poetry, and other writings
Loneliness
floating
on an autumn leaf,
winter turns to spring
so please speak softly:
we do not want to scare the buds.
They may hear the truth,
like a riddle
read off the page
and asked to solve for entry:
a one-way ticket over the bridge
from single to taken,
a world where kisses do not betray
and suitors come equipped
with emotional intelligence
and a bow and arrow.
I hear cupid,
underground,
readying himself up—
just another risk
the Earth will take.
April 10, 2019
To my beautiful baby brother:
you have to grow up in an age of social media
and all of its toxins
and it is not your fault.
You have no control over it,
nor do I.
All I want do to is live it for you—
the suicides,
the mass shooting threats,
every day life in boring ass high school —
keep it boring!
School was meant to be that way,
safe enough to be boring.
Not even the white people are safe,
not even the rich people.
My beautiful Puerto Rican brother:
do you fit in? do you like it? do you not?
Tell me more than “ugh.”
I know your innocent face,
your soul-searching eyes
I have seen your heart
and its pure essence
a thousand times.
I just hope I told you enough stories…
about how much you are loved,
and how smart and kind and handsome
you are, my brother — you can do it,
because it cannot last for much longer.
…
I will take every bullet of some child
calling out for help;
I will relive 9th, 10th — fuck, every grade
if that is what it takes to protect you,
to take up that space of wondering.
The world has changed
in just 10 short years between me and you.
Look at what Facebook has done,
kids sending Snaps 1,000 times a day.
My brother I do not know shit about “SnapChat”
but I know you are more than it,
I promise you.
Everyone is wandering,
looking for more than a screen—
and yet video games have saved you.
Play SmashBros all freaking day
if that is what it takes to save you, my boy,
from giving a damn what people think.
How do I protect you from this world…
this pit of society
that is eating minds and bodies alive?
How do I get you to talk truth?
Who cares “how.”
Know that it is enough to try,
enough to be with yourself,
fully.
Whenever your body yells,
“Trauma!”
“Pain!”
“Greif!”
Cradle every part
and say, “I am here for you, always.”
…
And remember:
your sister is here for you.
Always.
March 29, 2019
bits of masculinity:
I feel more real this way.
Do I miss the flowing hair?
A veces … the high ponytails
and free forehead.
When I dress more “masculinely,”
when I embody that “ethos”
I flow out of some societal lens,
into some truth
that maybe the earth does have “feminine energy” —
astrology teaches it and lesbians believe it —
but I am a Capricorn and I am content
being grounded in brown boots
and only Earth below.
When we say masculinity belongs to
one group only
what does that say to the rest of us?
Dressing like I am not just
a pretty fucking flower…
it is so liberating
and yet one big fat nada:
it’s all I’ve wanted to be,
want to be,
and have been,
all along.
March 27, 2019
Also, check out this cool video on two folks’ definitions of identifying as non-binary versus androgynous: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NsJUDFmauCI
On Fridays,
I volunteer to bring food from companies around New York City—
consequently, close to wherever I am to begin with—
and bring it to nearby shelters.
It’s a lot easier than feeling like a shit
as a homeless man walks by on the subway
but what am I, are we, to do?
It’s somehow, in the mess of human history, a collective fault.
One of your great grandmothers or great uncles twice removed
allowed this to happen, god damn it (I wish it was that simple)!
He walks pigeon toed like my brother,
who was bought $3,000 orthotics and attended therapy for years.
He walked past 10, 50, 100 people who look more or less like me
and I don’t care if you’re a Puerto Rican-Italian mix with Brooklyn roots:
You have some money.
You took a shower this week.
You have some way in your pocket or in your chest
to communicate
and be heard…
We are all starfish.
How many do we save?
If you want to volunteer to help rescue food from companies and restaurants around New York City, check out https://www.rescuingleftovercuisine.org/. It’s a simple way to make a difference, and you can choose rescues that best fit your schedule. xo
March 15, 2019
When someone lives
both near
and far
from your heart—
where do you go,
where do you start
to make sense
of that sense of loss,
that sense of time
passing like a train
past white houses
they have sat
and waited,
sat and, sat…
I see Paul in a fresh tuxedo and his bride in a gown
and I laugh:
how could this idiot get to be this “happy” before me?
Bullshit.
How’d this boy once a man cut me out of his social fabric
and still get the chance to be walked down the aisle?
Shit…
men are socialized that way:
the give and take, the call and response.
Somewhere in my heart, I missed you, Paul.
I missed all of you.
But finally, I am waving goodbye…
A throw back in many ways. Thank you, Vanessa Carlton: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SM3fEJyPrrg
February 28, 2019
A huger
of the mind,
a huger
of the soul–
“find that out about your surroundings”
who is who?
I have a friend
who does both–
take care of yourself,
I need to connect
on that deeper level
I am grateful
to have found a match,
to find when I am not looking,
to sing when I am not sung to.
Hollywood is a trick of the eyes
tell me you are more human than the next
“She ain’t lookin’ for love”
no shit, fool– you are white as fuck
and don’t realize it, there is a difference–
watch the children run
and know that spaces are spaces
and home is home
and know it is different for everyone.
Now my friend–
they hold me,
steady me,
validate my existence
just by meeting my mind,
my soul,
right where they are.
A stream of consciousness reflection about my best friend who, while not big on physical hugs, supports me in the ways I really need…all while I listen to shitty rap music (and quote and complain about it) on a long car ride…
February 25, 2019
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
You are a star in a sky I have not seen,
you are a drop of rain in a hundred deserts
and desserts
because walking in the rain can be fun
with ice cream and an umbrella, no?
