No tengo cara de pendeja


Machismo
A disease injected to the minds of our men
A crown taken without permission
I won’t grant your wishes
I won’t cut my words in pieces and hand them to you with the face of a pendeja
¡Macho nada!
I bet you cannot say those things to the one que te pario
I bet you don’t know what love is
I bet you’ve only tested salt and lies, and now you pretend to give it back
Stay away from my women
Revalue and pray for yourself
I was going to offer you to go to la Luna, but even the moon, as dark and far as it is
It would never dishonor women as you did.

Dígale con la Chemba 

Photo by Djilas Gomez @djilasgomez

“Ave de pluma
la boca de tu mirada
La veo
I see it
between a bolero
I don’t know what is left of me in these days
I am taking my flight
Soy una negra con boca que teje
un tic tac de las olas
El ruido negado de los pájaros
La radio negra y sabrosa
La rumba descansa
La noche escrita aya, aquí, jamás
El cepillo en la mano de micrófono
Un aparato de alegría
el humo de las nubes
Soy muy joven de anciana
Soy peligro que tiene precaución
Soy la aleta de este avión
Ask for me under a guitar
They will tell you with a seña
y la chemba pará’
who that hell
I am.”

 

 

Book Release 

Hello everyone, todos los que me acompañan, I am writing to all of you to thank you for all your support and appreciation of my writing. I also wanted to let you guys know that my first book it’s finally a reality. You can order the book by clicking on the Pay Now button. The name of my poetry book is “Para Cenar Habrá Nostalgia.”The book is in English, Spanish, and Spanglish, just like my writing and life. I hope all of you can read me.

 

 paypall


 

Book description

The agony of being an immigrant and not being in a constant place is spilled wrathfully and fairly on the pages of Para Cenar Habrá Nostalgia. In the midst of arrival procedures, fatigued train rides, living adaptations, and a very loud Dominican accent, Fior E. Plasencia presents a collection of poems that excavates the damage experienced since she and her family departed from the Dominican Republic to the United States. Fior also reveals a more familiar devastation: a journey with her body and soul growing up in the neglected parts of New York City. The persistent sensation of returning to her native country is sensed in her multilingual words, yet, they also rise with self-determination and appreciation of her brown complexion. Throughout her poetry is a non-conformist voice; her rebellious spoken words and dominicanidad are offered as the true forms of the diaspora revolution. The author serves the feast to the reader with tropical nourishment, memory, sarcasm, humor, survival, and homesickness. Here you will find authentic verses dressed in Spanish, English, and Spanglish infused with recognizable flavors, bilingual dilemmas, reminiscent of a childhood on the island.

Weird

  

Tía abuela soy yo de la algarabía
Mis labios quemados de rojo andan
La mecedora moviendo su falda corta
Pasan la gente curiosa
Gente mordiendo los lunares imaginarios ¿Sabías tú?
Si.
El dulce de coco lo invente yo
No…
El bombón melancólico de cerezas
“La mami conditioner” en botella pobre
Tú deja de cortarme los ojos

Envious


Evil



Envidiosa
Mala sangre
Amargada
Te dije que soy nieta de las habichuelas
Siéntate en un volcán
Saborea mi sazón
de llamas de plumas
Estoy embriagada de tierra
por dentro y por fuera
Aveces rimo
De vez en cuando le quitó las cadenas
No me digas que no soy poeta
Te traeré un poco de caldo de nubes
a ver si te pasa la quemadera
y me dejes vivir adentro de un mango prendio’
como soy;
Rara
problemática
y rellena de agua dramática
y miel de abeja.

 El Silence Rompí

“¡Hey, tú!
Loca, sufrida, demente, desesperada”
me dicen, que atención solo busco para a propósito quedarme comiéndome una cama rota cerrada.
En dos, tres, cuarto, cincuenta versiones se parte mi cuerpo de mujer de avena,
yo no soy ninguna piedra…
la soledad me encuentra despierta y sueño con un mundo que no le tire con el tira piedras palabras absurdas, dedos apuntados, juzgando sin saber de dónde viene el sentimiento de esa…
una, otra persona que entre paredes oscuras llora tormentas..
¡Sufrir de una depresión no es una decisión como cambiarse de panties!
Hoy me desnudo, siento, grito…
la vida que devoran dentro de mi historia de nubes hechas
sumisa no quedará en mi página,
 rompí tu ignorancia.

Freedom

 

Photo by Fernelis Lajara @Laj13

A collaboration with the Dominican writer and photographer, Joelle Santos @Azuquita.prieta.

She looks like home
Segura
Caliente
Full of emptiness
spaces and silence
She feels like home
She is home
Ella es freedom

– Nakedness

@azuquita.prieta

Yo a ella la he visto
walking with whatever the hell she wants
Always with her stomach full
loving the curves in her eyes
the same way she
values the corners of her breasts
Desnudez of the body and soul
she prefers
Sumisa no es
Intesidad carne de viva mujer
She is not dead inside in a body that’s alive
she is butter in the fly.

