Christmas Eve

"No on is gonna rain on my parade"

This past week i have been unproductive. Or have i? I have been playing the x-men video game- a game that I have already completed and now I am re-doing because I like to believe that I will be smarter this time around. The game itself requires strategy, and I know that it might sound a bit ridiculous of me saying that it requires a strategical approach to playing X-MEN LEGENDS (xbox) but it REALLY does. You have to be wise on what players you pick to fight, on timed missions you must find the best route that won't take up all your time, and when fighting bad guys there always needs to be a plan of defense and attack.....

I hope that i am not making up excuses for not reading HOW THE GARCIA SISTERS LOST THEIR ACCENTS by Julia Alvarez.... Maybe i need a week off? After reading the fabulous book WHAT NIGHT BRINGS by Carla Trujillo. I may be emotionally, intellectually exhausted and need some time off before i dwell into another world.

well see...

Full

writing is such an emotionally process. It drains me while at the same time it liberates me. I wish there was a way that something or someone could read my thoughts and type them out for me.

deperation

Desperate!

Sadly I feel desperate. Longing for a being other then myself when i lay in bed at nights. I need to read again. I took two days off and my mind hasn't been distracted enough to block off destructive urges....

Desperation. The longing of validity when distractions are still and life is thirsty for to be wanted

Am I stupid for having hope? For believing that this is the one and if not this time then next time it will solidify? How do you know? How do you grant access to something that is unknown?

wrote when i did my first submission of poetry

All the pieces are me. A man. A queer man. A man of color. Its about the father that raped me, the love I dream of being worthy of, the first man I loved and why writing is the only thing I've come to trust with me

Present, Future, and always the Past

As I sit in my small blue room, clothes scattered all over, a tissue box to my right, and books stacked in no particular order.. I repeat to myself "you will be famous one day" to what capacity I am not sure of. I went to a psychic my senior year of high school with the comadres and she told me "you will find the love of your life at the age of 21 and be famous for your writing." As much as I would like to strongly say that her words flew past me, they didnt! A part of me is still waiting until i turn 21 to find the love of my life and still trying to figure out how my writing will lead to my stardom.

My grades are poor, strongly improving but not as fast as I would like them to. I graduate in a year and a half and I know that i will be attending graduate school. But how? How do I venture to a journey that is foreign? I want to pursue something in Public Policy (for legal background) and Chican@ Studies. Ideally I would like to get paid to read and write all day and possibly teach every now-and-then- remaining famous while doing so- yet I know that is highly impossible unless i find myself a suggar daddy... NOPE!

I would like to be like Carrie from Sex and the City. Get paid to write an article every week about sex, love, relationships. However, I would add my own twist by including politics and sexuality. Won't someone pay me to share the stories of my people? or myself?

I have an idea for my fictional book, which i am determined to have finished and published by the time I am 25! It would be a series of fictional novels that will focus on one particular aspect of my life. I wonder though... if people would read it? Would people care about the story of a chicano? Would chicanos care about it? Would white people? Black people? Yellow people? ... mmmmmmm Anyway, i want to add poetry as well. I don't know how I will incorporate that but i will find a way. Poetry is me. It's what I have been doing all my life.. something that always helped me survive because it never had to make sense, follow a certain structure, or have any rule. Just me and everything about me.

typical me.. .i am already getting teary eyed thinking of what to write in my novel..

Through the Eyes of a Queer Man of Color: Learning to Love the Things I Loved

“I write for my own self value. To take ownership of my skin color, sexuality, voice, body and story.

My grammar is horrific. My passive voice is distracting and my vocabulary is limited. The disclaimer I just stated is my defense against the hierarchy that disempowers me. It’s evidence of my insecurities that are rooted in my own internalized oppression caused by homophobia, racism, sexism and classism. Here are my wounds and the pen I am writing this piece with are my healing herbs to my surviving soul”


PREFACE

I knew of nothing and of everything when I signed up to take Chicana Studies 151 with Professor Chela Sandoval. I do not remember the mental state I was in during the beginning of the class; like most of my life, my memory is fragmented because of traumatic experiences that have stripped, cut, erased, and reinvented who I am as a being living in a space where I am not meant to survive.
But I am a survivor! A survivor of sexual assault, of physical, emotional and mental abuse. A survivor of a father that was not a father. A survivor of a brother whose life was cut short. A survivor of poverty, racism, homophobia, sexism and malos espiritus. My journey is never smooth as the pavement I walk on is filled with cracks that are entirely impossible to fix but easily covered.
Everyday I feel the need to out my queer identity so I can put an end to the various faces that wonder, “Is he gay? Or not?” As oppose to my brown skin that is never second-guessed. I wish it were that easy though.
I am not my words but the roots of my words. So the sentences that escape my mouth are superficial invites to my complex, intersectional being as a chicano-queer-man of color because words are not enough to represent my journey of my sisters, brothers and antepasados.
I wonder if my courage to openly identify myself as a queer chicano compensates for my lack of voice when it comes to identifying as a survivor of sexual assault? My denial of experiences is troubling for it prevents a healthy discourse of a love life. The discourse being the possibility and the validity that presumes a love life exist inside of me. Of course externally I do not disillusion myself to ignore the love life that provides pointless, oppressive, never-quite-enough, top or bottom, insignificant gay sex.
The process of a survivor is more than the healing of a father that raped me and now I must forgive myself and him in order to move on. The complexity that follows my molestation, I have come to realize, is never ending. More and more layers of life evaluations, understanding why, when, where and how I came to the state I am in. Then see if it is productive or counter-productive to my life goals. Layers of trust, who, what, why trust a “human” or define what trust means to me in the context of “I trust you with my body”. Am I worth more than forced sex? Worth more than a white sugar daddy that exotifies my “Hispanic” experience? Or am I even worth to be loved by other men?


