La Pura Neta

There was a house party at Shorty's on Artesian and 49th. We  wore our  butterfly skorts and kswiss shoes, our hair gelled and split, with two thick strands of hair  tied tightly behind our heads.  Slick. We pre partied by spending hours looking in the mirror. we looked so damn good at  14. We walked from 52nd and Talman to the party. At 50th and maplewood, we see Moreno making his way, too. We all thought he looked kinda good, but w hatever. Once we got to Shorty's she came to greet us at her house door, her lip liner flawless and her curly hair crisp with herbal mousse. Her beeper went off and we walked in,  shyly. Prototype played loudly through the mix board speakers, the single floor house was filled with boys. We walked to the couch and sat down, our  knees inward. Shorty's back at the door, Mikey!, she says, I turned my head and took a look. He was tall, with a white shirt showing beneath his unbuttoned shirt. He had boot cut je...

I didn't think he was this bad I knew he wasn't good but I didn't think he was this bad why wasn't I told? maybe because I wasn't good, too. I wouldn't have been able to help me, though, I like to believe that I would've if I had the mind to read in between his statements:  I miss our times as kids. Remember that time we trick-o-treat on Fletcher street? Time flies by so quickly. the bottle is the only thing that helps him right now it's the only way he can stop thinking seeking shelter in those hard loving memories. He tries to make everything better by high-fiving all of us now, by pretending he is happy now, passed out drunk. (July 27, 2015, 4:53 pm)

Lets be together all the time so when the day comes where we will be apart, we both will be fine because  I will remember how big your eyes get when you get excited, and I will remember your big cheeks when you smile and I will remember the beautiful line of your nose and I will remember how beautiful your brows frame your face and how your lips melt into mine and how your hands mold into mine, because we are one. (July 17, 2015 , 7:34 am)

We're porch chillin' people

My mother was never really a part of her mother, except in flesh and bone. My mother’s mind has always told her she belonged among the greenest of mounds, amongst women with head coverings. My mother is not pious or soft spoken. She is loud and filled with imagination. She was born on the sixth day of the twelfth month and the woman who helped birth her stole something from her. “Empuja”, she says to my sixteen yr old grandmother. “Empuja”. Out came my wailing mother with the umbilical cord hung across her chest like a sash. This is a sign of power. A gift handed down to my mother by our ancestors. A gift to heal and to see before things are done. It is known that birth helpers, the greediest of their kind, steal newborns power as a payment for their help and so, my mother’s power was stolen from her. Many things were stolen from my mother at such a young age. At the age of 5, she was left in the care of her uncle, a man whose belly was large like a sea animal care. My grandm...

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...

Yo soy Mexican. I no longer live on the bridge between my past and present, I am the bridge and my lengua is Chicano.

these words you reading                   are me. if you need more,                         you aren't feeling me.

I like when our home is clean everything piled up nicely like snow

our language isn't broken phrases but limbs of speed handshakes in forms of wings conveying hope in the everyday holding each other up from the grounds mud deep in caged parks

I went to an art show on Friday, March the 3rd. It was a small gallery, with open space, white walls, and rustic corridos channeling from the speakers. ~*~*~*~ The artist "performed" an act of release by pouring water into crystal glasses, dipping her fingers into them, and rubbing her fingers on the rims of the glasses. It was a rubbery kind of sound that, after some time, turned into whistling chimes. ~*~*~*~ As she maintained the chiming sound of the crystal glass she said, "If you will, close your eyes. Think of one word that signifies what you would like to release"                                                        "and take a deep breathe"                         "now exhale." Tears roared up past my throat. My nose flared, my jaw jittered, my teeth bit my ...

handshakes in forms of wings conveying hope in the everyday our language isn't broken phrases but limbs of speed holding each other up from the grounds mud deep in caged parks

hiding from myself as a guilty compromise though really i'm a chicken-shit, and i make you feel guilty about it

when in my minds box darkness is my illuminator and you are the one that can see from outside limbs in limbo over the hyphen bridge, the    thin     gap     road to my assimilated mind floating and afraid of heights please, come back to me bring me back

living in the land of opportunity gets you fat either you get indigestion or you slowly lose your taste and everything becomes bland which is ok until you eat spice and curse the cook out acid builds     bubbles    and pops

We were downtown, my grandmother and I, when I saw large flocks of birds from different species flying North. I turned from looking East to looking directly above me: a grey concrete disk combusted and turned into a huge fireball falling quickly in my direction. Once it came closer, the fireball disk started to disintegrate and huge chunks flew in all directions around me. That's when I yelled for my grandmother who was still standing East of me, about two concrete slates of sidewalk from me. I turned West and ran to an open black jeep (very similar to the ones in Jurrasic Park) and told my young brother, who was seated and buckled in the car,  to make sure our other two younger brothers had their seatbelts on. My grandmother, now my passenger, was also putting on her seatbelt. The road was crowded with people trying to get to the expressway. "I'll just take the streets", I thought to myself. While everyone on the road drove North-East, I drove West. I was now on a r...