Poetry, Portfolio
My heart is broken at the way that otherwise good people so smugly sit on national television, smirk on faces as ignorance takes over.
It’s not them, I tell myself. But let’s face it, it is.
A woman who represented the school district in Minneapolis has said that she felt “neutrality” meaning the silent condemnation of gays is enough of a compromise and “What else do they want?”.
I look at her and think, she looks like she is probably a nice lady, somewhere in that hypnotized heart of hers, but really, she’s not. Anyone who can say that as a representative of all that is holy that Queer’s, even young ones, deserve to die for being queer….well, they represent the devil to me and that, I’m not ok with.
Queer’s are weird mystical creatures, I’ll give you that, but if you want to know what’s going on inside of our minds, just ask us.
See the thing that goes on in mine is this need to maintain a life line with my higher power. I like to call him God although if these psycho’s have named their higher power God, then maybe I’ll change his name to Kyle.
So Kyle and I kick it often. In fact, he’s the only one I like to talk to about everything. And Kyle says that we were created out of love. In fact that 4 letter word that seems to seer into the souls of some is the only reason we were made; LOVE.
Kyle doesn’t like it when people pretend to be close to him and use his name to promote hate. The rest of these sheeple outside of my door who watch psycho’s that snicker at the death of children make me feel like I’m living in one fucked up version of Zombieland which is why I’ve given up on my need to leave my home. There is no love out there. And if it is, it’s so far and few between that I’d rather just stay online. In my facebook like bubble where I can listen to birds “tweet” and see faces of people who actually do have love in their hearts. Not these horrible people who make me wish i could find an exit.
Is it so hard to understand why a kid would feel there is no hope, when the adults around them would rather let them die than give them rights?
My heart is broken tonight and no amount of booze or pills or pot or morphine or anything could cure these blues. I need love, and a platform to talk to these confused people who think that I look at a vagina and like a wolf salivate. That’s not how it’s done. The body part I’m the most attracted to is the heart. The mind. The soul. And once in awhile the ass, but it always comes last.
Even if I was attracted to tits why should it be a crime? If I put a penis between my legs then suddenly it’s ok. I don’t think with my cock and neither should you. I’m not a hateful person, in fact I don’t know many Queer’s who are. If anything, we have to be the tolerant ones who make excuses for the abusiveness of our society. We are the date raped sub culture who has to take it up the ass anytime some sweaty guy thinks it’s ok to stare at us with drunken eyes, mount us because he’s been given that right, or even belittle us because he feels he’s better than us. Let’s face it, this is a man’s world, especially a white man’s world, or a rich white man’s world. None of which I am.
No, I’m a poor puerto rican with an IQ of at least 145 who happens to have enough balls to stand up for who I am. I’m telling you all of this because it’s time that some body does. Fuck being nice. It hasn’t gotten us very far. From this day forward, I’m starting a blacklist for companies that do business with hate groups. Anyone who is a part of these groups will be boycotted by myself and hopefully every other Queer in the country with 1/2 a brain. We’ve got to stop funding these terrorists like Michelle Bachmann and start doing more to promote what’s real; LOVE.
Because whether you believe in God, Allah, Karma, or Kyle, at the end of this road we will all be held accountable. I want to know that I did everything I could. Don’t you?
Poetry, Portfolio
I say “Me too” to a group of
people who’ve already
discluded me
while walking down
inclusive halls
of those mighty fine
“Safe spaces”
Eyes are met with
blank stares
as the smiles fade off of their faces
I’m not white enough
I’m not black enough
I’m not cis enough
or trans enough
for these hipsters
and pretentious label stealing thieves
look we over
and the “do-gooders” become gatekeepers
of the hashtags for things like #metoo
under the guise of feminism
& sisterhood
but what about others,
like me?
I was trapped under 200 lbs of muscle
as he thrust himself
inside of my innocense
and ripped holes inside of my dreams
with the nightmare of reality
as he forced himself on top of me and
pulled down my jeans
Sadly, that wasn’t the first time I
became that kind of a statistic
The 1st would be my father,
Mr. Narcissistic
and then there was the boy
who followed me home
and claimed my virginity as his own
Closing the door on my self-esteem
and all that I ever wanted to be
Replacing those fables with brand new labels
like “whore”
which he told everyone I was that next day
The third time came
just a few weeks later,
I didn’t want it
but fear became my enabler
for this kind of behavior
The fourth time you’ve already heard about
By the 5th, 6th, and 7th times I still held onto the hope
that someone would hear me scream
as I pushed and pulled and tried to wriggle out
But there was no one that cared to let me out
The 8th and 9th times, I was enraged
By the 10th time I gave up and accepted that i was to blame
and wore their mask of shame.
I was numb
because when I cried for help
there was none (no one would ever come).
