May. 26th, 2017

  • 8:03 PM
pridefall: (Here I lay my Burdens Down | Art)
 IMPERIALISM IS MY MOTHER'S MAIDEN NAME NEVER BEING CAPITALIZED

IS MY FATHER WORKING FOR THE USPS ONLY FOR A TWENTY-SOMETHING YOUNG GRINGO TO COME AND TAKE HIS JOB AFTER FORTY YEARS OF SERVICE

IS EVERY FAFSA, EVERY RESUME, EVERY GOVERNMENT CENSUS FORCING ME TO CUT MY LAST NAME OUT FROM INSIDE OF ME

IS THE IDEA THAT I MUST CONSENT TO ONLY BEING MY FATHER'S SON WHEN IT TOOK ROLÓN Y ROMERO TO MAKE ME

IMPERIALISM IS NAMING SCHOOLS AFTER PRÓCERES WHILE SKIPPING OVER TAÍNO AND NUYORICAN HISTORY

IS GIVING STREETS IN SAN JUAN THE NAMES OF US PRESIDENTS SO EVEN IN DEATH WE ARE STILL FORCED TO RELY ON THEM FOR GUIDANCE

IS SAYING "I LIVE WHERE YOU VACATION" WHEN 45% OF PUERTO RICANS LIVE BELOW THE POVERTY LINE

Apr. 11th, 2017

  • 10:05 AM
Amor, hoy me levante con ganas de besarte.
Y cada dia sigo escribiendo la misma oracion:
"Tus labios eran la guerra que no
Por favor, mi amor: perdoname--
es que inspiras algo tan absurdo en mi,
no se como explicarte
hoy me levanto con ganas de
transformar tus labios a arte.

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Apr. 11th, 2017

  • 10:02 AM
pridefall: (Here I lay my Burdens Down | Art)
What do you call the person that is everything?
Not just Alpha and Omega, but
each point in-between:
who you were before, and now
hereafter; explain it likw
how we draw maps, but only
backwards--which is to say:
i have spent years circumnavigating the idea of love,
every

and in five months you have led me to a brave new world
I will go down with my penmanship

We all might know how this poem ends,
but i'll still sing it to the rafters;
You are what

What do you call it when a kiss can end an universe?
Or when a single touch can move the stars?
What she does is gravimetric

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Apr. 10th, 2017

  • 4:05 PM
pridefall: (Here I lay my Burdens Down | Art)
When I reach the pearly gates,
Let it be known my list of demands will rival God's.
Only instead of stone tablets, I will merely point at Puerto Rico and ask:
Where in the Hell do you get off?
Gave my ancestors paradise on Earth,
but let presidents pave our streets knowing their names would outlast our own.

Nov. 21st, 2016

  • 4:45 PM
pridefall: (I'm a super hero! Really! | Invincible)
Some days
You are the passenger seat
And every mile beneath you
Is the tangled road to El Dorado;
Call this night Graceland
Call it Perdition; Call it Home
We climb into cabs and trust
Absolute strangers with our lives
Hoping they can all get us home
And that every road leads to
Some place or one
Where we belong

Oct. 6th, 2016

  • 7:11 PM
pridefall: (Only Data Streams | Tron)
when i was five years old,
my sister pulled a prank on me
that went a such:
"you need to try this, Ian
it's a new thing of coke
and thought i shouldn't give it to you
i don't think a little bit will be enough
to get anyone in trouble,"
but it wasn't coke, not even close
it was bottom of the pot, black charred
barrel sludge--the kind of coffee filtered by:
sewer grates and knives,
drunk by old, hard men with calloused hands
and tired, vacant eyes;
a swift kick in the teeth, in other words
and from then on, i've always hated the taste
of early morning anything
like breakfast and the smell of coffee beans
somehow always translates to:
betrayal far too young, too fast,
and all too strange for me to understand
everyone looks at me weird when i say i don't like coffee
and i've written poems about it before--
explained how the skin i rock is so stained by:
cocoa butter metaphors and almond chocolate similes, and
how my never quite finding caramel or mahogany adequate ways
to describe myself tastes the same way coffee and
hating your own culture for twenty years burns--
maybe i'm a bit bitter, i guess?
but breakfast has never been my thing, growing up
and i've stopped trying to defend it, grown up;
it's just who i am:
mornings mean less to me than everyone else,
i think
because i never had breakfast as a kid,

(and this is where the poem just dies)

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Dec. 18th, 2013

  • 7:51 PM
Day 90, reversed;

Cuando vayan, despidete bien;
no pienses en tal vez, en por siempre; el porqué y cuando;
no regalas nada de ti a adverbios pendejos;
dejate ser feliz, feliz como el sol;
el sol que sabe que la luna:
aunque se desaparesca,
siempre regresara;
dejate ser feliz--y si no puedes?
saborea tus rabias, tus dolores,
todo los pensamientos que digan:
no estoy feliz, no puedo dejar de dormir;
quiero suicidarme; quiero que ella; que el;
que ellos nunca tengan lo que nosotros tuvimos;
dejate ser infeliz y apenado,
y todo esas cosas que no tienen nombre:
son lo unico que no se puede empacar;
y por Dios, no tragas tu lengua,
tus palabras agudas;
no, por favor:
gritarle al cielo si quieres, darle fuerte a las paredes,
llenate con cualquier pensamiento horrible:
sucio; malo; egoísta,
todo lo que puedes harcerte feliz;
pero no te destruyes,
no te terminas en tus munecas;
eres mas que cicatrizes y estrellas vacías,
y si, entiendes que no eres ningun fénix,
no; manana no va ser mas facil;
ni el día siguiente, o el siguiente;
pero los recuerdos son cenizas,
son barreduras en las puertas de tu templo:
sólo existen para ocultar el dios que eres;
y puedes maldecir a tus Dioses si quieres;
si, puedes odiar tu familia, tus amigos,
a todo que no te hace feliz;
el bueno se queda siempre,
y siempre, amor;
nunca olivides lo seguiente:
todavia tienes tiempo para hacerte de nuevo.