The dainty little candles in the bathroom
Were purchased for the promise of perfume
For lithe flames that flicker lightly
Despite the water’s constant threats
In the next life, they whisper
Through thin whisps of smoke
Long after their bodies have turned into puddles
Their black wicks to soot and ash
They will come back with no trace of fragrance
No hint of color, no glitter or dried flower
And finding the brittle branch of some hollow fallen tree
Ignite the brightest forest fire for all to see
My bark is gnarly with knots
The cracks threaten with splinters
In case you haven’t noticed
It took me years to grow these rings
That no one man can ever encircle
I clung to the earth, dug my roots deep
Preserved my balance
Growing around the soft parts
Until all shame is smothered
Suffocated by growth
There’s life inside shunning light
That might be worth exploring if maybe
You care
You want
You ask
How sturdy trees can come
From such helpless little sprouts
But you’ll have to carry the axe
And I will have to break
To Ocho Cascadas in the middle of the workweek at the speed of barely two mbps
It was 1981, I read before half-glancing at the clock on my screen
At two in the morning with cats, as I struggle to find my way back into words,
I confess that I regret not being within train distance of Puerto Vallarta
And not being born in the seventies, a tall Caucasian man with blond hair
The glass waters promise to cool despite the Mexican sun and my head, it feels warm
I stare at the deck, the foliage, the red flowers, at each shiny, frozen pixel
Just beyond the road, a sea rests before a mountain, before a sky
That looks bluer than anything I’ve ever seen
How many lives, I ask without trying to count, have I been missing so far?
How do you work at being kinder to yourself when the opposite concept is ingrained,
learned at a young age, and practiced, mastered over time?
When you wrestle with the thought of self-kindness being supposedly unconditional,
when you know for a fact that approval is earned only through struggle?
They say be a friend to yourself. “Would a friend tell you these things you keep on mouthing
as you angrily punch at your keyboard?”
And I look back to days I’ve sought cover from the missiles hurled by friends and families
That today, on kindness I suspend disbelief
How do you work at being kinder to yourself when the flaws on your skin are too obvious,
like a massive pimple under your nose that begs to be acknowledged?
“Look at my pimples, look at my blackheads, look at my thick thighs, look at my arm flabs,
Look at these flaws, look at these mistakes, look at how decidedly imperfect I am”
How do you work at being kinder to yourself when you learned from a model as a child
to always be questioning errors in the guise of constructive criticism?
How do you even begin to give yourself a pat on the back for anything
when you’re taught your best scores have all been average, subpar?
They say we work with the cards we’re dealt with, but I look at my cards and scratch my head,
I don’t know how to lay them all out flat on the table
They say you have to let go, ease up, but neglect to hand out the instructions
So I follow the kindness in their voices until it too tapers and burns out
“How do you work at being kinder to yourself?” “How do you work at being kinder to yourself?”
The question repeats itself too much, louder each time, that it heaves and crashes
And I could but drown
I watch you tick away the hours
I don’t tell you I found our new song
You choose your video game characters
And change their clothes and hair
I watch the back of your chair
You stomp your feet in excitement
I don’t tell you our new song
Starts with the week being bleak
I watch you fire messages as shots
Going through your screen to theirs
You’d tell me about them later, tomorrow
I prepare to shower and to bed
I watch you light a cigarette
I’ve already brushed my teeth
I don’t tell you our new song ends
But I play it on repeat
Do me a favor, ask me a question
Do me a favor, tell me to fuck off
Sa pagkakaintidihan nagtatagpo
Ang mga bagay na walang kamay
Hindi nakikita o nahahawakan
Ngunit dikit, nakakapit, nakayakap
Kaya’t pinipilit kong umintindi
Sa kabila ng pisikal na distansiya
Mula sa bago kong opisina
Hanggang sa kung saan ka nila nakita
Gusto kong abutin ang mga daliri
Maski sa hinuha, tanging sa hinuha,
Bago pa naibuhol ang lubid
Ang dami kong gustong itanong
Walang oras
Walang pag-asa ng sagot
Walang pag-intindi
Iniisip ko kung nakuha mong sumindi
At saan kaya naiwan ang huling upos
At ano ang huling titik sa huling liham
At kung may pagsisisi kahit saglit
