uni-Sun

i had a dream
that i was walking
around
Hiroshima &
Nagasaki collecting
fallout dust
& particles
to store in old
coca-cola cans

with cans in hand
i began toiling away
at breakneck speeds

simply put
my plan was to
rebuild the Adam

so from the dust
came man
from man
i took a rib &
watched it grow into
a woman
– lets call her Eve.

since Eve already
knew sin
we fornicated
& nine moons
later she gave
birth to a Sun

i embraced the Sun
& rays of light
warmed my soul
opened my eyes &
expanded my mind

i went from this
mode of being
to the sublime

you could say
a star was (re)born

i guess my
prayers had been
answered

                    (praying)
                    dear
                    Lady of Ten Thousand Names
                    please show us the way
                    for we are surely lost

at that moment
the Giver of Life
took me into her
bosom & attached
my spine to her
brain stem

instantly i saw
flashes of images
i’ve never seen
before

like i was traveling
thru some sort of
mystic corridor

i couldn’t escape
Jupiter’s grasp
in awe of Earth’s
beauty as i drifted past
slingshot around venus
solar-surfed on winds
combined with Mercury’s gas
finally returning to
the Sun

at that moment
i became one with
the uni-verse

yet

u
n
i

remain divided by
socially constructed
dogmas that have
done nothing but left
us all accursed

aren’t we creations
of the same Sun
whom goes by different
names but i’m sure
there’s only one

i’ll show you a picture

better yet
i’ll spread the
God-spell
via sound waves
& solar energy

just to prove that
despite our differences
you are still kin
to me

for the creator
i know gave birth
to all of humanity

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i am not a poet

i never claimed to be a poet. i write strictly for therapy. because god knows, if i kept some of these feelings inside i would lose my sanity. so, I write. a lot! mostly about life and love. lately, just life. 

because there’s too many people suffering around the world, to write about loving some shit! okay, maybe i’m overreacting. maybe I’m just overwhelmed by all the corruption, not love. oppression,not love. death, not love.

 a little girl once asked me, “if color is only skin deep how deep does hate go? aren’t we all god’s children?” perplexed, i responded that’s real. yet, people remain condemned based on ideologies, body parts and melanin. 

but, I am not a poet.
i write strictly for therapy.
mostly about life and love. 
lately, just life. 
a just life.

where love is not just a word lost in suffering.

news

i sit
staring blankly at the screen
unfamiliar places
people without names
yet news of their deaths move me

some in the name of religion
others in the name of freedom 
& democracy

tanks crush dreams
bullets shatter lives
hate divides man
& faith is lost in suffering

innocent blood is shed
on the streets
the blood of men
women
& children
is shed on the streets

a mother mourns her son
the people mourn a nation
martyrs are celebrated
& governments are condemned

how many more must die
in the name of religion
freedom
& democracy

when will the killing stop?

beautiful bearer of bad news

we always hide from the rent man
this time a woman
dressed like sunday best
beautiful bearer of bad news

rent ain’t been paid in months
light means day
& nights are cold in darkness

so is love

daddy left home already
mama always hugs us
whispers “things will get better”
barely holding back tears
tears fueled by anger
but humbled by reality

i guess the sheriff wasn’t
going to spend
3 hours 
knocking at the door
he came in with backup
finger pointing at mama
rent lady handing us papers
mama begs for more time
but no one is listening

we didn’t even eat breakfast
no one is dressed
bags on the sidewalk
people stare through cracked blinds
mama’s heart is broken
her will is broken
as reality
sets in

we are
homeless

no time for child’s play 

no time for childs’ play
no jump rope
hide & seek
or jacks
the only thing dropping
around here
are bombs
heavy thud
smoke follows
fires burn
& we take cover again

          no fun with friends
          or walks with dad
          (those were the days)
          no more school or
          playing with my brother
          instead death brings daily
          reminders of just how
          bad things are
          how fragile life is
          & how divided man can be

mom always tells us to “be careful & stay away from windows – don’t wanna get hit by no stray. always know where your brother is & meet us at your aunt’s house if we get separated”

          no 12 year old should have to 
          map out escape plans
          no one believing in god should 
          wish harm to those harming them
                    but i do
          constantly wishing for the worst
          until i’m reduced to tears
           no time for being a young girl
          dreaming of one day 
          becoming a woman or wife
          maybe having kids of my own
          no time to wish things were different
          that my people were
          free to live
          as others do
          no time to wonder why 
          they hate us
          or if i prayed enough
          only time to hide
          in my mind i’m free
          thinking of happier days
          no more war
          no more hate
          only love