BODY

Me violo, me tacho y me gusto porque I believed that was my worth in life. Life meaning, naïve little chicano that yelled whenever his beautiful curly haired mami would not buy him $10 action figures. Little chicano not understanding that the reason why his mami could not buy him the action figure was because there was no job available that would pay a recent Mexican immigrant anything higher than minimum wage. The same little chicano that did not understand that when his father penetrated him de atras era malo.
I am currently 20 years old and when my father raped me I was 8. He raped me four times in my mother’ bed while she was in Mexico for her sister’s funeral. Till’ this day I do not know the full impact the molestation has played in my life and I cannot help but wonder if I ever will? I am currently 20 years old and my body has only experienced abusive intimacy: from rapes, to one night stands, to infidelity, to oppressive gay sex where the only time I cum is when I spit “it’s fine, I don’t like cuming.” Reading Audre Lorde’s “The Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power” helped me learn to love the body of the little chicano once again. I have continually othered my body because of the pain it has brought me. Left it unkempt and unloved for years that I have blocked off my body’s capacity to love. At the time that I read Lorde’s piece I was still processing my experiences of being the other man in two separate occasions, so I wrote:

“More,
times more,
times more,
times mothafuckin more,
than the other.

I don't know to what extent I can further allow this hatred of my body, soul and mind to continue. Sitting with other has tarnished my erotic. Not to the point of no return, but to a place where it will take more than poetry to reclaim my erotic.

There are sexual practices that are foreign to me, yet they seem like fundamental knowledge that makes me doubt my capacity to be truly engaged in a relationship. The vulnerability that is needed from me is the erotic. Could it be that the erotic is vulnerability? Vulnerable because that would mean that I would have to search within myself to develop a complex understanding as to why the mediocrity of my current state is the reason why my agency, as a queer man of color, is out of reach. To expose myself to not only the public but to myself...

I am ready for love.

Every step is more than what I know,
Know how to inhale,
Know how to exhale,
And know more about what I already know.

I am ready for love.

The first occasion was a drunk,
no excuse,
FUCK.
Fucked with a man,
Who was with a man,
A man that did not know what it meant to love another man,
Nor to love oneself...

Baby,
Queer Man of color,
Chicano,
You are worth more than what your behavior demonstrates.

I am ready for love.

You,
With just a year less,
Singing like a bird,
Singing to me to a point of blindness,
Where your commitment is no longer visible,
And the only thing visible is your hand down my pants.

I am ready for love.

Me,
With a father that touched me,
A dead brother,
Immigrant mother,
Me.

These words are ordinary.
My words are not mine but someone else's,
That I was able to take from, at the expense of my humanity.

I am ready for love.

Take it slow,
Take it slow,
Take me apart and see the blood rushing through my veins,
The truth behind this coat of denial,
Just like you.

I'm ready for love.

Ven mami,
Ven hermana,
Ven hermanos,
y ven papi,
toma mi mano y besala.

I'm ready for love.

Seeing more than what's in the mirror,
seeing more than what I was during the drunk-no-excuse-FUCK,
Seeing more than the year-less-hand-down-my-pants mess around,
Seeing the erotic as treasure and not a low expectation.

Feel this brown skin,
These spanish words,
My brown hand rub you down before sleep,
These full lips wanting the other to transform into beauty.” 10/13/2009

The molestation has affected the way in which I treat my body. As much as I would like to single out the cause of the abuse, I must recognize that the molestation is only a fragment of it. The manifestation of my colored sexual discourse was shaped and continues to be shaped by western hegemony. If I wish to de-colonize my sexual discourse then I must learn to love and accept the beautiful men of color in my life. But how do I even begin when the men of color in my life have abandoned me? Abused me? Died on me? When the men I had to turn to, to better understand my queer identity were white. Whose bodies never looked like mine, whose language was always an accent off and who referenced me as the “latino hottie” but never just a “hottie.” They were my idols in life. The “falcon x porn” and the white daddies that taught me the proper way to touch another man, even though I was underage. With that said, I loved them. I loved that they needed me. Needed me to feel good. Needed me to satisfy their urges because for so long I had never felt needed by the men in my life. Yet, how could this paradoxical be the engine to my liberty, as well as my prison?

“I scrape and scrape,
Not to bleed but to distract me,
From everything,
From vanity,
From the portrait I keep painting of myself.” 2004

How could something that I wrote when I was 15 years old still hold truth? After five years of vigorously scraping through the trauma, the joys and miscellaneous I had yet to formulate a hypothesis that would encompass all my life experiences so I could learn to love men again. Reading Gloria Anzaldua’s “now let us shift… the path of conocimiento… inner work, public acts” has pushed me to peel off my skins and expose them to love.
These are my stages. The arrebato is my skin being peeled off everytime the sharp edges from the word ‘wetback’ are spit. The neplanta is my third space, the space where its not about ‘he touched me’ or ‘he didn’t touch me’ its where his touch has manifested into a life experience- a mestiza consciousness. Coatlicue state is when thirsty moths have sucked all the light, leaving me with a hungry body and incomplete words. El compromiso is when I’ve been running for miles and miles and my heart is about to burst; my sweat glands have been exhausted; I’m running on the bare soles of my feet; my breaths have shifting gear to painful screeches pleading for a longer life; when my body is about to break into a million un-loved pieces, then, all of a sudden I witness a resting point and hope for the finish line is once again within my reach. Putting my life together is my Coyolxauhqui state, when my life is co-dependent on the acknowledgement that the rape from my father, the death of my brother, the border crossing of my mother, my queer Chicano identity are dominant puzzle pieces that need each other to finish what has been left undone- the puzzle of my life. When publishing companies continuously reject my poetry pieces that carry my soul because they refuse to value my queer person of color testimony, I then seek alliances with community members for the validity of my offerings−is my blow up phase. Shifting and Shifting I find myself transformed as a spiritual activist, where the hero in the story plot is not limited to a white-heterosexual male and the love story expands to include a variety of genders and colors.
My path to conocimiento is an ongoing process. The different phases are never linear, consistent nor limiting. Like my love for men and the love for my body, I must continue to seek the unseekable and demand the impossible so I can break away from hegemonic binary dichotomies, from a consciousness that neglects the already love for men and body, from a world whose survival is dependent on my extermination, and from a self that is fragmented.

