Poetry & Prose

Courage to Care

We ask ourselves how we got here

To this point, to this decision

But we don’t ask ourselves

Why we didn’t talk about this Before 

When it was needed,

When it mattered

It’s not about the decision made

But about why we didn’t care Before 

Why we didn’t communicate

When our people needed it

We need to remember that

Our stories matter

They create shared experiences

Similarities

Empathy

Understanding

We want a better world

But we are not willing to do the work

We are not willing to

Make uncomfortable conversations happen

We are not willing to dialogue 

To achieve change

We must first achieve communication

To achieve communication

We must first achieve listening

And to achieve listening

We must be willing to care 

And to be willing to care about something

Is to have have the courage to understand

Something different, something new

It's Not that I Don't Want Charity 

I want us to walk together,  

If you help me and go away, how can we create bonds of friendship?  

I want us to be companions, I want you to accompany me,   

I want to return your help,   

Dialoguemos,   

Compartamos,   

Let's spend time together. 

It's not that I don't want charity,   

But if you really want to help me, get to know me,   

Sow a seed, and grow it,   

Let me return the favor,   

Ven,  

Colaboremos. 

It's not that I don't want charity,  

It's just that what I want and need, needs time,   

It needs you, it needs me,   

In short, it needs us, 

Nos necesitamos. 

A Letter to Coloniality 

Coloniality, 

I do not call you querida (darling), because no te quiero (I do not love you). In fact, you do not love me either. If you want something it is power, control, validation, and justification to carry out your systemic, institutional, communal, and personal violence. 

I know you want wealth, so you explode. I know you want to be first, so you crush your opponents. I know you want to monopolize all of nature, that is why you objectify our Madre tierra (Mother Earth) and prostitute her. I know you want white-heterosexual-cisgender-Christian-wealthy-European-American-male-able-bodied bodies to reign, so you demean bodies that are not in that image and likeness to the category of "savage," "uncivilized," "inferior," "non-human." I know that you want to dominate our subjectivities and knowledge. That is why it is convenient for you that we suffer from historical amnesia, so as not to identify your roots, that is, where you come from and where you are going. 

But I know where you come from and where you are going. You are a descendant of colonialism. More powerful and enduring than this one, for you were born to stay, and now it is almost impossible for us to create a world in which you are not. 

However, I know that a better world, un mundo donde quepan muchos mundos (a world with room for many worlds), is possible. I know that the collective and historical trauma you have caused my ancestors, which I have inherited, is possible to begin to heal. The healing I want for myself, my generation, and future generations will depend on my seeking emancipation, detachment from you, in short, decolonization. That decolonization will be a journey I will not have to make alone. I will do it, or instead, I will continue to do it, desde abajo (from below), giving epistemic and pragmatic privilege to the poor. Only from below, in community with the survivors of your necropolitics, will we be able to bring about gradual changes, changes of liberation. 

It is very likely that I will never see a decolonized world. In any case, when it is my turn to return to the dust from which I came, I will make sure to fall on fertile and hydrated soil. In this way, as a seed, my legacy can bear fruit that will be conducive for the next generations to live more liberated and decolonized than myself and my generation. 

Do not worry that this is not goodbye. I will be sure to keep talking about you whenever I can. And since I know you never sleep or stop acting, I will be vigilant and attentive to make my life a decolonizing act. 

Particular Matter(s), 2020 

You move and here I am aquietado  

You are reflex, nothing without the light   

You are that dust that we ignore   

But without you we do not live  

You are small   

But when I recognize you, te me agrandas  

You move and take me with you  

I am still, you are moving me  

You are saying look at me 

Quiet   

Looking at you  

Tú siendo polvo 

In space   

In time   

A full nothingness 

Possibility 

Out with the Old, In with the New 

Out with a system that finds new way to kill Black people

Out with a system that is too far in to simply be reformed

Out with a system who criminalizes life conditions

Out with a system who sees individuals as the problems

Out with a system who services racial capitalism

Out with a system who is killing us

Out with the old, in with the new

In with a system who finds new ways for Black people to live

In with a system that needs to be abolished before anything can be done

In with a system who seeks to change social conditions

In with a system who understands individuals as a result of the system’s own faults

In with a system who doesn’t just service the rich, but gives the poor a shot at life

In with a system who wants to give us life 

In with a community driven life

In with a community who seeks to understand the issues behind drug abuse

The social conditions behind sex workers

Who seeks accountability rather than punishment 

Who seeks to unmask our policing society, abolish it, and rebuild together 

In with the new, out with the old. 