Gusto kong maintindihan
Kung para man lang may masabi
Kapag ang katahimika’y naghahanap ng patid
Kapag ang pait ay naghahanap ng kapatid
Kapag ang kapatid ay naghahanap
Ng paliwanag
Sana ika’y naabot
Gusto kong maintindihan
Sana ika’y nahigit, naikapit
Sana’y naiparamdam na kapos man
Ang pang-unawa
Narito ang bisig
—
Para kay Ryan, ang paborito kong Chicano
Larawan ni Paul Medalla
Hindi ko alam kung paano magsasabi
Nang sabay mong maintindihan at hindi maintindihan
Na ang ibig kong sabihi’y wala, nawawala’t nagwawala
Na ang ibig kong sabihi’y sana’y meron kang tenga
Kung pantapat lamang sa kawalan ko ng dila
Hindi ko sasabihing ako’y balisa
Alam kong karamay ko ang mundo
Bilyong mga taong hindi naging maligaya sa bahay, sa eskwela
Sa piling o hindi ng kaibigan at pamilya
Ang isasagot sa akin ay litanyang nakalilok na sa memorya
Tila dasal tuwing semana santa
Ako’y titikom upang hithitin ang lahat ng himutok na usok sa aking baga
Naiintindihan ko naman (yata) pero isipin mo rin sana
Kahit minsa’y hindi ko inginiti ang katotohanang nangangarap tayong mamatay
Hindi ako magsasalita dahil naibenta ko na ang aking bibig
Siko, suso, katawan kapalit ng mga saysay na tiwala kong ibinahagi
At maniwala ka na sa oras na ako’y umiyak sa iyong handang balikat
Maulit kong pipiliting tipuning muli ang luha bago ako matulog o hindi matulog
Ang dabog ay sa dibdib, ang hiyaw ay sa lalamunan
Pikit-matang pag-iimpit; walang dabog, walang pasa
Mga kuwentong hindi kailanman iluluwal ngunit ilang beses kong
Susubukang isilang bawat gabing ako’y tumitipa ng talinghaga
Para sa mga mata mong hindi naman nakakabasa
at five, the race was to discover eyelashes
and all the other details that make a human face
the winner was the most lines on a stick figure
we memorized the solar system in order from sun to pluto
we took note of roman numbers, one to a thousand
we were going to be on books and all of the papers
we were going to be legends
at fifteen, we traded pleated skirts for ripped jeans
trying our hand at eyeliners as seen on mtv
they didn’t understand, but we knew
as if memories of past lives; as if etched in our finger prints
we were going to spill on a sea of people
we were going to be loved
at twenty-three, we were designing skyscrapers
on freshly printed resumes and gleaming headshots
the future had never been this tangible
life was the thrill of uncertainty
and we were going to be the difference
we were going to reverberate throughout history
when did myopic eyes learn to view
with satellite precision its own global position?
when did the big fish shed its pearl-white scales
to reveal a paper shell?
why does everyone know about eyelashes?
why does everyone know about roman numbers?
why does everyone have inch-thick kohl cat eyes?
we were going to be somewhere
you were going to see us on tv
we were going to be remembered
we were going to be legends
nangangapal sa kalyo ang talampakang
walang init na nadarama; sanay sa hapdi
ng araw sa inaraw-araw na paghabol ng jeep
noo’y ugoy ng alon ang marahang duyan
ngayo’y kaladkad sa pinulupot na kalsada
nakatunghay sa kahabaan ng daang
ang pinipitpit ay libong sasakyan para magkasya
balot ng makulay na panyo ang noo
salo ang pawis ng maghapong pagpalaot
tapik ang tambol na gawa sa lata at plastik
ang tanong ay paano nga ba naanod
at paano nga ba babalik
I tell you that I don’t want to go to work tomorrow
That I’d rather stay where my bed meets my blanket
Sleeping away this cold January weather and oh
What a day to be had on my back, disconnected
But I also tell you that I’d rather go to work if only not to miss the calls
They will make to my number
Because some questions need to be answered and
Some deadlines are dying as I type and
Some things have definitely gone awry
And that should I let a day go by at home
I’d really just be standing by the phone
And so I tell you that I’d honestly rather go to work because
There are people to meet in the office
Meetings will be had and my boss will ask for me tomorrow
Just for tomorrow, solely tomorrow, and
She will wonder why I’ve not come and look back to the day
She first told me to “be responsible for these people”
You tell me it’s alright, that I can skip just one day
That I’m 27 and human
But I’m already halfway dressed and waiting for the bus
It’s 3AM and I’ve no sleep and all desire to vomit acid
Really, I’d rather close my eyes and wait for an oncoming car
So I can send a text saying I can’t go to work because I’m dead
Instead I tell you that I’m in the office already
Mushy brain and stomach-sick
Counting cigarette breaks until 5PM
Poetry for Sale 