“Niño Cafecito,
Dame tu mano para que la bese,
So I can place it next to my heart and show you what love feels like.

Niño Cafecito,
The fatherly touch was never suppose to slip,
Slip below the waist,
Slip onto your bare skin and compromise your childhood experiencia.

Niño Cafecito,
You miss him but you don’t,
His existence is a dusty ole mask under your bed yearning to travel the worlds with you.
Breathe in and Breathe out,
Breathe in and Stop breathing him out,
Tu fuerza,
Tu Angel,
Tu Hermano.

Niño Cafecito,
How do you translate queer into your Spanish tongue?
Joto?
Maricon?
Puto?
No,
No,
It can’t be,
It’s niño bonito quien su sexualidad es un regalo de dios.

Little brown boy.

You aren’t little and,
You aren’t a boy.
You are a big man living in the border.
Borders between Mexico and El Norte,
Between gay and puto,
Between a father and a rapist,
Between a brother y la muerte.

Hombre Café witness,
Witness when the white-passing-queer-brotha sees you as a “whinny Mexican” but never as a “whinny gay”
Yet for you the whinny Mexican is always the whinny gay whose survival can’t be categorized so the white-passing-queer-brotha don’t gotta own up to his passing privilege. In a society where colorism is as oppressive as the other “isms”.

Hombre Café witness,
Witness when you raise your hand and the eyes of your peers start rolling. Peers who doubt your intelligence, logic, pronunciation of words and testimony.

Hombre Café witness,
Witness next time someone asks you “top or bottom?” A hegemonic question that reinforces binary dichotomies. The same dichotomies that subject you to never-quite-enough sex. The same dichotomies that “others” and abuses the bodies of your community.

Hombre Café witness,
Witness when you’re taking the bus and the womyn sitting next to you is at the edge of her seat because your male privilege is showing.

Hombre Café witness,
Witness the next you’re with the familia and you’re complaining about “life after undergrad” and your 17 year old cousin is complaining about “life after pregnancy.”

Hombre Café,
Nino Cafecito,
I,
Little i,
Self,
Yo,
Witness,
Witness the tears dripping down your face,
The hunger from your body when you’ve eaten a meal but it’s still not enough,
The Chicano who is still lonely even though he has people around him.

Come closer,
“Dame tu mano para que la bese.
So I can place it next to your heart and show you what love feels like…”

Reading

I don't know how to describe how i am feeling at the current moment. My mind is spinning, turning, speeding, relaxing, fucking and daydreaming.

Are things at this point not meant to work out? Should I dare try to pursuit something and know that I will just end up with nothing in the end because the distance would break the affinity apart? But then again, there is something local that I know would be more satisfying? But satisfying because of standards, color, language OR because I know that it would truly be possible and the impossible is always what attracts me? So lost in the dreams that I continue to have of the same being. After night, after night, and sometimes even evenings I have unsatisfying dreams that are never going to come true.

I hope that I can sleep tonight and not dream.

But if i do dream i hope that its about the possible and no longer about the impossible discourses that keep me alone.

I am a Precious Boy

I am a precious boy.

I am a precious latino.

I am a precious joto.

I am precious.

Sitting and writing about nothing and everything that I have become. Seeing the movie "Precious" was intense. Intense because the word itself is abstract yet, it is still able to pierce through all the precious moments in my life.

I don't quite know how to process the movie. But maybe that's it, I don't need to process it. What i need to do is imagine how one day I will be able to look at a movie and see my childhood. Precious, the character, is me. She is David Preciado being pushed onto the bed by his rapist father. But what does that really mean in the context of David is now 20 years old and the rape scene in the movie is a resemblance of what occurred twelve years ago? Beyond the mere fact that Precious and I experience molestation by our father, watching the scene meant the reasoning behind my non-existing stable relationship with a male figure.

I am twenty years old and I have yet to have had a "real" long term relationship with a man. Not that the opportunity has not presented itself, but I have always managed to manipulate my feelings into believing that it would not be worth it. Worth it because either i'm not ready, or he is just to BLAH. How do I learn to trust a man when the men in my life have either raped me? Died? or Left me?

Why do I hate men so much that I punish myself by only offering my body to them or playing the role of mutual attraction when I know it's only a matter of time before I shut the door? So many things to ponder and process and find answers to.

Answers that are contingent on the decolonization of my spirit, mind and body. Watching Precious was the answer because it made me remember that I am a precious boy. A nino cafecito who is in need of love that is foreign but necessary for his existence. Love that will validate the men i have and will encounter but most of all love that will validate my own male being.

Tropoly

I took a turn for the better and worse. Shifting and turning. Shifting and turning. Turning and Shifting. It's become so mundane that my vision has blurred as though I've lost sight of the sharpness in life- the wrinkles on ones face after a life of expression.

Slow

I am taking it slow.

I was laying in my bed and all i could think about was his brown skin sucking on my brown dick, as I played with his thick mexican hair...

HELL NO!

OMG!

that is not right, before there was a brown girl and a browner girl!

more than the other! (inspired by Audre Lorde)

i am more than the other.

More,
times more,
times more,
time mothafuckin more,
than the other.

I don't know to what extent I can further allow this hatred of my body, soul and mind to continue. Sitting with other has tarnished my erotic. Not to the point of no return, but to a place where it will take more than poetry to reclaim my erotic.