                    BOOM!

no time for childs’ play
no jump rope
hide & seek
or jacks
the only think dropping around here
are bombs
& i guess my house was next

para aquellos que viven en mi barrio

i just came across a picture that reminded me of “back in the day”. a time when three little boys were inseparable. not a gang or hoodlums. brothers. or hermanos. a time when friendships weren’t just about facebook and getting linkedin. a time when being from “the neighborhood” meant something positive. we took care of each other. i miss that.

i miss the fried pork chops and beef-stuffed potatoes victor’s mom used to cook

i miss the crush I had on victor’s sister, Joanna
          he never knew about that

i miss sharing frozen red kool-aid with crooked popsicle sticks

i miss chico sticks and funyuns

I miss $.25 hugs and fried bologna sandwiches
          only $1.25 plus tax

i miss playing stickball in the street until we couldn’t see the ball

or playing “catch-a-girl-freak-a-girl” – our version of hide-and-seek
          i never caught Joanna

i miss doing backflips on old mattresses and break dancing on cardboard
          we were terrible

i miss block parties and music
          we called it hip-hop salsa 

i miss playing miss pacman on that busted black and white television 
          we couldn’t even see the whole screen

i miss stonewashed jeans
and basement haircuts
          only $5.oo, $6.00 if you wanted a part

more importantly, i miss my boys

we never let
money
culture
or race
define us
only bind us

so this is for my boys
or like victor used to say:

“para aquellos que viven en mi barrio”

the quiet before the storm

wicked minds weave webs of deceit
nickel & diming the common man
so the rich & epowerful can feast

masking their lies as
standard business practice
schooling the new breed of
MBA masterminds
on how to mislead
& exploit the masses

what kind of world has the
greed of man created
oblivious to god’s will
evil celebrated

mans’ value calculated using
fica scores & net worth
brainwashed & conditioned
to follow this
elitist script from birth

there must be truth in money being
the root of all evil
stronger than the family institution
choosing profit over people

becoming nothing more then
cogs in a crooked system
morally bankrupt
slowly strangled by the
bankers’ lynch-men

most of us oblivious to the
real writing on the wall
forgetting that greed & ignorance
caused the greatest civilizations
to fall

breaking news!!!!

the earth shakes from bombs & quakes
one caused by a quest for power
the other a lack in faith

tears fill craters
becoming rivers of torment & pain
the common man screams for
REVOLUTION!
the people rise for change

mood somber

the quiet before the storm

#revolution

i Ctrl
Alt
Delete
revolutionary manifesto
hashtagging
#struggle
#pain
#oppression and
#death
in 140 characters (or less)
retweet if you believe “my” plight is worth mentioning
favorite if you agree
justification and
opinions follow:

“you people do it to yourselves”
“people are poor b/c they are lazy”
“all muslims are terrorists”
“stop blaming the government”

the worst reserved for inboxed messages
delivered direct
some to the
heart
but ignorance and emotion mix foul potion
99 reasons why
hate
not love
overwhelms the common man
making common-sense elusive
blinded by prime-time segments
of subconscious programming
mentally castrated and
emotionally deflated
leaving suffering lost in translation

voiceless 
suppressed

but i guess the message is heard
nonetheless
right?

the #revolution won’t be televised
but it will be
Ctrl
Alt
Deleted
#WhatDoYouStandFor

happiness

happiness-hands1work hard, live little
acquire material things
things we equate with success, our piece of the american dream
a dream truly deferred, fictitious

yet we hunger for more
acting as passive participants
subdued by non-sense
racing to the top of a never ending mountain
no finish line in sight, continuous (cycle)

media bombardment, tel-li(e)– vision
constant reminders about what we don’t have or possess
position on the social scale
low, non-existent

reaching the end-point
choosing quality of life over material happiness
something tangible over insubstantial
figuring out the true meaning of life, existentialism

figuring out your true meaning of life
your meaning of life
your life
freedom

that’s the only way to be free
truly free
to live
love
& be
happy