El Comienzo Del Fin

Solo quedaron los recuerdos. Un cepillo colgado de la frente. Un chicle mentiroso. Un simple atardecer de Barajas. Vainas. Pendiente quedo el reloj detenido. Mami dijo te casarás algún día. Nunca dijo que el compañero sería el viento, porque todo se derrite. 

Mujer con Voz

Conversations with the Light

I remember
I can feel my lungs doing the work

H e l p M e

Being different is a hard pill to swallow
The tones of nature, coffee, my mother’s prayers live in me
The song is playing, I can’t help but dance
rotating like all those planets and
all those peaceful memories
The night is doing what she likes to do:
make us dream
I know some are scared of the light
And they don’t want anyone showing them
that the impossible can be possible
and that this moment, this moment right here

is what c o u n t s

My dance is my rainbow, sweet metaphor
And you know what is funny? When people see a rainbow in the sky,
they don’t run and say
“Hey! You!
Colorful thing!
Burn out”
I wish people will do the same with
others
If they want to be the light
in this dark place
let them be.

 

I am Poem

I am a poem

él que estrujaste 

él que botaste en la basura

él que did not make it

poema mal tallado y más feo que una foto

metáforas guardadas

lengua mordida

hambre

hunger 

soy tu poema

I am your poem 

él que salió caminando

él que se limpió las nalgas

él que nadie quiso leer pero se leyó así mismo

a poem from a brown soul

metaphors from underground 

A big mouth 

Sed

Sequía 

y poesía

Mujer con Voz ©2016

 

 


photo credit

Gossip 

2/30

Me confieso contigo
. I dressed that one day like I want the world to be inside my chest. ¿Qué te digo? No I didn’t want attention, no man spilling their tongues all over me, from far, from there, from across the gentrified corner. I just wanted to dress and feel beautiful inside and out, something these days we cannot say too loud. But the chismosas del barrio, they took each piece of my soul and destroyed it with their bare mouths. Aunque la mona se vista de ceda, mona se queda, look, look she is a prostitute seeking for attention wearing that dress that looks like a diaper instead of clothes, qué Dios la perdone, el mundo se va acabar, la mujeres de ahora no sirven.They didn’t know, how we are slaved in this notion, that the way you dress decides whether or not you are a good or bad member of society, that their words are prisoners of generations that couldn’t set their feet free, they assumed and they brake, they do not fix. The day I decided to feel beautiful for me, was the same day they assumed I was the bitch. 

#crónicasParaDescolonizar 

Mujer con Voz ©2016


 

Anestesia 



Photo by Fernelis Lajara



The blue. sky. was opening.
El cielo se abría así mismo de golpe.
Some were praying. with the silence.
El silencio se comió su pensamientos
Others were numbed.
Anestesiadas las lenguas rojas.
All that was the left was an empty corridor 
in the hospital with invisible people running away. I reached out for them. My arms weren’t long enough. I returned to the cold chair. I wished it wasn’t this terrifying to wait for a miracle. I opened the window of the room so the navy blue sky can calm the pain. The anesthesia was done doing its job. Nobody says what they needed to say, they cried with fury instead. Another patient entered, they needed the bed. 

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.

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.

Amazon 

Photo by the artist Djilas Gomez @djilasgomez.

                                    

                                                                       

For Angy Abreu 

Hitting
was easier for you.
It is your superpower
to grow more cells
between your legs
and ego
but there’s an espacio vacío
on your tiny brain
Hitting, fuck! Golpear 
was easier for you
escupiendo words on her face
you opened up su piel like
a wanted envelope
there is nothing green inside – you thought
He opened up scars that never existed
too bad, the woman in her won’t take crap
too bad, the woman in her won’t shut up
she is the Amazon
wild and beautiful, but don’t tempt her
wild and deep
“don’t touch me”
She is not the false man made green venom
you waited on,
she’s worse…
a scar that won’t weep
it would just dry like the sticky side of the envelope
not like the organ in his pants
that will only oxide with time.

—F.P.

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