There are sexual practices that are foreign to me, yet they seem like fundamental knowledge, that makes me doubt my capacity to be truly engaged in a relationship. The vulnerability that is needed from me is the erotic. Could it be that the erotic is vulnerability? Vulnerable because that would mean that I would have to search within myself to develop a complex understanding as to why the mediocrity of my current state is the reason why my agency, as a queer man of color, is out of reach. To expose myself to not only the public but to myself...

I am ready for love.

Every step is more than what I know,
Know how to inhale,
Know how to exhale,
And know more about what I already know.

I am ready for love.

The first occasion was a drunk,
no excuse,
FUCK.
Fucked with a man,
Who was with a man,
But he did not know what it meant to love another man,
Nor to love oneself...

Baby,
Queer Man of color,
Chicano,
You are worth more than what your behavior demonstrates.

I am ready for love.

You,
With just a year less,
Singing like a bird,
Singing to me to a point of blindness,
Where your commitment no longer is visible,
And the only thing visible is your hand down my pants.

I am ready for love.

Me,
With a father that touched me,
A dead brother,
Immigrant mother,
Me.

These words are ordinary.
My words are not mine but someone else's,
That I was able to take from, at the expense of my humanity.

I am ready for love.

Take it slow,
Take it slow,
Take me apart and see the blood rushing through my veins,
The truth behind this coat of denial,
Just like you.

I'm ready for love.

Ven mami,
Ven hermana,
Ven hermanos,
y ven papi,
toma mi mano y besala.

I'm ready for love.

Seeing more than what's in the mirror,
seeing more than what I was during the drunk-no-excuse-FUCK,
Seeing more than the year-less-hand-down-my-pants mess around,
Seeing the erotic as treasure and not a low expectation.

Feel this brown skin,
These spanish words,
My brown hand rub you down before sleep,
These full lips wanting the other to transform into beauty.

I am ready for love.

Knock Me Down!

There was something in the whisper of your breath and music that made everything feel like the same mistakes I did that one time.

Lost cause was for it,

It came around and never lifted me up,

Just looked at me with despair,

Never will you stare at me and knock me down with your anger,

I am queer.

There are creative juices in my heart that are wanting to belt out!

Let me live!

Let me live!

Allow the sunshine to let me fucking live!

Down

There was a pathway to your down,
More than what I could have think of.

Let be me, and let me suck your brains out....

Goodbye

Yeah there was a tragic mothafuckin repair,
In the arm of the wife, but more so, a beat to a wall.,
In more than "arm" because there was success in the crazy behind the lense.

"I want to put my hands up and if you let me I will be more happily in the foot. There was more guys than girls that needed love in their insides. When the storm thn what you can handle you know that there will be more than a song of seperation."

La Loba

There was a monster in the closet,
There was a loba under my bed,
And there was virus in between my breast....

When there is a mountain with rain,
I will start to be more of myself,
Will never stop thinking about your silk hair in-between.

I never thought I'd be love like this.
Please don't mess with the pass-es in life,
Before you know I will be in the winds of you,
Magic was surrounding the fall of your face,

When I summon the weather,
The Sprig,
The Summer,
The Fall,
And finally the Winter,
It would have been when time was knocked in mist.

I will have to repeat the tragedy of the morning,
When the essence is not as the time behaves in the summer,
So when the night comes, and it's the love and pain, take the tender but leave your scent of purple perfume.

More and More that I think of the paing and the burning will make you more of a man. There will lights in the dark and no shadows in colorless places. Becuase the love and care was up for grabs and never fought for. Behave will more than handsome.

***This blog is not real but fake. Idk how to explain but just to let you knw. ********

Every time that he shoots at me,
I Starr into the sky with my wand and spell book to my side.......

HEAT

Today I finally felt like there was nothing between my peace and self. No dick. No man. No traumatic history. No nothing. Just pure excitement.

"I'm glad that when you look me in the face you no longer see my tears but my eyes that are angered by your presence. Right here. Right now."

Sex Worker but not a Prostitute

It was more than taking up your space when i saw your eyes lurk me.

Tomorrow I will open your eyes because mine have been sealed shut after the glow from the sun.

She loved me,

He loved me,

I never loved me,

Thus his money made me gold.

I was tryna be nice the other day when he said "were you speaking to me?"

IT was not IT and I was more than IT so of course i was speaking to the man that made me glad.

IT WAS ONE TIME,

but it was wasn't,

It was several times,

When i slept with a man that was committed,

When I allowed him to kiss every inch of my body,

When i took the pill that made my heart almost burst,

When I laid on my back as he sucked me off,

Lastly, when his grey hands touched every bit of me with his upper-class-fucking SOAP.

I've been running out of breath for quite some time,

It's beyond my understanding but I sit in silence waiting for my capacity to expand.

I am 5'11,

Yet I only value one inch of my body.

I was worth it,

I swear I was,

But now I have a price,

I have a sex drive,

I have nothing to offer but my body,

however I wished i had more...

Tomorrow please fall asleep, don't open those eyes until you know that I am one step from you. You erased me and only held on to a single strand of hair of mine- that's how i know you didn't leave. I am a sex worker, an alcoholic, a slut, the other man, and much more that I don't wish to detail. There were moans, lies and anxiety. I am not a prostitute, not a prostitute, prostitute, PROSTITUTE, PROSTITUTE, just a prostitute....

My eyes begin to stop when the turn of the hour hits the key without a breath.

I want to know that when the morning comes you will be there to shadow me,
Nuture me,
And let me be the one I wa destined to fuck.

I wanted to walk down the street the other day and witness his flaws,
Lurk in his backyard and wonder what would it be of I had short shorts like him....?

my home is more than white clouds

Your sun is more than the pieces of meat i hold in my hands.

Tomorrow is not a home for the brave but for the shadows that have been with us for the longest day.

I need,
Feel,
Touch,
Fuck,
Some type of burden of imagination that has me wrapped in my soul!

Tomorrow,
Yesterday,
Today,
I need to live a life of common ground where my feet don't exhaust and the sounds from the balcony don't drill me to death.