My voice was silenced then
by them
and now
once again
with you
the gatekeepers and mouth breathers
who call yourselves allies
(keep telling yourselves those little lies)
But I can no longer stay silent
over the memories in my head
that remain so violent
To hell with your limited offers of solidarity
the ones that only apply to
a select few
So fuck you
and oh yeah
#metoo!
Poetry, Portfolio
I’m in my house,
air conditioner blowing on a hot
day,
The oily smell of ground beef
cooking
on the electric stove
“Glory Glory Hallelujah” bellows
from the
television
over the tick-tock of my walls clock
The first president I ever really
knew of
has just died
His wife stands dignified
just at the the top of the stairs
on the arm of a true military man
American patriotism riding on the
backs
of every note
sadly dripping from spit valves
The Battle Hymn of the Republic
broadcast all over the country
And I feel that a part of my is
sliding
around the velvet lining of the
casket
The innocence of my youth will soon
be buried
And no matter how challenging, or
“non
conformist” I can be,
I know that this is a sign of life,
pushing on
His wife appears
twenty years older
than what felt like yesterday
and strangely I feel like I am a
part of something
bigger than me
There’s nothing like watching
the flag snap in the wind
against cloudless skies
And before returning to my life
I take a minute to realize,
that I may actually miss knowing
that this
man even exists…
Originally published in, Radical. (2007)
Poetry
I’m a paranoid schizophrenic
little freak who lives in their own little world
while pretending to live in yours
and I’m aware enough to know it wasn’t the magic
mushrooms
or notebooks of acid
but the abuse of others that’s lasted for so long in
my mind
and if I could find another kind of drug
to make me forget
all of the times that I got hit
or told that no one would ever want to hold me
not only would I take it
I’d bathe in it.
The age of paranoia lives and breaths new life
into every one of our minds
some of us go mad
others don’t seem to mind
but when it comes to my mind I find
its like traveling through a desertous cave
full of mines
yet every once in awhile a splash
of happy little trees
appears to have been painted
by the child who continues to exist deep inside
clouds and ducks
clowns and mimes
maybe it’s those random traces
that still allow me to have a good time
whatever it is there is no reason
and there is no rhyme
to the map displaying the path
for my journey written by
a dyslexic God that keeps me guessing about what
is next
and albeit odd
as hard as it has been so far
i can sit in any bar
and mesmerize the patrons within
with the story I’m living
because even when I want to die
i still find a reason why
i should get up and try
just one more time
because I never know
If this will be the day
that the pain will actually fade.
This piece was originally published in 2007 .
Poetry, Portfolio
They say that it’s all about the
Children
“Save the children!”
from the perversions of nature
and those against God
I’m not against God
I’m against your interpretations of him.
They say that by teaching history
also known as facts
about the good things that we’ve done
we are corrupting the children
We are trying to recruit the children
To brain wash the innocent little beings by introducing them to our beliefs
and maybe we are.
Maybe we’re trying to brain wash them into believing that there is love in a world otherwise filled with pain.
That there is acceptance
and tolerance and that peace among humans is possible.
That God will love them
not smite them
We don’t bring our children to hate
participate in hate crimes
or the protesting of other children
We don’t teach our kids to kill those who don’t agree with us
We don’t teach our kids that they should be saved while all others parish.
So yes,
I guess it’s true
we are a cult of people who want to recruit little children
To teach love
To be love
To give love,
freely
To encourage others to be themselves and to achieve their goals
without bringing harm to others
so that they may enjoy a life without the barriers that your kind have wasted their time building
because sooner or later, you will be gone
just as I will be gone
and the little children will be grown
left fending for themselves and figuring out which type of life
they truly want to lead without your opinion (or mine)
so lock your doors,
disconnect the cable,
no radio’s allowed
unless you’re tuned in to the next Fox News vicodin induced trip
The lesbian’s are coming, along with the Gays, the Blacks, the Hispanics, and the Tranny’s
The immigrants aren’t far behind and believe me, our next target will in fact, be you!
Poetry, Portfolio
I have no tolerance
for intolerance
no patience for impatience
I speak my mind
when that door is opened
and intruders attempt to step in
Never mind, the shaved head or tattooed neck,
This is my world! my home!
as much as it is for the next
who are you to push me around
or knock me down
because I have a mind of my own
I’ve spent my entire life
trying to find my voice and I refuse
to be silenced now
The pen in my hand
has taken more lives
than the gun you try to hide behind
when you shoot people in the back
What a cowardly act
If I die today, or even tomorrow
all because I’ve hurt your poor little feelings
You’ll be the one in prison dealing
and trying to hang yourself from the ceiling
I on the other hand will go on living
through my words,
the ones on this page,
the same words that you tried to quiet
and stop from flowing
so remember that little boy,
before you decide to pull out that gun that you think is just a toy to change both of our lives forever.
