A SIMPLE POEM

I want you to continue writing
because I will not always be around

With lips that will never touch mine
read your poems out loud
so that the words are left engraved on the wall
make me feel your voice rush through me
like a breeze from Oyá

I want to hear about Puerto Rico
about sisters with names like La Bruja
about educating youth about AIDS
I want to hear about life in the Boogie Down Bronx
surviving on the Down Low
don't leave out stories about men
you have loved and still love

I want you to write poems that you will never read
press hard on the paper so that the ink runs deep
hold the pen tight so that you control the details
prove to me that I inspire you
reveal yourself between the lines
hear my praise with each flicker of the candle
Write a poem for me

Do not choose a fresh page from a brand new journal
use paper that has been crumbled and tossed
thrown out by a spineless father only to be recycled
Save a tree for future poets to write under

Rewrite me into someone more attractive
stronger than life has made me
make me tough and sexy, aggressive like a tiger
stain the pages with cum, lube, the arousal you find
at the sight of naked boys, draw me sketches
bring the words to life with images
make me a man with this poem

Read it in front of the audience
with hidden messages just for me
be real and tell me why
I am only worth a haiku

Your epics are meant for others
I already know,
use red ink to match the blood from these wounds
with brutal honesty
let me die with your last sentence

Then resurrect me with rhyme
read from your gut
let me hear the wisdom of mi abuelo in your voice
let me find my father in you
remind me of all the men that left me broken promises

In your eyes I want to see a poem
when you bring me to tears
with painful memories
buried beneath your thick skin

Between teeth gapped like divas,
I want to hear quotes from books
I never read

Make me believe you want to be a poet

Make my heart break,
tell me why you could never love me
with just a few words
leave me lost and insecure
feel the admiration of others
bask in their desire
forget that I am there

Pound your fists in the air with passion
go off about politics, poverty, machismo and hate
scream poems that don't give a fuck
about traditions, slamming or scores
save your whispers for those who make love to you

Write a poem for me that makes me want to puff a joint

A poem that loses control
unafraid to be vulnerable
for once just make me believe
it is all worth letting go
when the smoke clears
I will understand
the reason
I am just another face
in the crowd

I want you to continue writing
because I will not always be around

AMERICANO

I look at myself in the mirror
trying to figure out what makes me an American
I see Ecuador and Puerto Rico

I see brujo spirits moving across the backs of Santeros
splattered with the red blood of sacrificed chickens
on their virgin white clothes and blue beads for Yemaya
practicing religions without a roof

I see my own blood
reddening the white sheets of a stranger
proud American blue jean labels on the side of the bed

I see Don Rosario in his guayabera
sitting outside the bodega
with his Puerto Rican flag
reading time in the eyes of alley cats

I see my mother trying to be more like Marilyn Monroe than Julia De Burgos
I see myself trying to be more like James Dean than Federico Garcia Lorca

I see Carlos Santana, Gloria Estefan,
Ricky Martin and Jennifer Lopez
More than just sporadic Latin explosions
More like fireworks on el Cuatro de Julio
as American as Bruce Springsteen, Janis Joplin,
Elvis Presley and Aretha Franklin

I see Taco Bell’s and chicken fajita’s at McDonald’s
I see purple, blue, green, yellow and orange
I see Chita Rivera on Broadway

I am as American as lemon merengue pie
as American as Wonder Woman’s panties
as American as Madonna’s bra
as American as the Quinteñero’s, the Abdul’s, the Lee’s,
the Jackson’s, the Kennedy’s
all immigrants to this soil since none sound American Indian to me
as American as television snow after the anthem is played
and I am not ashamed

Jose, can you see . . .
I pledge allegiance
to this country ‘tis of me
land of dreams and opportunity
land of proud detergent names and commercialism
land of corporations

If I can win gold medals at the Olympics
sign my life away to die for the United States
No Small-town hick is gonna tell me I ain’t an American
because I can spic in two languages
coño carajo y fuck you

This is my country too
where those who do not believe in freedom and diversity
are the ones who need to get the hell out

TRADICIÓNES

I want to break tradition
about latin machismo
fucking every puta in sight
leaving behind nine million, billion children
scattered throughout Brooklyn, Manhattan, the Bronx
marrying the most humble, convenient wife
then cheating on her
beating her
whenever the gandules are too cold-
forget about the chuletas

I want to break tradition-
respecting elders que no me respetan
keeping in touch with distant relatives
that don't give a flying coño about me
because blood is supposed to be thicker than arroz con dulce
but you see, my friends are my family
because they love and accept mis locuras
and don't consider me
una desgracia de la familia

I want to break tradition-
distrusting all blancos
because they do not speak the language
or know how to dance salsa or merengue
Sin embargo, everyone on those telenovelas
has el pelo pintado rubio and green contacts
trying to be la nueva Rita Hayworth or Raquel Welch
adopting supremacist beliefs

I mean, when was the last time you saw a morena
playing anything other than the maid
on Canal 41 o 47?

I want to break tradition-
the mentiras my parents told me about
negros
chinos
gringos
maricónes
cachaperas
Smashing it against the ground
like coconuts
because mi tierra, mi patria es mi barrio
where our Spanish eyes are not blinded by prejuiciós
where la unica palabra that we do not understand
is hate
y que siga...
y que siga la tradicion
bajo la luna, maybe
pero no en el corazon

LEGENDARY
In memory of Pepper LaBeija

There are Gods amongst us in these ghettos
so black, so fierce,
so brown, so beautiful,
Their time on earth may be as oppressive as ignorance
limited to the demons flowing in their blood
but after safely passing over back to the clouds
the wind will still carry their auras and prophecies
their bones will still beat drums for their children to dance
the phoenix will still rise from the flames of Paris with hope in womb

There are Gods amongst us in these ghettos
so brown, so fierce,
so black, so beautiful,
That if you spend too much time caught up in yourself
You just might miss Him that is goddess, she that is god, they that are legends
Working the runway as if walking on water
Reaching the stage to that promised land
where 'peace' is not ridiculed and the only war worth fighting for
is protecting your child from the terrorist acts of a mainstream America
where 'reading' is an act of learning
not degrading words used to disguise fragility and fractured dreams
where 'shade' is a shadow you walk in to avoid the light
but who wants to stay out of the warmth of the sun?
If you waste your time trying to be a false prophet
robed in attitude and labels to obscure the insecurity
you may fail to recognize their divinity and miracles
parting the crowds, resurrecting from the floor, scoring tens of commandments,
because trophies will not feed the hungry, coat the homeless, hide the scars,
Grand Prizes will not bring Lazarus or LaBeija back from the dead
they will just sit in your closet, fake idols gathering dust, before the gold paint chips away
You cannot sell them for freedom
You cannot trade them in for love

There are Gods amongst us in these ghettos
so black, so fierce,
so black, so beautiful,
so brown, so fierce,
so brown, so beautiful,
Watch them carefully and say your prayers as they enter the ballroom
angel wing feathers decorating skin recrafted over silicone and martyred colors
See the Gods dream, see the Gods give, see the Gods live,
They exist in the spaces where white is not the only hue that represents purity
They will not battle to your rhythms and beats
click, spin and dip simply for amusement
They will not teach those who share their souls and names to hate
Their heartbeats are louder than the blaring speakers

You want realness . . . look at your hands
are they red from the revolution or from the blood of your own sisters

There are Gods amongst us in these ghettos
so black, so brown, so fierce, so beautiful, so bright
Look up towards the heavens and pray
then look at yourself in the mirror and say
'Stars are not only found out in the sky but in ourselves'