Star in the Sky

I love cliche words. Cliche words are what get me through the day..

"ok,
love,
tears,
heart,
soul,
feel,
lips,
touch,
forever,
happy"

moments are like dried lips. A mouth that can only feel the tightness in the world because all the loose things in the world are too distant to touch...

Imma kill!

I am laying down and she is next to me...

Every step that I take is just another fuck,
Fuck that is more than what it seems,
Something bigger than i could have imagined..

She will rote,
She will wish that I was dead somewhere without an ounce of energy left in me to see her,
She will realize that her existence is nothing but aderal.

Tomorow is another day that I will be able to suck the joy away and fill you up with nothing but hallow love. Fuck you!

FUCK YOU!
FUCK YOU!
FUCK YOU!

I'm not the OTHER man

I am not the other man,
I am not the other woman,
I am not an other.

Tap,
Tap,
Tap,
it's the single most insane screech that occurs when you said those words.

Tomorrow is not but a single fig of your insanity and my reality,
There is a ticking bomb somewhere unknown with your name on it,
Your name,
Your name,
CHEATER,
C-H-E-A-T-E-R,
DICK,
D-I-C-K!

I put on a hat that has many convictions and mean eyes,
A hat that will never give up,
A hat that will turn your droppings into dark sour blood!

Plastic Bag

loving sour ids
breathe in, breathe out, make it last
loving sweet body

I hear your scribbles

I am not content with the life that I am currently living.

I am scared that when the time finally comes it will be too late and she will no longer be living. Today in class I couldn't help but wonder why there is still a lack of representation of my skin color in my classes. Why my teacher has a pale face with a million dots scattered throughout his body, and the reality that he will never understand what it means to cry because of the color you're not... I'm upset and worried about the future. It's getting more and more violent and expensive to live the way I do. There is always work that keeps piling on and never enough time to stop the infection from spreading.

I honest to god wish that he had never touched me, and that he never died. Times like these wish that my family extended beyond a mother and a sister...

Eveything in life is a piercing aggressive experience that I'm hoping will soon vanish.

"My eyes keeps closing every time they spot a glimpse of you. Stop running away because I'm not chasing after you. I wont stand for your teases or for your silly idiotic mannerism that physically damage me inadvertently."

BB

I want to stay in love with you, but only for today.

I was coming from behind and everything was suddenly alive,
The mistakes,
Our hearts,
The inside of our thoughts were awaken by the sight of our song.

We keep telling ourselves that we will come back around,
That there are people in the world that can easily replace the times we had,
Replace,
Replace,
But there is too much to replace,
That even the thought of it blinds me into a path of non-stop bruising.

There is suffrage in the world. There is something I know you must get over before you allow my feet to move closer. I wanted you to carry me home the other day but instead you drove me and kissed my cheek goodnight. I didn't want that. I didn't want to feel like there was another soul I lost because I was not able to appreciate the romantic you shared with me. Take me tenderly into your arms, and when I push away FIGHT back. Fight back all the time. Fight until you can't anymore because then it will hit me that you are something worth appreciating. I know it's unhealthy and to an extent draining, but I need to feel the empty spaces with resistance and accomplishments. Fill them with an antidote that will cure all beings for their sufferings are my own blood.

Something has gone very wrong,
Something has turned left when it was suppose to travel forward,
My life is one big left turn,
And i just hope that you can either follow me or close the roads that give me access to the lefts in the world...

I feel like today is not the day.

I woke up at the sight of my drunk self,
My pathetic self who had nothing but his overdrafted card

I feel the pain down my shoulders and back when I think of what I owe the world.

I don't want to be in debt.
I don't want to see myself die in the empty arms of a stranger.
I don't want to lose the accent that was given to me by whips of the northern men...

I am sitting and there is no space for me to relax...

Tomorrow is more than a day as I flow through the air with just my gym bag on my back.

I want to know that you are alive and well,
Alive to breathe on me,
Well to heal me.

My eyes don't see the sunset but only the mountains that hover over the rainbow.

There is no sunshine when the clouds are too dominant and my spirit is too weak

Daydream

You should know that you are just a temporary fix and you will only be remembered for your touch and not your words.

I can be all that you need and more.

I've always been more than you can handle,
You have never met me half way,
stop pretending like you deserve more than what I have sacrificed for you in the last fucking month.

I am broke,
But you're broke,
And because you're broke I am rich.

My life at the current moment is lacking momentum. I'm trying to tell you just how i like the words to come out of your mouth, so stop covering your ears and bare with me. Bare with me. Bare. Bare the fuck out. Place your dick against mine. The phallic that runs through every piece of my soul. My life at the current moment has evolved beyond control and I'm drinking every step of the way.

I tucked it underneath my pillow when we were both pretending to sleep....

I wish there was a way that I could take my black maker and blackout his name.
How could I be so stupid?
How could I not?
How can I be so unsure of what love is that I still think that what I did was stupid??

I have many secrets,
Secrets because i am ashamed,
So ashamed of myself that the secrets keep adding.
I wish there was a way that i could prevent them from occurring but they keep feeding me these death seeds...

I am fierce at the cost of love.
I am insecure at the cost of love.
I am who I am at the cost of love!

Everything is at the cost of something. I can't and won't be vulnerable until I know it's fine to do so.

I fight the world each day because that was the only thing I was taught growing up and it's all I've seen and continue to see....

Today is not a good day for smiling..

I went today when i knew that i shouldn't because my heart was bleeding.
Everything that I knew and know is so irrelevant when I just allow the flow of actions lead me.
I'm getting sick,
So sick that i can no longer picture a morning of whistles outside my room.
My knees are sore from tonight.
Sore from looking into his eyes and never finding the answers I wanted.....

WELLSFARGO!

I am so fucking upset!

I hate the fact that I can't be fucking responsible enough to avoid overdraft motherfuckin fees!

ugh!!!

