The Poetry Marathon

You know I love you— anthem for an abuser

That’s not how it happened.
I would never.
You’re overreacting.
Why is this a big deal?
It’s in the past— let it go.
Why do you hate me?
I sacrificed so much for you.
You know I love you.
It didn’t hurt that bad.
Why are you always so dramatic?
You’re exaggerating.
Christina said there was nothing
to forgive. Why can’t you move on?
You’re just doing this for attention.
I don’t remember saying that.
You know I love you.
That never happened.
You’re lying.
I’m hurt you would even say that.
Nobody needs to know our business.
Look what you made me do.
No one will love you like I do.
You make it hard to love you.
You know I love you.
How could anyone else put up with you?
Why can’t you let anything go?
It’s your fault.
Look what you’ve done now.
You can’t do anything right.
You’re lucky I’m here.
You’re lucky I love you.
You know I love you.
You’re lying.
You’re lying.
You’re lying.

First-born Tendency

First-born Tendency

“I’ll barrio as well those in South Bronx.” Ruben Estrada

I wish the two of you held

a closer bond.

Truth is I don’t know your history,

your son may not either.

Why you left him at a young age.

Your family love is beautiful in pictures,

ones I noticed on your timeline.

I wish Erik stepped inside them more.

See the strong support you hold in politics 

and Puerto Rican history.

I learned a lot from your Facebook.

The Hispanic Reconquest of American History,

Helping Hands for Puerto Rico,

Jibaro, the Boricua.

Young Lords to name a few.

Wish I could taste from the Empanada Master,

spend Sofrito Time with you.

Tell you that he’s more than your oldest

and First-born.

Barrio more in his successes over cuisine and drinks.

“Puerto Ricans are a mosaic of the world.”

Your son without any titles,

is proof. 

Overdose

I spit your pills out

like bullets

I hope they hurt

bouncing off your face

red, black, purple

and it’s all the fucking same

depressing little theories

life: a little game

You poisoned me for a moment

trying to force the pills in again

bring your fingers a little closer

I’ll take all ten.

Gransha Grounds

Gransha Grounds

 

The sun sits high in the sky

Radiating heat as I pass by

 

Tis a fine summers day,

Even the rabbits have come to play

 

Sounds of Nature ring out on Gransha’s grounds

It’s the weekend, there’s not many humans around

 

A stretch of the legs, was the order of the day

It’s time to go home and make the Tae!

Let us, Let us

Let us, Let us

Fall on the mat floor grasping, twirling in a fashion but controlled, reaching for arm and ankle.

To submit the body, to free the soul.

Let us, Let us

Sprawl against takedowns or plant a knee on the ground, pushing and sweeping out.

To fell our demons, to not let them take us down.

Let us, let us

Not tap early, but fight earnest and true, to the point where even joint begins to come unglued.

To know our limits, humility imbued.

Let us, let us

Forget the belt and stripe, let it fall away even inside, show up only because its right.

To remove the idea of failure, from even the deepest parts of our mind.

Let us, Let us.

Roll and learn for the rest of time.

This tastes like…

Watch out for the bubblegum – its flavor, watermelon or strawberry, long

Ago popped away into a tiring state, set to

Labotomize the cement, filled with its own troubles of cracks and

Krakens the city refuses to maintain.

Instead, they invest that money in themselves and their

Nagging egos that balloon with each neglectful

Grant that promises to help the homelesspoordisablesdisadvantagedchildren

In a city that talks like angels but acts like fools.

No wonder we won’t give up our gas-guzzling cars,

Laden with quiet and calm and the fake scent of pine.

At least the bubblegum droppings are mine.

Hour #6 (Walking without using the word walking)

Airborne-

My legs at first are propellers,

old school and a bit rusty,

needing a good swing to get started.

Each step is an intention

and a decision—or not,

if I go only where my legs take me.

 

They have their own destination

in conflict with my staid plans.

They expand where I want to retract

and suddenly I am aloft,

my legs become jet engines

roaring with anticipation,

seeking the adventure I too often resist.

 

They are the masters of these marches,

lifting and striding of their own accord

moving me through streets familiar and foreign

my engine’s contrails marking the journey

and beating the pavements to a pulp.

 

When at last, in an act of defiance against them,

I feel the weight of the air too heavy

to maintain flight

and descent is imminent,

these marvelous appendages

regain their altitude

and I continue to soar.

Prayer to Professor

Professor Helio Please

Even if we start on our knees

Have us roll hard to please

(and)

Honor your legacy

(by)

Ruining these gis.

Scent of a Union (a breccbairdne w/ some syllable issues)

We were picking our favorite scent
when someone said sweat and peppermint
were called Union, but he pent
up to recall an accident

in which he tore a ligament
and swore at the vice president
of his chapter. Forms went
unanswered and it put a dent

in his cheer and he spent
all his backpay to stay current.
He repaid what a brother had lent
but never forgot the wrong intent.

(I’ll have to tweak this; I have not got the right syllables per line or the right end word syllable. Call this a marker for a better attempt at this form.)

Anxious

Just waiting to

Have air return to my lungs

As a continously exhale.