becomes “the next step” in life,

when it becomes a final goal

it ruins the songs for me, it ruins the longing in my heart

for love and life and more,

a world that can make sense again,

a space where I can start learning how the puzzle fits together

rather than about each individual piece,

peace does not, will not, never comes from love alone

these good-vibes-only signs make me want to be bad

I want to speak a language everyone will understand,

that will encompass sympathy and empathy and compassion

and purpose and results. I want to act.

 

I do want love.

But I want to live, too.

I want to live the life I choose,

not just that of the mother or the wife or the nurturer.

 

I want to give this Earth a voice.

That would do just fine.

 

a rambling in the wake International Women’s Day…

a day we shouldn’t need to celebrate…a day that should be every. day.

March 10, 2017

at the ocean

my intention,

my desire,

my secret wish

is to simplify life.

 

many men

have tried It;

we heard about it.

 

It didn’t work.

 

many women

have tried It;

we didn’t hear about it.

 

(proof enough) It didn’t work.

 

we searched for It

in churches and mosques,

temples and tall, gray shopping malls.

 

we listened for It

at TED talks, college lecture halls

and sports stadiums with 80,000 seats.

 

when fate

grants you power,

what do you do with It?

 

men decided to seek It only in themselves,

simplicity and peace and glory

owned by one hand, one heart, one tear.

 

I ask: where does the tear come from?

Where does the water come from?

I’ll start by listening there.

 

March 18, 2016.