Skip to main content

Trashed it all by throwing white-company towels all over The Cold Oxblood Floor

Fuck your
blank walls and clean floors
(with your piss all over the toilet seat)
Fuck your
Sweet Caroline’s and Eileen’s
Fuck your
extra bright light bulb by the excessively large, one toilet, bathroom
(men lurk around the corner with glass bottles, in the dark)
Fuck your
pointless struggle to survive
when,
your name is seared on everything
when,
your face makes everything better
when,
your attention is a blessing
                              (in disguise)

But, we all matter.
we all struggle to fulfill our dreams
we all are men and women
made equally
under god.
Survival is a privilege
blessed upon the most fittest beings…



…Who happen to own
season tickets

to the front row.

Popular posts from this blog

June

This is the second time I see you and you are no longer a little boy.  You're much taller, your hair, you've let grow.  You are a young man with a crown of cornrows.  We meet in the city, with your dad, at a sidewalk cafe. You walk away from my view. Maybe to pick up our drinks.  Your dad speaks to me this time. He's no longer the brooding man on the couch. Y our dads  much older since I last saw you. His eyes are droopy but they rise when he speaks of you and when he smiles. His freckles show more; on his nose bridge, on the high part of his cheeks. His dreds  are thicker but the color is lighter, like brown, smoky, dusk. His glasses are the same thin metal frames from always. He t ells me how well you're doing. How well your both doing. How everything is well. I mention your grandmother- I heard about your mom.  I reach out and place my hand over his-  I'm really sorry.  Your dad's bottom lip quivers and he gives me a nod.  You come...

The importance of the brown round table

It wasn't until last summer that i felt the need to write down my mother's and father's personal stories It wasn't until last week that i felt the value in each individual piece I don't feel value in my other pieces or my work at my office job which helps so many people but what is the value of a life lived in Chicago, as a woman, as a brown woman as a woman who labels herself Mexican and chubby is it only up to me to build this value, to build it inside of me so that others can feel then see that i do belong here that my words belong on this page for you to read

El amor is nothing but a victim of human desire

When you get to the longest tunnel on the express, hold your breath 'til the end then make your wish, she said. We always passed through that tunnel on I90/94. We lived by Belmont and California Avenue. My mom or dad would get on the express way via the Kedzie Avenue entrance. Evertime we'd get to the downtown tunnel I'd hold my breath with the strong faith of a religious woman and repeated,  I want love, I want love, I want someone to love me. A white long sleeve shirt from Discovery that had the word "LOVE"--a heart in place of the "O"-- in black bold Calibri font was my favorite shirt in sixth grade. I was eleven years old. It was a fitted shirt my dad's young girlfriend bought me with my dad's money. Or maybe it was just a gift from her. Or maybe she took me to Discovery and let me pick out what I wanted--a pair of shorts with glitter buttons on the hips, a crop top that had a white transparent shirt underneath. A boy from my class wa...