It feels the way rocks must feel when waves crash and brush against them, only to retreat or when you're threading a needle, never quite making it through But still hoping each time that this will be the time where it finally happens and for once you won't long or yearn instead it'll feel the… Continue reading It Feels the Way…
We are different people around different people I wonder who you are with her, with him, with them does your voice change? do you laugh differently? What words do you say around them that you don't around me? but mostly I wonder Do you like who you are with me?
You have held me up right every single time drowned the sound of my tears with your screeching engine and tires reminded me methodically, what my next stop was shown me the rising and setting sun seated me in front of women who, like me, have cried the whole ride reminded me I'm not the… Continue reading The MTA
He likes the girls who have blonde, sunny hair He likes the girls who throw parties at their parents boat house every weekend The ones who got a car for their high school graduation The ones who look like the girls spread over a boat in Vogue The ones whose mothers let them have sleepovers… Continue reading In the music
By mossy rocks down the river she lay Beaming sky shined her hair so red Her skin twinkled so white The river so blue Under bright moonlight Ear-splitting screams heard in morning My mother buzzed around dusting What she could find She smoothed out creases On birth certificates Placed diplomas in glossed wood frames… Continue reading Proof
Another painting My knuckles have gone white from holding on to the rails, My eyes so tightly shut I see stars in the dark, My stomach has twisted and reached over to tickle itself, I'm ready for the fall, ready for the drop in the rollercoaster where my hands will fly up and I'll scream… Continue reading Carnival Games
Another badly painted painting depicting the egg in glass I am two different people in English and in Spanish A distorted two way mirror Distorted glass cup The curandero down the road defined me in Spanish He rubbed the holy water dipped egg all over Even at eight years old they must have seen what… Continue reading The Curandero and the egg
I'm told to be proud of my Mexican-americanness To use it in the work But maybe my work will always be bland and confused Because I do not know where the Mexican begins or where the American ends Is my mexicanness the bangs I cut in my bathroom with craft scissors is it my father… Continue reading How do you measure who you are?
my mother said Si te barro los pies no te vas a casar o encontrar amor, recuerda de levántarlos If I broom your feet you won't get married or find love, remember to lift them just one of many superstitions my mother inherited from her mother I've done almost everything right, followed the rules, read… Continue reading the curse of the broom
Another abstract painting done by me. I'm aware I am not a good painter or that I even can. But I kind of like choosing an image from the poems I write and visually painting them with color and shapes. I spend my Friday morning playing a game of "he likes me, he likes me… Continue reading A Friday in Three Parts