I hate that they didn't approve my withdrawal of WRITING 2!

wtf?!?!?!?

stupid ass!!!

i need to get my life together.... but i keep saying that and nothing has changed. i need to get my life together, and as much as i type it out, I know that it will probably wont happen! I NEED TO FUCKING GET MY LIFE TOGETHER!!!

I REALLY HOPE I DO!

I WILL

BUT I KNOW THAT IT'S ONE BIG MESS!!

ugh....

annoyed at friends, annoyed and school, annoyed at everything and everyone

brb!

FUCK!!!!

I am SOBERRRRRR

Fuck!!!!

I want to imagine that there is no place like the space of color where true love is found....

I want to imagine that there is a soul outside of the air I breathe. When there was a true color in the sky I squinted to make sure there was a pink shade of glitter to represent me...

I don't know if i am scared of loving a person for their age,
Or if i am scared of loving a person for their skin color,
But i am scared of loving he.

I want to wake up in the summer with only a speedo on. My hair hiding my face and just a sea of comfort over me. When the night takes over i need to know that I am alive and still awake. I don't want to sleep under the sheets with only an empty space next to me. The space that haunts me when i don't know what's next in life. I want to feel the sun give color to my skin, I want to know that something out there is needing me to live on...

I don't understand the meaning as to why 7am is the alarm to my body...

I woke up thinking that I don't want to speak.....

God that asshole wrote to me and even though I could seriously care less at the moment, WTF?!?!?

I needed to be forgotten,
I needed to feel as if it never happened like other events in my life....

I am embarrassed by how I felt,
Reacted,
Expressed the care I had inside for a closet case that reminds me so much of my own past...

I know why I woke up. I woke up because I lack the tender space that would keep me asleep. The space that would tire me,
Hold me,
Look into my eyes and kiss me goodnight.

I need to fix my reality and stop wanting the broom of fantasy that will sweep the nightmares from within.

My queer.

It is the sound that rolls down my back to which your mouth turns into a love box,

It's the tone of your speech when all bets are off, along with the light bulbs from the nights.

It is,
It was,
It's loving the motion to which my feet take me to work each day.

The same feet my mother nursed with her tired hands at dark....

The breathe,
The speed,
The taste of thirst after a full glass of champagne with our shirts off,
Are the memories that I inhale and exhale when,
My,
My,
My identity is the gold in the room.

Let's take another car drive,
Tires half filled with air,
A dresser with only a square of space,
Socks in the back,
Cigarette buts burning the car seats,
Burning through my skull every mile we go.

So it's not what I think it is, as the noise from the restroom is an echo I haven't heard before and the water glitters as it pours...

Shhhhhh*****

I am sweating all my love out!

Dancing until my feet fall off because of the slippery fucking road you left me alone to navigate. I want to fall without your pillow case.....

There are eyes staring at me,
They are not yours but a stranger's,
They are not yours for they are the same ones hanging on my ceiling right before I fall asleep.

There is someone 20 feet away with arms I wish I had,
Not for the muscle but for the name,
The same name I scrape an inch closer to my bones each day.

My mouth keeps eating but my stomach wants no more,
My mouth tells you I need you,
But my body can't take it anymore...

My Mondays arent the start of the week but the definition of where our smiles have met. I no longer can taste the alcohol in my lips but I can in yours and the more I think about it the more I can't sleep without you laying next to me...

There is a diamond chain that chokes me to death.

I never die but I always wish I would...

I am laying... Laying and laying in the grass above my dead brother.

There is wind displacing my hair. My nieces are making noise as well as my mother everytime she chews on the fruit she bought from my brotha' in the streets. So much noise to distract me from the brother that left....

I am laying, laying, and laying in the grass above my dead brother who has been dead for 10 years. Laying above the soil I have dreamnt of

It's been 10 years since my brothers death...

I will pray today because I strongly believe that I am speaking to my brother. When my family comes over at 3 pm today I will see him in them, see the laughs that they shared with him and the support they conveyed during the months I can barely remember but will never forget...

I have a dead brother. I have a dead brother... It's so easy to pretend that he was never really there but just someone in my life that shaped me yet disappered one day. His existance has taken some time to internalize and accept as reality. Yet, I know deep in me that he is my brother as I can still remember our walks to the corner hamburger spot where we would play video games and just love each other.

I miss you constantly yet never,
I sit and wonder how things would have been better if you wouldn't have died,
Our mother still hurts every morning and hurts more every Thursday when she takes you flowers.

I still can feel the empty space as I go through my life,
A space that is filled with your jokes,
Your nick names,
Your presence.

Today when I pray,
I will pray for the video game we never finished,
I will pray for every moment I wished I had your physical support,
I will pray for knowing that you weren't just a blur of life but a reality I onced lived-------still live.

Every man that I have fucked has been erased.
I don't really recall their beards,
Their mouths,
Their hands,
Their dicks....

It happens every time when I don't want it to. I want to remember my saliva over his body and the taste of it. His hairs pressed against my barely developed chest...
I am laying in the dark about to go to sleep, but can't because I CANT remeber why I did it. Why I drove down the street,
why I gave my number,
why I smlied when it wasn't what I thought it was going to be...

I want to remember the good sex. The kind that I can still feel his moist body pressed against mine.
The kind who's name will never drift away.
The kind that always stays clear and never turns into a blur of self hate....

"I tap my feet, and skip away to something worth my travel, time, and breath..."

Sarah B.

I don't know if i am having a life crisis at the moment.... But i have been way too emotional lately that I am starting to rethink my lifestyle.

I remember when i went to Mexico in 2003 and my mom took me to a meat market where i witness the reality behind my american food.... the rawness from the experience led to my decision of giving up meat.

BUT FUCK! idk if that's really my issue at the moment.... but is eating meat something that will expand my political passion for racial equality?

ugh

"
I know that it's more than what I eat that keeps me from trust.

