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While we Mourn We Should See

25 Apr

I wore the only dress I had that seemed semi-decent
It rolled up around my neck but hung dangerously low
so I pinned it
pin pin
fix it.

But nothing could fix your absence.
You were supposed to lift us.
I looked to you to save us.
You’d gone so far already…
Was it really that much to ask?

But mother effer, this life is so cruel
it doesn’t abide by our rules

Why won’t you do my bidding?
SO I won’t have to
Grieve
Someone like you.

I grew up in East Los.
I thought I was used to this.
The loss.
The end.

But no,
don’t you see?
You left a large gaping hole.
And it hurts,
because try as I might
I won’t ever fill it for those that loved you.

How dare you?
How dare you?
Leave?

New Words

9 Apr

You just don’t even see

You don’t even hear
How you not gonna see
me humpin a teddy bear
with my milk teeth
but you turn around
and walk out
Don’t even flinch and see you way out
What I gotta do to make you see?
But why I try?
Why I care?
for a woman who
don’t bother tryin’
don’t bother blockin’
what my future really be?
15 years flash forward
Baby on each hip
Who you think I learned from?
who you think I try to escape from?
Love
Love
Didn’t even know what that was
I thought college…College…College
Education?
No
It was my last line
Working at the office
library
Mervyn’s 11 pm – 3 am
Practically hoeing
on the metro
for cents on the dollar
tryin’ to be honest
trying to pay u bills
White man tender couldn’t see
No loan for you
keep workin’
keep hopin’
Thanks LMU
I’m lookin’ at you
But what you see?
what you hear?
Nothin
Nothin
Nothin
That’s all you remember
Nothin’ to do wit you
My mama
the one who should be caring
the one supposed to love me
Love at first sight
Or was it Hate At First Sight?
couldn’t get that hanger hook on right?
Boyle Heights walls be translucent
Paper thin
paper white
You wish
But let me know somethin’
if White ruled your world
why you sleep with that creep in me?
I thought I was garbage
Why you think I try those pills
and not one
but two and three
and more
was not enough?
Lying in that bed
probed
pumped
stripped
And all you and he could ask
What They Gonna Think?
Hell hole you had me livin in
Hell hole you seemed so content with
But I know now
I know different now
That hate you spilled
is me
Sad for you
but I love me
I could keep going
but only a lifetime can be told
and I’ve known
one or three

American Dream

7 Feb

I want to climb big mountains

with my brown bare feet gripping the dry earth

skimming,

propelling forward at lightspeed.

But I live surrounded by hills that end in city dumps.

I want to consume large quantities of

knowledge

so I read and read and read

but I don’t know if I’m reading the right thing when I’m stuck in my

ghetto library.

I walk aisle by aisle, reading methodically every book

in every library my two dusty feet can take me to.

But I’m not sure if I’m walking in the right direction,

am I a fish swimming round and round in a fishbowl

confusing it for a the great big ocean?

I want to roar

primitive,

like an animal

who don’t give a fuck,

but I open my mouth and it chokes on all of the hands pressing against me.

I want to feel, I want to dance, I want to be beautiful,

but my neighbors are watching,

the nuns say it’s indecent,

the book,

which my parents have never read,

must surely have a rule against it.

I want to strut,

like the Big Bad Bitch I am,

look down on the dirty, cracked concrete that the city never fixes,

but a 40 year old Veterano throws a penny inside my shirt,

pulling me down to the same gritty, grimy, tired, hood that we both live in.

I want to be a Queen and Rule

but, but,

who is rooting for me?

I want to be a King

but who will by my subjects?

I want to stomp and devour,

I want to scream.

But who is listening?

I want to be written about in books,

not, I think for vanity,

but to be read about

by girls like me.

I want to inspire.

I want to experience.

I want to make it count.

I want to help a people, all people

but those people don’t want to help me.

I want to take

I want to give

I want to make you remember

I want to make you see

I want to

I want to

I want to achieve the American Dream

but so many don’t see me as American.

I want to

I want to

I will.

 

Sunny Mountain

7 Feb

We’re laughing,

quick hehehe’s and hahaha’s and silent cackles exploding inside

Our front brown stoop steps are crowded

Five Year olds shushing their baby sisters, rocking them in their arms.

Lla, Lla,

Sssshhh!

Shhhhhh!

Mami and Papis nowhere to be seen.

The older girls resting their elbows on their knees,

lounging,

looking cool.

Raising their head and eyebrow, mouth pulled to the side

every time a chump walked by

Under the microscope, flat on a slide,

dissecting with the precision of a surgeon’s knife until they kept walking.

Yeahhh, you best keep walking.

Walk away.

“There’s a fair across the street and over the hill.”

“That hill?” I don’t like going there unless I’m feeling brave.

“Yeah, just over and around the abandoned building.”

We’ve poked around there many times, Michael and I. We look for good sticks to use for our canes. Hobble and wobble along the broken concrete and shake it at each other. Sometimes we wake up the bums who sleep under cardboard boxes pushed against the crumbling earth. Not on purpose.

Sometimes we wake up the skinny women but they always go back to sleep when they see it’s just us.

“I’ll take you,” Chico offers.

I want to go to a fair. I can’t remember going, ever.

Except last year, around Christmas. The firemen took us to Knotts Berry Farm. We rode on a Ferris Wheel and petted animals and ate cotton candy that melted so fast in your mouth, I kept grabbing more. My warm, thirsty tongue could melt a giant, pink, fluffy ball in a second. The cops gave us baseball cards. We ran to their cars, crowding them, pushing against the metal, “More Dodger cards!” More Dodger cards!” we chanted and danced, our skinny arms pumping in the air, our street worn feet running in place. They high fived and laughed and they were so happy with us they came back with real, wrapped, Christmas presents. That, that, was a great Christmas.

