But

I called Allie and told her:

That’s it?”

Okay.

First kisses aren’t supposed to be good, right?

But can I think of kiss with a man that was “special”?

Some felt special…but I never understood why.

With her though…

I felt a hunger beyond thought,

beyond practice —

beyond expectation and protocol.

Do I feel that way with men?

Or is it more me practicing a movement,

an excitement, a momentum I’ve been taught?

The idea of being with her is more all encompassing

than I have felt for anyone else.

But I still know, deep in my soul,

that Adam Levine is hot as fire

and I would have been with Charlie in a heartbeat…

that it’s fun to dominate a guy,

and that I can do it well– ask them.

But am I aching for their touch?

Even with all those long term crushes?

I could play this game all day, comparing

gender

when I’m actually comparing

people

and there is not much more to it than that.

 

The soft skin — it’s real.

The emotional connection — it’s real.

Wanting to call you, she, they

baby…

that is something I know

I would never want to call a man,

even before my pink brain understood feminism,

before I had a reason to ask Charlie to a ball,

or chase Dan around a school yard.

It just feels more right —

and yet I have practiced this with men all of my life –

how many of us are there?

Chasing people we can never love around a globe, around a city.

It’s unfair to everyone involved, really.

Will I never be with a cis-man?

Of course not.

I have loved men before and I am sure I will again, statistically.

But…

 

To every bisexual who has every wondered if they were just gay or a lesbian…even when you’re confident in your identity.

 

October 12, 2019

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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

11:11

At 11:11

I will make a wish

that one day

my 11:11 wish won’t have to count,

won’t be some far off, preposterous thing,

that being a person,

first and foremost,

is about existing on Earth

and not in someone else’s wallet.

 

At 11:11,

I will make a wish

that all of my future wishes

come true.

Birthday cakes, eyelashes,

four leaf clovers–

send them all my way

and soon veganism will be widespread,

time machines will be real

and life will come with an automatic “pause” button.

 

I don’t want to leave

this time, this place

just yet.

 

The dollars we learned

to put above ourselves

back in 2017, 1999, 1776– they are far away.

 

Nothing to despair over.

 

It’s just 11:11:

four parallel lines

chasing after each other,

and never meeting.

 

August 27, 2017

watching the moon

 

you are on your own

with a life that belongs

to no one–

and that is more than okay.

 

what do I believe in?

I believe in truth,

the elements,

digging underneath the dirt

of lies we have been hiding

underneath our skin,

feeding one another

 

with or without realizing it

your soul

is the soul of the Gods,

the air you take in

as you step outside,

the sky shading you from the universe above

the earth underneath your feet

tell me that you can live without this;

tell me that this isn’t life itself.

 

you are made out of flesh and bone,

truth and more truth

layered one on top of the other

if you forget your way,

remember that it probably wasn’t your way

to begin with.

 

the way is empty;

the way is full of life.

 

and that life is surrounding you,

always.

 

April 9, 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

Practice

What makes you think you have to win,

that this is all a game?

 

I think that’s what they want you to think.

I think it’s what they’ve fed you since you were four.

 

Such a precious word, Practice.

 

Life is not winning and losing

and capitalism and greed

and first and last

and fixing and solving

and searching and striving.

 

Life is Practice–

for its own sake.

 

February 11, 2017

Inheritance

What legacy

have I been born into,

have you been born into,

have we been born into?

 

The farmer,

the preacher,

the banker,

the slave owner,

the slave;

the pawn,

the mom,

the sister,

the son,

the game.

 

It’s all a game of competition

or at least it all seems like a game of competition…

 

The Earth is not a game.

The Earth is life;

and we are part of the Earth.

 

We have each been handed an inheritance

that we had no control over.  You’re right.

 

We’ve all been infants, breast fed, bottle fed,

learned to read if we were lucky.

 

But how much did we really learn

if I am unable to read the society around me–

if society is unable to read itself?

 

Who created this inheritance, thought it was a good idea?

 

What is an inheritance anyway?

 

If leaves learned to read, write, speak

as we have…

perhaps we would have an answer.

 

January 22, 2017