My development, my love, my partner, my body is still more than i can handle. I feel desperate for something that I have no way of recognizing once it comes to me. I can't be so selective of the pieces of love i find along the colorful road... I know i have friends, yet i don't know which ones i can be more than just friends. Really open up about my process of life, about the bruises and scars all over my body that remind me of my history.

Here is a piece that I have yet to share but have ached to tell the experience:

It was a Wednesday during the summer of 2002 when I had to purposely trap my father. After pressure from my mother, who wanted more concrete evidence about the incident, the detectives finally laid down a blue print plan to get my father to confess his wrongs. However, my sister was in no position to follow through with the plan, as she was upset with my father and that would be too obvious, so they asked me- and i said "ok".

My memory is a bit blurry but the feeling is still the most real thing i remember from the incident....

They were going to wire tap our phone lines and have me speak to my father and somehow make him confess the history and get him to come over, where the cops would then arrest him in our driveway. A small part of me felt guilty of having to do this to my father... and the larger part of me was terrified. I was so scared. There I was, a 12 year old kid, who was 5'3, in the closet, deprived of a childhood, living in a community filled with gang bangers, still recovering from the death of his oldest brother, still not knowing what love is, standing next to 6'foot men with badges and guns. There I was...

We went to my moms room, and I remember that they told my sister to leave the house and not come back for another three hours. My mother was in the living room, and I was in the biggest room in the house with two detectives prepping me. They said that I needed to call my father and tell him that I have been having physical problems and I think it was the result of the incident and I needed him to take me to the hospital. The first time I called was death.... I was shaking, my voice was trembling, and everything felt like a bad nightmare that was suffocating me.

Even though the detectives where sitting right next to me with the machines, they weren't there. No one was there except the same bed that still haunts me every day... My father admitted to what he did, and said that he would be willing to take me to the hospital and all i needed to do was make an appointment. As the conversation was closing, i had to ask one last question before i could hang up.. so i asked "why did you rape me? even though i told you to stop?" and his response was... "i thought you liked it. I did it for you and me. Me gustaba, y pasan aveces cosas que te hacen gustar el mismo sexo y no puedes haces otra cosa mas que seguir tus sentimientos... And if you want me to, i can do it again..."

I had to hang up.... I hung up and immediately started crying. I couldn't stop. I wanted my mother and they wouldn't let me see my mother. They said I had to call back and say sorry for hanging up on him. But the thing is, i wasn't hanging up because of what he said, I was hanging up to save the last piece of love i had for my father. How could he? How could he tell me that I WAS asking for it? That it was my 8 year old body and mind that asked to be raped...

I thought I did enough but then they needed me to call him and somehow get him to come over.

He called after I hung up and I picked up. I had to lie to him and tell him that I loved him... I told him that he needed to come real quick because I am feeling depressed and I needed my Domingo..... he agreed....

After hanging up for the second time, I left the room immediately and ran to my moms arms. I wanted her arms around me and for her to treat me like a child. I was a child. I was a child but I didn't feel like one... I felt like an adult that had to just suck it up and to whats necessary for his sister, and my family..... and myself.

Once we were in the living room, the two detectives came and told my mother that they needed my father to park in the driveway and physically step out before they could arrest him... they needed me to do it.

I thought the danger, guilt, fear, was over but it wasn't. It will never be as I have learned over the years... Once he pulled up, i remember going towards him crying. I couldn't help but cry. I cried and I cried. I went to car door and the moment I made eye contact with him I felt sick. So sick that I was not able to speak. I remembered the incident vividly, i remembered the phone call, and I remembered that I am still a child searching for a father that loves me and doesn't just love me for my body. After I said the first word, everything came together.

I still couldn't believe what I was doing, but I knew i HAD to do it. I told him that no one was home and if he could step outside to give me a hug..... He did.

Once he stepped outside, i remember the two detectives came rushing out of my front door with guns in their hands yelling "step away from the boy! step away from the boy! get to the ground...."

i ran as fast as I could to my mother who was outside, just behind the cops. I ran for my sister who was raped for almost 8 years, I ran for my mother who was married to him for over 10 years and had to deal with his drunk bullshit every night, I ran for my dead brother who taught me to never give up, for my gang banger brother who still roams the streets in search of my dead brothers love, I ran for the four times that fucker raped me. Those four times that I still have nightmares of, that have now become my weakness and my strength.

Once i got to my mothers arms, i turned back and yelled "how could you?!? i told you to stop?!? i hate you?!? how could you?!?!? i told you to stop?!?!!!!!!!"

....."

Those are the experiences that make me cry the most. That give me strength to not give up and push myself....Those are the experiences I will never forget, but wish i could.

The second time

So I went!

Went so far that everything is still the same. The fucking same! Ugh! It's the same feeling for the past months and I don't know how to fix it. So much apathy, yet so much passion is still left.

My cat is next to me,
But so is the same life for the past two years.

I hope that I haven't become so old that my life is a commodity. It's like that one time when the asshole just stared at me and never listened to a word i was saying. Wasn't listening to my feelings, my hurt, my life, just sitting there with a smirk on his face invalidating anything that i conveyed before it was conveyed.

This doesn't make sense and I know that to someone it will...

I can't even write a decent poem! ugh!!!!

Grey Tank

My pink vneck never defines me.

So many times i look at the tv screen and notice that his nose changes everytime. The motion of the clouds above me are dragging pieces of me that I wasn't able to hold on to.

Just as the nose and the clouds, my vneck is more than just cotton...

Depression is always SEX

This seems new but very old.. 

I haven't cried for the loss of my development but I have fucked a man. 

Everything got lost,

my energy,

my leadership,

my sorrow,

every little fucking thing got lost. 

How dare I treat the bones in my body with such abuse?

(I lie with this story.....)

It was the text and feelings of need that drove me to my LOW. 

