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

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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.

after the game

when

all

I

want

to do

is scream

about the patriarchy

but I know I’d just

perpetuate

a stereotype

what am I supposed to do

when I score a goal on you

and you act like I’m a tree

whose branch luckily swayed

in the right direction

what am I supposed to do

when I tackle you

as well as some dude

but my lack of maleness

makes you stutter

I’m not sorry

that girls can do

what you can do;

I am not sorry

that, sometimes,

we do it better, too.

 

I am 24 years old,

playing a game I love

more than men

for 20 and have been playing

with them, side by side,

for the same.

 

I’ve always loved being the underdog.

 

but why can’t you

just put your head down like you do

when your friend nails a freakin maradona

these things are not so hard to do

when we treat this sport like a drug

admit that it’s mine, too;

that just because your body

can lift 200 pounds doesn’t mean

mine can’t kick your ass

with a soccer ball

that’s all I want:

the chance to come to a game,

ponytail in tow,

and still feel like I belong

to something that was here

long before I called it my own,

long before I learned

that girls aren’t supposed to do

what boys do.

 

all the friends and teams,

games and sprains, fields

and nails to the head,

bruised knees and toes,

championships and titles later

 

and these guys still insist

I need to prove myself.

 

I am not a tree

standing in the wind.

 

I am a woman–

and a pretty damn good soccer player.

 

March 4, 2016

thoughts after the party

who says I have to follow him around,

chase a boy that didn’t see me in the first place?

be brave in the moment,

yes,

but no woman should have to go chasing after a man,

force the queen that she is into his face

and push “forever.”

I walk away,

stare at the blank concrete

and wonder, for the millionth time,

“When will he come?”

well, I’m tired.

it is what society has fed us from the womb

It is why boys eye me from across the street

it is how biology may have made us

but no matter–

women can think, too.

to say,

“I am enough,”

is not the same as

believing,

“I am enough.”

the 14 year old girl on Instagram posting selfies

in hopes of some hot guy’s comments:

you are enough.

the sister and the daughter and the grandmother

who have seen the message passed down from generation

to generation, “When are you marrying him?”

Well, “When will you finally realize that you’re married to yourself?”

I am enough.

it’s not that I don’t want that warmth and satisfaction

of knowing I can hold one man for the rest of time

but I don’t want to chase him into doing so.

I am light,

and if I have to wait until someone not only sees it

but looks at me, straight in the eyes

and says they want to be my sun…

that’s okay, too.

June 6, 2015