F.P. @Mujerconvoz_poetry

 Haitiano mi Amigo 

 

Photo by Jose A. Silva

Friends. You and I can become friends with someone who lives in the other side, the division, el arroyo, the bloody lines made with hands who don’t want to be divided by a light of power. Yo vi el  human not a specific color, neither a label, I saw you –a person who lucha  against what is wrong. I know, yo sè, before we went though our hardships and struggle with our locked hands, we had and we still have, so much in common, and I believe you see it too, like the colors on our flags and the mountains we shared (hidden from the outside world and the big screams in Time Square). We can’t put together with a glue used in elementary school the splits pieces of  lands (Tierra), it’s too complicated, but something better can happen– mutual understanding, undressing the fake labels, and give space not to a “person of color,” but to a human, un humano, como tú y yo.  My friend, mi amigo, he’s Haitian, and  I see el viento de alegria and peaceful revolution in his words, it’s a bother and a human también. I wish the world can see it, as I do.

Torbellino Ella

Photo by Djilas Gomez @ Djilasgomez

“Tal y como es, la mujer, es un torbellino de viento; te arropa y sacude cuando es necesario”

•••

“As it is, the woman, is a tempest; she gives you shelter and shakes you when it‘s necessary”

“Minority”

Color de carne, skin color, colored hands, hands colored with pieces of the Atlantic’s warm stomach /spinal cord of pueblos indigenas / pacific thunder and drastic rain, you tell me, tú me dices, I can’t paint the billboards of my skylines with my words (mís palabras) because I am brown and “brown” means backwardness, atrazao’, Old World, smelling like machetes and an uncivilized big wide mouth? My skin will tell you everything you need to know, I will keep writing because brown means I can write in the corners of my people’s minds, I can speak/write/scream/be myself/be unique and still be my type of civilización, and I can be diferente , something, my darling, you lack.            

           —“Minority”

                 

Tóxico

  “Damn you! You left on me an empty hole across my life. When you came, at the beginning, I thought it was just like a toxic relationship, and you were going to change like a dollar when I put you in a jackpot machine, in reality, I couldn’t change you, you were sick and wicked, the machine I introduced you was not like a washing machine cleaning out of all the negativity you produced, making you Mr. Clean, making you as bright as the days of June, making you more like me, instead you were like a dollar when put inside a quarter machine, I only get cents backs. You took my revolutionary hair with you on a train ride, and with that you took the weight inside my skin, you made me pale, and it was devastating. But you know what? Dear cancer, I survived, you took what I didn’t need – the pressure I used to put on myself to be UNA MODELO de revista or like my neighbor with fake breast, and the blindness of my ignorance. I wanted to thank you, as you’re leaving my body, and leaving me with short chaotic, sexual, curly, hair; I have come to the realization that what the dollar is worth would never increase its value, that’s why I am worth more than money, beauty advertisement and a fake glass body. I used to waste my life, but I have a hole across my chest, across my memory, to remind me; to never waste my time if I want to live this life just right… one more… morning.”

                           •••

“¡Maldito sea! Usted dejó en mí un agujero vacío en toda mi vida. Cuando viniste, al principio, pensé que eras como una relación tóxica, y que ibas a cambiar como un dólar cuando te puse en una máquina de casino, en realidad, yo no te podía cambiar, tú estabas enfermo y eras malvados, la máquina donde te pude no era como una lavadora de ropa que eliminaba toda la negatividad que tú produjiste, haciéndote un Don Limpio, tan brillante como los días de junio, haciéndote más como yo, en su lugar eran como un dólar cuando se ponen dentro de una máquina de cambio, solo me dan centavos. Usted tomó mi cabello revolucionario en un viaje en el tren, y con su despedida también tomo el peso dentro de mi piel, me hiciste pálida, y fue devastador. ¿Pero sabes que? Estimado cáncer, sobreviví, tomando lo que yo no necesitaba – la presión que solía poner en mí misma para ser UNA MODELO de revista o tener las pechugas falsas de mi vecina, y la ceguera de mi ignorancia. Quería dar las gracias a usted, ya que está dejando mi cuerpo, y me dejaste con poca un caótico, sexual,rizado, pelo; he llegado a la conclusión de que lo que un dólar vale nunca va aumentar su valor, es por eso que valgo más que el dinero, los anuncios de revistas y un cuerpo de vidrio falso. Solía ​​perder mi vida, pero tengo un agujero en mi pecho, a través de mi memoria, para recordarme; nunca perder mi tiempo si quiero vivir esta vida justa … otra … mañana más.”