I hit the floor!

Morning hasn't came but he did. Inside my body lies his poison of truth. The truth of my blue days and the story of a person that still finds punishment in offering his body to sex and never Love. 

be still

The days are no longer vivid in my head,
They are so distant that the laughters,
Screams can't be heard anymore,
Yet the feeling hits harder than ever when I think of the petals he let fall inside my aura of resistance...

How could I be so thoughtless,
Emotional,
Stupid to ever imagine that there is a blue moon in the sky that will light my way through the dark nights,
But more so,
Lead me to a hole in the ground that connects my life with urs?

I will never have the closure that I have been seeking for...

I will always feel that my sentences were never complete,
My breaths were never exhaled,
And my body was never the right shape...

My lips keep drying, and I know that its my head that keeps them from ever being moisturized without ur assistance. My dependency is not in my hands but the lyrics that promised me a life of content and a road half met.

in your face

I know that it's not enough to stop this joke....

Tomorrow when the rain hits my door the dizziness of my vision will disappear,
Melt into a bloody pool,
And never again see my fickle fingers write about the dark...

I know that when the sun stops shinning I will cum. Nothing will matter as the earth is destructive on it's own. The feet that sustain me will melt and all the glory, joy, war and torture will decay into a bath full of vapor-----the same fucking illusionist vapor.

Cum,
Come,
Org,
Organize around my thoughts and ideas,
feed the hunger that I am still needing,
Don't stop believing that one day I will be enough to be more than you have ever been.

Sleep for you are just,
Licking every bone of me will never take away the hurt in my heart....

mhmmmm

I was arguing to save my life.

Every time when I lock eyes my body breaks,
There is never enough air in the sky,
Cones in the streets,
Protection from the sharp blades that you cut me with.

I lost the will to read. To write about the bringing of my past. I felt that for so long I've had to pick myself up from the dirt and just take a deep breath and continue running. I run as fast as I can, but every time that I reach the finish line there is always someone, something that pushes the end ten steps forward.

My back has molded to your whips of torture,
The fingers no longer type of he but of the noise that builds you...

oh!

It wasn't until my eyelids shut,
That I realized the impact of his fist to my skin.

Ten seconds flew by faster than I expected,
It seemed like it never occurred and was an event that had escaped my thoughts without a warning of illusion,
When time was not still,
I should have known that my life was up for grabs and everything,
Anything was possible.

The coffee wasn't enough to keep my feet tapping,
My hair standing,
My teeth from grinding,
My lips from drying...

Soon it was more than what I had expected. Nothing like this time would occur with such small side effects again. I had to prepare, but to prepare meant that I had to sew back the skin you ripped, in order to anticipate a worse destruction that would await my life- your hands.

That boiiiii

The lights were off and all i could hear were his feet dancing to the music,
Our music.

So today I was getting really excited about Law School. I was looking at programs in NYU and Columbia and I was about to DIE!!! ahhhh!!!! I wonder what my life would be in the east coast for three years of my life? Afterward, i went on GUCCI.COM to look at the suits that i would be wearing once i got a job, OMG they were so cute and fierce! I already have an idea of what bag i will be having, the fitting, the colors, and the fabulous glasses that will go with every outfit. I decided that when i would wear a semi-generic suit i would make it fabulous by adding some bomb-ass diamond accessories.

:)

now, i am off to planning my wedding!!!!

(oh wow..... i am pathetic...... ugh!!! i can't even LEGALLY get married)

drunk

i don't want to stop.

I realize that when the earth is more than me it's bc i have failed to be the best that i can i be,

I wouldn't fuck somebody that you have fucked!

Amy

I wasn't ready to go home. 

Home, HOME

The rain was pouring and the cars had nowhere to move. 

The heads of the drivers were missing,

My hands were steering,

Everything was pitch black and the blur was piercing through my skin..... 

I need this to stop,

The ripping is not yours but my own,

The shattered glass was hurting the last piece that was my own, 

My scream was the last thing that came out of my throat,

The same throat that loved your body at nights,

The same fucking tear that keeps rolling down my cheek every fucking second of the day!

Wallet

My head is not attached. It can't be, can it? 

Get it straight,

The crooked line is getting in the way...

Caballo Dorado

I really couldn't understand the speed of which my life was going last night. I was racing but I was racing to get lost. I didn't do it on purpose, I was attempting to continue the stability of which my life had taken up for the past 5 days. There was no way out of this circle- Irvine. Every building was the same shade of beige. That beige that creeps up from behind at nights and blocks you. Never allows you to see any other colors that might help ease your breathing. I looked and played with my phone, still searching for something that was impossible to search for; but don't I get some credit for my determination? My persistence in not admitting defeat? 

I'm not in Irvine, Downey, Santa Barbara or here. Still stuttering, still looking through my bag, still pressing buttons on my phone, still blocked by these four beige walls, walls that turned into pavement, the same pavement i'm racing to get lost...

READING

So i started the quarter right!

yey!!!

I did all my reading in one day!!! FUCK YEAH!!! I am heading in the right direction because COLUMBIA here i come!!!!
:-D

I am sad that I am not going to have a life this January month but I am happy that I will be getting the chance to travel A LOT! haaaay! especially with my new bag! hahahahaah

stuffed (written with optimism)

Why don't u hoist me?
Anywhere,
Anytime.

Its about time that I start to become numb,
Numb,
Numb.

To everything that is you,
That portriat u painted oh-so long ago,
With me sitting in an ovesized black leather couch with a knife on the wooden caramel floor,
And red paint dripping down my cheeks-my eyes.

It never crossed ur mind that it could be more,
That I would remember it with guilt,
Anger,
Pain?

Yesterday is not Yesterday,
Today is not today,
Tomorrow is not tomorrow,
Its still that day u asked me to count to ten,
Hold my breath,
Shut my mouth,
And love the knife that u thrusted inside of me.