Olas Caramelo

I always sleep on the ocean\

If you look closer\ you will see my hands\ dissolving.

I once owned a pair of seas\

Not what you thinking\ but mami pensó que me hicieron brujería\ Santa María\

He llorado tanto\ ya soy un residuo\

islas de ojos melancólicos\

Duermo con la sal\ siendo dulce de leche\

I sleep donde los otros no encuentran\ el silencio.

Si miras fijamente lo aceptarás\ mi

cuerpo\ es ola que baila

aunque se marchen\

se marchen todos\

Mujer con Voz

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Melt Down 

Llorar parece 
facil
La vieja del colmado aconseja 
que no lo hiciera
su sillas llenas de polvo
son huracanes silenciosos
de cosas que 
ocultaba 
como si es posible pretender
que en la garganta no duerme un 
nudo
y uno no tenga derecho de 
sentir 
como si los violines de lo que 
no se dice 
no rasgan la confianza 
Ayer quise llorar con los ojos
sin ser muda
Y solo me quede con las ganas
ellos 
observan 
esperando 
mi derrumbe

•••

Crying seems easy
The old woman at the grocery store
advises not to do so
Her chairs filled with dust
are silent hurricanes
of things she was
hiding
as if it’s possible to pretend
that in the throat doesn’t sleep a knot
and one does not have the right to
feel
as if the violins of what is not said do not rip the confidence
Yesterday I wanted to cry with my eyes
without being mute
And I just stayed with the desire
they
observed
waiting for collapse

Mujer Con Voz
Poetry book available here 

Where are the Missing Girls? 

desaparecen… Una a una 

Los ojos marrones

 empañados 

                      Where are they?

Why I don’t hear a voice 

screaming? 

silencian… sus cuerpos tibios 

I guess we are used to 

playing the game

They keep disappearing 

behind the shadow

behind a helicopter of lies 

I see them rotating 

sending signals 

desde allá arriba

a constellation

sus 

misplaced 

mispronounced 

missing something 

names 

waiting for someone 

to read them 

a gritos.

Mujer con Voz 

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

Recuerda/Remember 

Eres agua, 
eso que no se puede 
aguantar, 
retener,
alejar.

Eres 
ese comienzo 
que se acuesta en las montañas y nadie sabe tu nombre,
solo saben que existes 
y que tienes una fuerza 
incomparable.

You are water, 
that cannot be 
enduring, 
retain, 
keep away. 

You are 
that start
that it lies in the mountains and no one knows your name,
they only know that you exist 
and that you have a
incomparable 
force. 

Mujer con Voz 

Photo by O. González 

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.

 

Caribeña 

I am trying to practice reading my poems, I barely do, I don’t consider myself a spoken-word artist, but I love poetry… So I gave it a try. I hope you guys like it. Este poema se llama “Caribeña.”

I AM THE CARIBBEAN:

the mixed jungle

the sleeping sunsets of curly hair

Taino’s eyes

Minerva Mirabal

Conquistadora of lo imposible 

Caña-speaking aloud soul

Lectora,

Another unknown inexperienced poet

Hierro character

and never a follower.

I guess thats too much to handle… 

Mujer con Voz ©2016

Decolonizing Hair

“Decolonizing cabellos

Dark brown
Dim romantic night looking spheres
Colored in love with hints of sugar cane
Yellow Jabao’
Melena caprichosa, mal entendida, no sumisa, a ti qué te importa cabellera
Mente suelta
Forestation of the natural
Colonization, out of my scalp!
Display
curls/straight/wavy/rebelde/ I don’t have a type of hair
Show
long/short/medium/a lo macho
como te dé la gana hair
Stop combing árboles of history
Your grandmother
Africana/ taina/mezcla
was a badass
Basass like “I know my ancestry”
Badass like ” I am beautiful”
Badass, edgy, conscious, leída, extravagante
like an evolution
like a revolución of the
“you need to fix your hair”
Do it!
Descoloniza your hair.”

No Duelen Los Golpes de las Chancletas 

 

Photo by Ismael Rodriguez @Ismrodz

 

Cuida de los que tienen canas.

Take care of those with gray hair.

Mamá, cuanto cabe en una sola palabra. Tu chancletas acústicas y rústicas bailaban en las nalga’ por desalojar la indecencia –ese sabor que hace concebir y idealizar en una cabeza infatigable que supone que tiene todas las respuestas. Me sembraste tu estampa no la piel, en otro pellejo, pero si en las cuerdas de la conciencia que no dejan de estar. Abuela, soy un rasgo de merengue apambichao’ para tu sublime melodía. Vieja, ¡Qué tonta fui!

•••

Grandmother, how much fits in a single word. Your acoustic and rustic sandals danced in the buttocks to evict the indecency – that flavor that makes one think and idealize that a tireless head is supposed to have all the answers. You sowed me, not in the stamp of the skin but in another skin, in the strings of the conscious that never leaves. Grandma, I’m a trait of merengue ampambichao’ for your sublime melody. Grandma, what a fool I was!

Untitled 

This a collaboration with the artists and writer @Masproblemas. This is one of his illustrations. 
You see heart breaks, I just see new material to write about.

I will immortalize you with my words even if you don’t deserve it.

@Masproblemas

Is that your new hobby to break damn good hearts and then going around shallowing your pride?
Mark the lines of this poem with
another piece of your phosphorescent lies
I’ll make sure you regret it
I’ll make sure you won’t survive
I’ll show you what a real woman is like
making you full
reminding you where you came from,
the same tunnel you are running away from.

F.P. @Mujerconvozpoetry