“Difficult Subjects & Social Courage: Local Kitchen Calls for Community Action”

Difficult Subject Soup:

 Ingredients mixed together,

  All kinds of shapes, sizes, colors, and

   Life stories. Where were you planted?

    Or, how were you sown?

     Growth requires a nutrient-rich space–after all,

      Unique produce, when combined, often

       Engender a complex yet lens-shifting flavor.

&

Costly, confusing, lengthy, and laborious,

 Our efforts create a rewarding and extraordinary soup!

  No un-stirred, simmering, homogenous, and

   Flavorless stew can hold a candle to the flame

    Lit under our collaborative pot.  That all said, in our recipe,

     Ingredients must be represented equally.  Hence, we are

      Calling for courageous contributors who will come to the

       Table to share their inimitable and disparate ingredients!  Join us for

        Soup and conversation–let us digest these difficult subjects as a community.

“Love for Her Body: A Haiku Male Chauvinists Can’t Stomach”

Love for you and I–

the most gutting betrayal.

Self-love revolts him.

“‘If Only They Had Enough Funding To…’: A Limerick –brought to you by your local boot-gourmand!”

Curly tails, expensive upkeep, and shiny boots;

We can’t get enough of this farm animal that knows how to shoot!

Its squeals signal grave violence;

A BANG…then deathly silence;

But golly-gee this overpriced bacon is certainly worth your life and a ‘suit!

“What is Mutual Aid? Well, Mutual Aid is For-”

M is for mending your neighbor's clothing.

 U is for using your skills to repair someone’s car so they can get to work.

  T is for “The government is f*cked and we can’t rely on it.”

   U is for uniting against climate change for all living beings on Earth.

    A is for allyship and supporting those whose voices are often silenced.

     L is for listening to those whose voices are often ignored.

A is for assisting those in need with monetary resources.

 I is for initiating difficult conversations with those close to you.

  D is for dismantling capitalism and ensuring everyone is able to meet their needs.

Three Minutes and Seven Seconds

in the midst of all the shitty days,

you will have a good day.

where everything goes right.

you listen to your favorite song

driving down an empty highway 

with the windows down, hair blowing in your face

and for three minutes and seven seconds, 

life seems a little less cruel

before you know it, that good day

turns into a good week

and you haven’t cried in two days

and then that good week turns into a month

that wasn't as painful as the last

full of unexpected laughter and joy

and you realize

that even though the bad times 

felt oh so heavy and impossible to bear,

the good times still came,

and they’ll continue to come.

even if the best part of your day

only lasted for three minutes and seven seconds

while you listened to your favorite song

for the three minutes and seven seconds,

there was peace, and that is okay.

tomorrow will be better.

and if it’s not,

we’ll say it again tomorrow.

and we'll listen to the song again.

An Ode to The Hustle

Bmm Dmm BMm Dm Dmm

Bmmm
DMm

BM

Hey! Cut that out. Who is that helping?

How is that getting you ahead?

The heartbeat of America is racing.

But I think it’s time we talk about rest.

There’s an urgency

Invading the steady thump that was once inside my chest.

Do you know what you want to do yet? What’s your next step?

Does it compare to what the world is getting from everybody else?

There’s a deadline approaching,

Something within the fabric of our culture that we can no longer outpace.

It’s called the grind for a reason, they say.

But who is winning if we’re all still trying to finish this race?

You need experience, as fast as you can get it.

You need money, purpose, direction, an aesthetic.

You need to follow the system in order to get it “right”.

I think the system is broken.

It has us convinced that the faster we go

The sweeter the relief at the end of the road.

But the faster I go, the more I feel like I'm wasting time.

Or that time is wasting me.

Stop, pause, think

Put your feet in the grass

Lay back, grab a drink.