“Let me go get Lili, she’s right inside, esperame.”

“NO. Hmmm. No, I only have enough money for two tickets,” Chico explains, holding up two chubby fingers.

“Why are you taking me then for?!” I want to yell. But I just stare at his stubby fingers. A fair, a fair, I want to go shoot at a clown and get a big fluffy Teddy Bear, so, so, big he can’t fit inside my door. I want to feel a pillow of pink inside my mouth turn into a tiny pebble. Not cotton balls, I tried those dipped in sugar but they just tasted dry and it took my mom for-eeeeever to get it out of my mouth.

I take Chico’s warm, sweaty hand and look up at him, making sure he’s not playing another mean joke.

We cross the street, he lets go my hand. I have to keep holding on to the long strands of dead grass every time my shoes slip. He’s ahead of me and I see him walk towards tall shadows. Not soft and clumsy like him. Tall lines with more lines poking out, no roundness.

I look up to the sky, so baby blue. There’s a bird, he’s telling me to forget. To sleep.

And I never remember the fair. I never remember what happens next. So don’t ask.

So soft

2 Feb

My Eyore among wolves. I wanted to kiss your cheekbones to see if their sharpness would cut me. How many time did I ask you to pull your ponytail off so I could admire your long silky hair?

Psst. Mariiii. Psst.

I heard you the first time but your soft voice was music to my ears. I liked your attention, Our friendship. I turned around and you were holding up a Winnie the Pooh drawing.

What do you think?

Did you trace that?!

Ouch. Really?

No, I mean, it’s really good. It looks just like him. That’s crazy, you just drew that?

Your cheeks are a high red now, and you pull at your stretched sleeves, trying to hide behind your hands.

Yeah..It’s for you. If you want it.

Thank you! That’s so beautiful, thank you.

I put the pencil drawing inside my folder, careful not to place it against another paper that has writing on it and around to look at Ms. Rosen again.

Hey, did you guys hear? Vicky comes over and puts her arm around my shoulder. I take her hand and push it off.

Hear what?

About Apenimon, he’s dead.

I feel light-headed, like someone yanked my brain, heart and stomach in three different directions. I want to throw up.

What are you talking about?! I ask impatiently, with attitude, placing my hands on my waist. No time for this nonsense.

Yeah, he was playing Russian roulette last night and shot himself. His moms found him in his room. Crazy… Hey did you guys do the math homework?

Yeah, but I don’t get number 7.

I keep walking, dragging my legs with me.

One, click. Two, click. How many times does it take to get to the middle of the –

Boom.

See Me Please

29 Jan

I’m wearing a cream chiffon dress.

I look lovely.

Should I dart in front of that truck?

My tanned skin glistens in the sun, screaming Southern California health.

Toned.

Strong.

The windows were open on our 15th floor lunchroom.

They beckoned,

strongly.

I averted my eyes, blocking the windows out, the LA sunshine.

Pretending everything was okay, eating my lunch.

I run to catch the bus to pick up my daughters and I remember.

I remember.

I can’t leave.

I can’t leave them.

This conversation, and many iterations, airbrushed versions, quiet cries, fake smiles, masked feelings, shuffling raw sewage of hurt dripping away to make it blend. Blending. Existing, surviving, smiling, living.

Walking through life wanting to not only survive but to find MEANING.

So many times, so many days. I wanted to stop it. Just stop.

And it was always them that kept me present. That saved me from myself, from my brain that was hurting from the frantic energy buzzing inside, from the inability to neatly file shit away in a folder. No folder could hold it.

Like The Nightmare Before Christmas. Sewn together, coping. Hoping to hide the seams that were bursting, screams pushing outward to free the energy that I have for life.

When you want so much but you are given a 1 square meter space to fit into. The space given only gets smaller as time progresses. People tune out. They sign off on your failure.

Not knowing what is inside.

Bubbling out. Leavening. Like rising bread.

I take a bite and I enjoy the taste. So I keep kneading and baking.

I hate baking.

It makes me uncomfortable.

But I keep pushing.

And today, now.

I am a balloon filled with so many voices, so many stories, so many paths.

And I am asked, “Who Are You?”

Expected to answer in 2 sentences.

And I always take longer and I fight the feeling that I am taking up too much space.

I want to shrink onto myself.

Not speak.

Because when I let it out, when I roar,

it fucking hurts.

And when I hear that roar from others,

that low growl before the end

it fucking hurts.

Why does it have to hurt so much for so many?

I am okay. I am fine.

I am even.

I can say this with honesty now.

I can say this with confidence.

In the face of the questioning looks, of the wonder, of the hostile unwelcomes.

This place can be so unwelcoming.

 

Almost a joke.

How cold, how faceless, how irritatingly alike so many people choose to be.

See me please.

See me.

Because I strive to see you.

Because how hard is it?

To See with Kind Eyes?

 

Bursting at the seams

8 Nov

I have many hands

To Hold Me in

Pull my corazon inside

I have many faces

portray only the goods ones

only the logic and indisputable

they will see

But it keeps pouring out

Like a boiling pot hissing steam

So many hands

To hold me In

Cover my mouth

Close my heart

So many Hands

I hope they burn

when I let it out

So many hands

and None of them are mine

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