Un Gusano Strategic 

they told our women.
Vuela alto,
 le decían. 
it was the easiest tool
to destroy 
las alas de mariposa
 ¿sabías que todo sale de la tierra?
and us
with our 
podemos resistir 
así como los gusanos 
que arrastran hoy
sus cuerpos.

Mujer con Voz

No tengo cara de pendeja

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.



Photo by Fernelis Lajara @Laj13

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

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

– Nakedness


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

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”

Cuentos del Salón 

Salomé, solo quiero
que me sueltes los moños.
Domingo es hoy.
Quiero verme entera;
entera, enterísima, entérate…
yo te pago lo demás



tú …
con t mayúscula.
suéltame los rolos.
Yo quiero soltar la vida.
Yo quiero soltarlo todo.
(No sé lo digas a nadie.
Entre tú y yo, na’ más.)

Don’t Date Women with Stretch Marks

Don’t date women with stretch marks.
Do yourself a favor… and run.
¡Corre! ¡Corre! Run far
away from them, like
you’re in a marathon to
a black hole, you’re not
going back to Earth.
Ellas son la Tierra,
swallowing your memory,all
up to the moment
you see her.
They know how to
use their white lines
against you.
They know what it’s
like to be stretched
all the way… into a poem
pull all the way back
like Afro-Caribbean hair,
pull back like a metáfora
and still be glorious
and still be alive
having a permanent mark
on you.
You would be missing…
under her curvy smile,
you, will be
like an empty black
and gray wall
in lower Manhathan
on a lower backstreet
full of colorful graffiti.