What’s the worst that could happen?

We fall behind?

Behind what?

The world has set a pace for me that has never felt mine.

America, your heart might give out.

If it hasn’t already.

Rest is what you need, but I don’t think the world is ready.

To accept that maybe we’ve been running too hard.

Maybe it’s time to set profit aside, stand with thy neighbor, look each other i
n the eye.

We can get back to it soon.

But sit for a while, help me hum this tune.

Bmm bmm

DMmm

Bm dmm

Bmm bmm

An aside, I don’t like this ending

But alas. I’m out of time.

Community Accountability

It begins with the burden we bear,

carried not by one, but by all —

unified by the breaths shared

and the truths we have to face.

No chains or towering walls

Can protect us from ourselves,

for danger resides close to where we stand,

and justice is not set in stone.

Listening intensely, through hard words,

To the sincerity and truths we have avoided.

Not to penalize, but to welcome

The shattering of a heart grown cold.

Coming together, trust is rebuilt

From what has failed us.

And the ones who caused and stayed,

Will become stronger from the lessons pain has created.

Through community, heal through harm

With open minds, we discover peace.

We do not choose fear, but strength,

Teaching us there is nothing to lose.

In our hands, mending begins

And accountability become a ally.

“Not all men” - Note to Misogyny

In response to a woman's trauma, you say

“Not all men”

you sweep all their problems away

And say, “what about us then?”

No one said it was you

So why do you take offence?

Why do you hate when we say, “me too”?

But when a man speaks you jump to his defense

You discuss modern day feminism

You say “it does not sit right with me”

You call it feminist extremism

And slather a movement with misogyny

Women just to want to be heard

And not have their problems pushed to the side

But when they speak you question their word

You disregard them and assume they lied

You want our issues to be shared and seen from your perspective

But you don't want to play your part

in your mind I couldn’t possibly be a woman who is affected

But that is just sexism that plaguing your heart

Democracy

You claim to have our backs and to protect us from “Communism”

But that protection has led to the harm of thousands of children

Not just the communist children

But the children in Nicaragua and Afghanistan

And to the children in poor neighborhoods

When has a politician kept a promise to you?

No president will get your daddy out of jail

But their policies put him there for a handful of marijuana

We are taught to say the Star Spangled Banner every day in school

Are we given a choice but to sing the songs of our red democracy?

So much for Freedom of Speech.

Dear United States of Embarrassment

I cannot support a Democracy of Hypocrisy.

A Complaint to Nationalism

Nationalism, you draw your lines,

Between the hearts, between the minds,

You paint the borders bold and bright,

As if the world were black and white.

You swell with pride, you boast and cheer,

You whisper love, then shout in fear,

You praise the past with fervent claim,

Yet twist its truth to suit your name.

You say you guard the native land,

With iron will and a steady hand,

But is it love that stakes a claim,

By fanning fears and feeding blame?

You sing of heroes, tales of old,

Yet miss the parts that should be told,

The struggles shared, the bridges burned,

The lessons lost, the wounds unturned.

For in your name, we fight and bleed,

We close our hearts, we feed our greed,

We build the walls that block the sun,

And call it safety when we're done.

Poem

Once upon a time a dream was just a dream

You think more and more of what could life could be

Fairness and peace sounds nice at the start

Then greed and fear open up from the heart

People sound good, in religion and tales

Look closer and longer, and see how we’ve failed

“Together” won’t happen and the system built walls

What is really against you, is the concept of “all”

Working as one and defeating “the man”

It is only a theory, lest we all try, we can.

Acrylic

I was looking for
some room to breathe
lost between
jagged yellow sympathy
where tonight I found
I could paint again
the uneven edges
winding through color
dancing across numbers
written in white space. 

Justice

Red, White, Blue
stars and stripes
america the beautiful
light the fire skies
burning our comfort
igniting our breath
set you in flames
watch your frame
in the floods of color
on your belated body
Ripping, Tearing, blue, Red, white
over the orange rage
that falls
across your eyes 

Read

somewhere between
blue painted lines
and paperback covers
I have been printed
for someone to read
under the dogged corners
of triangle returns.