Claudia Rodriguez

My coming out experience was drenched in effeminate male energy. My click was a bola of loud and proud young jotos too queeny for their own dam good. They faced taunting from the jocks, cowardly threats left at night stuck to their dorm room door and the snickers from girly-girls as they, these young, brave, smart queeny boys, made their way across campus skipping hand in hand. These hombres, with their staunch rebelliousness against anything boring, intolerant and hetero-normative taught me about standing up for my right to be who I am. I learned to be proud, outspoken and how to be comfortable in my butch skin. Yes, they even helped me feel desirable- I do make a cute boi after all. “I like your sideburns,” he said then giggled. “Thanks! Why do you laugh?” I asked “Cause I don’t think I’ve ever told a girl that before,” he replied and giggled some more this time he covered his mouth with his palm, very ladylike. We both laughed and continued to walk across campus, him leaning

I dreamt that I was flying on a magic carpet. A nice thick one, with burgundy threads and of course laced with gold. Golden tassels flowing in the wind charmed like snakes. A carpet like the one Aladdin used to reach Jasmine’s lair and shit…but BIGGER! Big enough to cover the whole of my floor, from the living room to the back door. I wasn’t afraid- it was too big to drop me plus the force of the gravity pressed me down like thumbs into the carpet’s fiber. 100, 300, 600 thread counts and counting as it went up. Higher and higher it went till my lips, my entire face went numb then on fire. My skin felt peeled from the chill of the night. I felt a shrill building up inside. I couldn’t release the scream,Edward Munch, I was about to burst from the silence…suicide. That’s where shit got out of control, more and more feet I climbed but my guts they never left the floor. The moon was coming at me! Looking fuller than a workaholic’s agenda and blinding like Friday Night Lights. Even thr

It’s B-D-S-M! Bitch! Pick a letter Any letter I chose M. Mine is M Mamamela mas Mami mas! Ohhhmmm mastica mis mecos munch on my meet curtains mmmmMistress muñequita metete mas M M M Envuelveme mas Mas-oquista. Not a typical slave but definitely a masochist a kinky mother fucker Shit-no-I-ain’t-vanilla! Not into humiliation either. You know, being put down? Like a convertible I’ve had that covered for years Now trying to ride topless Which doesn’t make sense if I’m trying to get topped. But to put it simpl\y Masochist I like it rough Get tough on my skin. Go crazy on my back But I gotta pull back, realize I don’t call the shots You Mistress are the one that plots the scene. Leather, leather all the time Mistress wants me in it. I will get all up in it for her. I will her pretty-boi-slave. Are you kidding! She growls at me when I wear it. I wish one day She’ll bite me hard on my back, really her back her canvas creating colors of crimson and blues. Mouth on canvas? She’s a canvivore.

You know you know you a trip! Hanging with you is visiting the unfamiliar not knowing where I’m going not raising any expectations and I don’t carry any baggage. Each visit or ‘art play’ I rack up air miles, nothing but smiles as my CV grows artistically and otherwise. Don’t take offense but what we are doing is bartering each other’s skills to enhance our own. You know my creative button is always on you asking me to thread my words to your installation pieces is nothing but a good reason to write, so I write you Mistress write the things that flow to my head, those moments I feel in my heart. Your heart, your heart your heart is my art. Don’t cry me a fucken river with that mental block shit I only allow that to happen to my cock I’d rather walk around all blue-balls then black ball my art. Your heart, your heart your heart is my art. The chemistry is there, careful with the sparks our shit is toxic, not like bad but sick…like when you get off a rollercoaster ride or the way I fee

Daughter, you’re grown now you should really find someone to love you, respect you; a woman who knows your worth. Daughter are you listening? Mama, you are my mother and I know it is your duty to worry about me. You won’t rest until you’re certain that the love you have for me, an unconditional love, be not replaced but at least replicated by another. I assure that the news I bring to you will ignite you not with rage but with brightness. For who would’ve ever thought that this other being, this woman would arrive in my life. She is a woman like no other, my, my, tongue stutters, I don’ know where to start. No, I didn’t meet her on some dating website, nor through mutual friends, it was simply one of life’s coincidences. She is known in various places as the woman, who looks like a tree, well because her contour is that of a tree, her long limbs skinny aged branches raised towards the sky like a Russian ballerina. She is my Muse, her visions shoot through her mind onto the canvas lik

She walks into the green room Gives hugs all around then like a sub who’s had enough collapses in my arms. My Mistress, I can’t touch without permission yet I took in her scent pressed her into me, her hot breaths erasing anxiety, insecurity that stirred in me. It was our night our audience awaited to see our play unfold Yes leather, yes dominance, yes submission and pain she rummaged through her suitcase of accouterments looking for that single tail, whip or knife to tenderize my back with. We’ve done this dance before in private and on stage underneath the heat of the lights and collective silence of the audience a deeper intimacy goes unnoticed. Two pros engaged in creative exchange. Yes play, but definitely procreating without reservations artistic instincts on high as we set out to inspire give you something to Tweet about. She felt my vibe she had to the way I did hers the audience, numbed by our chemistry, did too. Each come up to us one by one, smiles wider than the black smi

Carve a cross across my chest I want you to be my Mistress. Cross, cross, crossed your heart and hoped to die by my side my love but all I FEEL is outside of your gravitational force a black whole My Love. My sister tells me que tengo a dolor en mi corazon No, I tell her, I don’t love misery She’s my muse she looks soooo good in reds. Besides it’s a feeling just like the rest. …across my chest Pain is so different than misery- Pain is like the cycle of water pours down hard on you evaporating with time. Release …it’s what it is I want you to be my Mistress… I need a coach in letting go. If I already feel lost what the fuck do I have to lose? YOU got my back Mistress. Have it, have it Take it take it! The more you give it the more I take -I can take it but YOU will have it all. Have the thumping of your flogger against my back haunt me days after days Mistress cause You have my back… ass, legs,

