May 2022 – the root of e v i l
Once, I stole twenty dollars from my grandmother,
Though I can’t explain why I took that chance.
My scrawny hands, at just seven years old,
Reached for her brown leather bag without a second glance.
No need for the money, I wasn’t poor,
Or so my young mind believed at the time.
But something in me urged me on,
And I went out seeking what wasn’t mine.
April 2022 – b l o o d of p r i d e
Chants of Viva Mexico
flood the streets of my hometown.
Some label this town in Illinois mini mejico
Others a ghetto. But on this September day,
Mexican Independence Day,
Waukegan is a rich place of culture.
Roads painted in green, white, red,
and brown. Mexican flags
on every storefront and liquor store.
Eagles soar and perch
on the backs of persevering
and generous people
Veins pulsate with pride
Mine do not. Instead
I wear black.
And the head committee
of the Mexican community
hates my look. Chula pero morena
my grandmother would say.
My mother’s mother. My father’s mother
criticized the melanin in my skin
For not being dark enough
Mixblood some would say
Others, a mutt. Some days
In house parties or dimmed lit bar scenes,
I am exotic. Other days
In courtrooms and professional settings
I am minority.
Mexican, Black, Puerto Rican, different but all
the same. But the world doesn’t understand
Neither does my pride.
March 2022 – the h u m a n r a c e
Here we are born
Under turbulent waters gasping for air
May we know suffering
And may we grace with love
Nebulous promises of the latter
Rare times of selflessness
All that matters is our own
Cruel we are to the human race
Exploitation of the soul
Count down your days
And live in distress
Not matter the beauty of sunsets
Benevolent the universe
Even if the enemy wins
Should we survive, we must be
At home with all
Veins pump with the same color blood
Everyone is one and we are
Doomed if we think otherwise.
March 2022 – poet issues
Oh, how easy it is for me to fall for his charm. To fall for his sweet words of deceit.
A peach he is to my insatiable mouth.
He isn’t a winemaker nor an alchemist, he’s simply a poet. The epitome
Of a troubled soul turning pain into gold.
He once recited a poem in a lush-filled salon with a friend and the rest women.
Although the invitation was three days late, or in my case, fourteen years later,
I was still enthralled. By the words, lies, his presence.
He, meaning Them, the men in my life. Then, Him.
The ultimate poet, the root of it all. Still
I bear the fruit watered by
Women.
February 2022 – t o u c h e d
Grandchildren and great grandchildren
love stories of times before.
What do you tell them
When they ask about the warmth
of the golden arms cradling us
until we couldn’t laugh anymore?
Do you tell them, childhood memories
of the emerald carpet that reached
for our every step? Or our bodies rested
while white puffs passed by.
Remember how we played in the rain
While it pierced our skin?
Do you represent our generation well
And time spent in nature?
All the while they have the whole world
at their very fingertips, touching
and scrolling a small screen.
February 2022 – a summer with you
The Summer sky is nigh
Dreams of cotton candy sunset
And a golden sunrise.
Views of the moonlight dance
flickering on the water’s reflection
Bare skin and light within.
Long talks on rooftops
Sun-kissed by stars
The lips of lovers during
a season of raised endorphins.
January 2022 – The Element of Movement
I long to have the flow of water
Captivate all the senses
Fluid in different dances
and exclude a certain type of stillness.
Water drip drips from a faucet
Waves thrash against the shore
Streams bubble over rocks and branches
Or rain that pierces the floor.
All different in movement
Dancing to the same rhythm
June 2020
March 2020 – An Acid Trip
With her, my mind flees from reality.
Lost in her dream-like world,
I start to question my own sanity.
Question the pearls of wisdom
Laying at the bottom of the ocean.
Why are they there? Why am I here?
And why can’t I hold my breath
Long enough to get to them?
She saves me from drowning
With her lustful dance.
As I get high from her desires,
I see lights of rose-colored gold.
Inspired by her heavy-like trance,
I start to address my own fire.
Let me dance freely in this world.
October 2018 – r a g e
I have this rage boiling within me
Demons pounding to be set free.
For so long I’ve kept my mouth shut
In front of punks who didn’t give a fuck
I just allowed the disrespect
Longing to be liked – What the fuck did I expect?
I failed to make myself feel good
How the fuck did I expect another could?
Fuck him for Taking advantage
of when my mind completely hammered.
How the fuck are you going to trash talk someone?
Come next week, you both are having fun.
Fuck that and all that fakeness
I rather dwell in all this madness.
I have no patience for mediocrity
Guess I’m done with simple psychology.
So I’ll spend my time in anger
Don’t fucking bother me.
September 2018 – a r t
She’s like one of those artsy girls. She creates, and paints herself in rich colors of amethyst and sultry. Like the masterpiece La Maja Desnuda, her gaze is alluring. Perhaps that’s why he fell for her… As did I.
I scrolled endlessly through her feed. Down a rabbit hole of all her photos and compare her number of heart-shaped likes to mine. She wins. Or hers and his profiles to see their interaction while he hasn’t even requested me as a friend. Again, She wins.
She easily expresses herself, presents herself with poise and passion. A lover of the camera and of his. All the while I hate my picture taken at the hands of others. Soft hair, slim, fair skin – She wins.
Souls once collided, both his and mine. Talks on rooftops, under quiet nights. The only thing that filled the air were our whispers. Stars as our witnesses, of our exchanged secrets. He had me. But I was never his.
Now, he whispers into her ear, and I brood and write of their love. An inspiration she is for she turned my sorrows into art.
March 2018 A D a n c e
She dances around the fire.
Her aura of Autumn
infused with life and death,
A burning flame waiting to be put to rest.
Bare toes on the grass, painted red;
Mother Earth reaches for her every step.
Her olive skin reflects the beaming sun.
Gerbera Daisies bounce in her black hair,
She dances to the beat of the drum.
To the beat of her heavy heart,
She feels.
A restless soul howling at the moon,
Her worries keep her up at night.
Come next sun, she forces to get up
And She dances.
December 2017 – w a t e r
There is something about her that is so inviting,
She exudes a sense of security.
As she covers my body,
She shields so heavily upon me.
Protecting me from the arid hands of life,
She leads me out of strife.
She becomes my only salvation,
Her tears taste of sweet redemption.
My body wholeheartedly relies on her existence.
October 2016 – A Typical Love Story
Share your forgiveness my dispirited heart
A burden my time has been
Selfish thoughts has torn us apart
Now we’ll never express the love within
You were created to heal my woes
But to drown in poison is what I chose.
Sentiments of a Writer 