Your voice plants bits of light under my skin,
your slender frame and well-styled hair
have me wanting more.
You are some kind of fire that speaks
the same language as my Earth– the one
with floating flowers and talking sponges,
the one where Reggie Rocket gets us in trouble
and girls kiss girls at midnight in brightly lit squares
and everything is alright.
Because I’d want to call you baby.
Because, hell yeah, I’d make love to you and I’d fuck you
but do you seriously think I could do one without the other?
You’ve got me smiling ear to ear, wanting more of your story,
your moments, your rush because I know you’ve felt it, too–
with some lucky woman in another room,
where you lit only candles and talked in only whispers.
I would never be quiet about you, unless you wanted me to.
And I can sing your praises now, my mysterious friend,
but you deserve more than words. They do not do you justice.
To your sexy eyes and smooth skin, your laugh bouncing off
subway cars and driveways and street lamps– I wish I could
dance along with it forever, and I’d be willing to,
if it meant having you.
I put you up on a pedestal because that’s where you belong.
Your style is bad ass and your humbleness is hot and your words
have me wanting more, more…because for all your physicality,
I could listen to you speak, no sight, no vision, for days.
You are a star and a sun
because, of course, there was never any difference.
Expect that there is only one sun,
among many stars,
and how lucky I am to get to soak you in at all.
January 29, 2019
I assume you’re not gonna call back —
trauma says, “Why would you?
Don’t you see my flaws?
Don’t you see my fears
written out in flowers and bulbs?”
Ballpoint pens do not lie
like the rest of the world,
like my mind hearing you say
I am pretty, or I am adventurous,
I am, I am…
How about you tell me for a change,
don’t let me give my hopes up
but chase me instead–
I know that’s problematic.
But we’re both runners.
You’re faster
(I don’t like admitting that).
I assume — don’t you see
and the truth is if my mastery of sound
bites is greater than your impatience
for the uncertain, maybe I have a chance…
Maybe you have a chance…
Because I see, too.
I do.
If you just talked out of your ass
that’s one thing — but you paused,
read your thoughts, chose your words,
and said them! To my face!
In a bed, three years of friendship
between us.
I will not go skiing.
I will not go see your band,
or whatever men are up to
in a year or two.
I will add you to a list of what-ifs
but fuck-yous,
and I will see you again–
in passing, not friends.
You can’t just lay half your heart
out on the table, my friend.
I can’t, but you can, so you did.
Because it’s easier.
Because you’re not as brave as you look.
Are our hearts not supposed to
break a little,
after every lost moment?
Are we supposed to minimalize them,
untethered,
dead grandma in a shack,
bury her before the police comes — run! run!*
At least I have a beautiful line to carry with me.
No one has ever told me I look like a painting.
Because it’s not a big deal, right?
Little lapses of judgement
where heartache dissipates,
feelings exhale, share themselves
outside their owners
what a privilege to be the one
the thoughts were about,
to be there, ready, receiving?
A fucking painting.
Yes.
We all are, no?
*Last night I saw the film Shoplifters and it was truly great. This line refers to the movie – apologies for the possible spoiler – you should still go see the movie!
January 11, 2019
I.
Our hearts wide open
on the sofa, in the den,
we glide
past memories and landscapes
of lost wishes and dreams untouched–
but oh, my dear, did you touch them!
How far you ran!
How far we traveled
when home was right next door?
I can only tell you so many times
how much I love you,
mom and dad,
how much I owe to you,
my gods on Earth, my saviors
of moon and light —
of all the in-betweens and all-togethers.
Success? Winning? Acting out?
Do you remember me,
do you know me better than I do?
I am your baby bird…
and I am here, beautiful, flying…
you make money not to chase
your own dreams, but for us…
talk about pressure!
But I suppose each generation
has its shortcomings of identity
and mind that the world threw at them,
so you throw it back up,
say I’m better than you.
You made me.
Without your light,
I cannot shine.
II.
And you tell me: “What doesn’t kill you
makes you stronger.”
What if I fear I have lost part of me?
But dear…look around,
you are here,
and this is now,
and now is the Earth and time kissing
on two planes, four dimensions
that we know of, hurtling off in space
and yet perfectly safe.
This world may think its won–
they may have knocked me down–
but maybe that was not me to begin with.
You ask why I’m so quiet?
Because I’m readying up to get mad
and spread some joy around to make it better.
You told me you have some secret cure?
Cure for what? A story unfolded?
Afraid of one’s own shadow?
Or the light bouncing off your face?
Is that how trauma works?
Healing is all Earth is,
is all that’s in your blood, your muscles
and tendons and heartbeats and breaths.
I am here to guide you,
parents, elders, child.
You may see me as Father Time,
but I’ve been your mother, all along…
riding sunbeams, glorifying everything
and nothing. I am Earth.
III.
It’s cold in my childhood, only-home
for-a-while bedroom
and I wonder what life “should” have been…
Life sees no life without death.
I was there. I played. I fell. I rose.
I survived, god damn it.
My body and mind are still god damn
here, my spirit unbroken.
Sleeping, eating, breathing…honey,
you are an animal as we all are.
There are moments you must do nothing
but rest, let the Earth care for you.
You cannot take over for her.
We all know what it’s like to interrupt
the most powerful women in our lives.
This is the mother of all mothers,
life giving grace from the God
that is a woman, that is everyone in between.
You have a scary fucking story in your head,
taking over God’s role?
Hell no!
I have my dad’s wings
and my mom’s heart,
so I can keep gliding,
gliding…
January 4, 2019
Reaching Joy 