Things have to come full circle. I am checking my self here… because back on May 27, 2009 I wrote an entry called “Because I’m Fucken Queer till 2010” and said basically that I will catch you on the rebound. So here I am- one day after Judge Vaughn R. Walker of San Francisco struck down Pro. 8 declaring it unconstitutional. (Yes this post IS late- cause it actually happened on August 4th and today is not the 4th). I’m happy about the results, we know that the battle is not over (rolling my eyes) but we can still celebrate- we have to celebrate the small victories to keep us going to the next one. Small victories that fuel our strategy, fuel our passion. Even though my niece is already making plans to plan my wedding, dolphin themed at that! I am not ready to take that step. Not because I don’t believe in marriage etc I am familiar with it’s chameleon-and-one reasons it’s been institutionalized in societies, I believe in the principal of the thing and of course there is the emo

I look at my wound A fleshy calaca Speckled with pink and red dots where hair follicles Once existed. It is my cortada with its rosada edges an umbra of swollenness. I look at my wound Slimy como un gargajo Me llena de asco But why does my mouth water when I look at it? I focus on the pain Feel it throb up and down my arm Makes my nails tingle I feel the throb until my clit tingles. I ignore my cut for days Leave it exposed, victim to the elements Vulnerable to infection. “Huh I should put something on it. Some ointment or something.” I research the web under branding and in the process Learn about the highly infectious nature of burns. One degree more and I could’ve damaged the nerve endings. I cover my wound with a Band Aid To silence the pain. My thoughts get the best of me I get chilled with loneliness, paralyzed with irrational fears My thoughts run wild ever present bare like bones I reach for the Band

(sound of voices praying) I stopped being a Catholic when I was thirteen, but I still can’t stop confessing, professing my shit, yeah exhibitionist to the core, the showing must go on. I was borne to be an artist. I like pain. I do. It’s always lived in me, so I learned how to like it. I learned how inflict it on myself, cutting, pulling the scabs, branding. I’ve always done it alone, to myself the technique growing with time. Why? Uhhhh it feels so fucken good you just don’t know. The next day any movement reminds you of the soreness, breathing alone can cause it to sting. Maybe I’m really a submissive. Submissive. It’s an exercise in letting go. I’m not gonna try to control my life. I have to let it go, like I once did. I’d close my eyes believing in the feeling, the safety I felt in those prayers those fears laid down to rest in between those pages. But that type of faith seems so long ago and the memories turned bible page thin. I didn’t want to stop believing that things

Such a childish gesture one I haven’t been able to shake. I, a child shrugged my shoulders little mountains, peaks already icy, I lifted them looked over my right one saw no one there and committed to “I don’t care.” No kicking and screaming the hurt away, face didn't turn colors no trail of tears down my gumdrop cheeks- I heaved all the thinking about you in one breath washed away my want for you with a solitary tear. I didn’t care! Really… couldn’t care any more that you didn’t want to see hug know me. Stupid pangs surfaced making my heart-hiccup and I knew I still did care. Wanting didn’t help nine years of wishes blown away the smoke cleared you still weren’t back. My other half Mi otro yo? If I am you and you are me did you abandon yourself too? I wanted to be more than a bastard no box full of recuerdos under my bed to sneak peeks at when the missing you hurt too much. Nothing to remind me of your absence except you’re abs

Que bonita es mi gatita Siamés Con sus múltiples tonos de café Café tostado Café quemado Algunos tonos De café bronceado Sus ojos azules claros Que resaltan como dos Estrellitas sobre El mar Mira la saltar Tan alegre Y cuando duerme Bien estirada Sus patitas al aire Que bonita se ve mi gatita Siamés R.I.P Saira 09/13/2006-12/10/2009

(Soft yellow light center stage shining over bench. Bench is draped with a soft throw) Claudia enters stage right. She is wearing a black tank top, white tight shorts (aka booty shorts) lays down on the bench. BdSM audio and video footage begin playing at the same time. (Audio is playing and video footage of Nadine is projected on screen. Claudia begins simulating masturbation or actually doing it depending on how she is feeling that day. She occasionally looks up at the image of Nadine projected on the screen who also looks down on Claudia). To my butch scholar what is Butch aesthetic? Is it when you reflect what you see before you into words? If so then you have to talk about my big boobs. If so then you have to talk about my tight ass and how you salivate at the thought of your fingers sliding up and down your keyboard as you recreate me, separate me, turn me upside down and label me. ME-your idea! For you to relive every time you, she, I

Standing with my toes brushed by the shore so sure that I float in your subconscious tonight a night when the moon has cast it’s shadow upon earth- swallowed. I wish for a bottle long neck, green glass the color of algae extra protection on it’s journey. Una botella para embotellar estos versos mandarlos con esperanza de que lleguen a ti. Que atraviesen estas aguas del pacifico aguas frias, que entumecen hasta no topar con las arenas del atlantico. Versos que te recuerden de lo mucho que te echo de menos.

“Give you a reading? I will tell you something good.” the lady sitting outside the coffee house said to me as I passed by in a daze. Payday is not for another three days but I was so tempted to give her my last 5 bucks to hear something good. That’s what we all want, just to hear something good even though I know things will be the same, her message of hope was as fake as her powers to predict the future.