MORE THAN

I am worth more

than the difference in my bank account.

I work to keep it balanced -to keep it

alive; everything, everybody needs to get fed.

What kind of Libra would I be getting off balanced?

I’ve accomplished more than what’s on that list.

All the things left unchecked, still got work to do.

Tomorrow, there is always more for tomorrow.

Keeps me hungry, working on the deficit

keeps me on the prowl for more.

Immigrant child, shuffling is in my blood.

I’m more than my expectations

more than what I have been.

More than what I can

imagine. More than what I think I know.

Who can really know evolution before it’s time?

I am more than what I should know.

On my feet thinking, thinking to stay on my feet.

Gotta figure things out- survival.

Gotta get it right- survive.

No I won't get back to you

with an answer to your question.

Do your homework!

I’ll do mine, unlearn the pressure to know.

This is Collective learning.

I could be wiser than my years

say I am. If I trusted me, my intuition,

I’d be counting my blessings

like Ultima.

The knots on my neck?

Dark circles underneath my eyes?

I’m more than those. More than the

the glowing verde of my eyes

at the sight of success in front of my face

while I leaf through

 “thanks, but no thanks,” letters.

I am more than the tears I hide

choke them back, acid down my throat.

Strong women don’t falter. 

Raise my kid, support the family, raise

those shoulders cause there’s more

weight where that came from.

Here’s boss #1 with more demands.

Boss #2 not sure how he will give me more hours

even though my rent went up. Keep it up,

keep them shoulders up and head high.

My love is deeper than our fuck last night.

We said it would be the last night

but Mama needed her back scratched

and you know just the spot.  I lost myself

in you, trying to find the love that welcomed me

the day I was born. Got in deep, deeper into me,

made me wail in pleasure but it will never be as good

as the first cry.  

I am more than your handouts.

It turns my stomach to have my hand out

knowing you can’t, won’t, don’t know how to lift me up.

You kick me first before helping me up. I deserve it

shouldn’t have raised you to be so prideful. 

I’m more than a great Mayan zero

I feel like when you treat me

like your punching bag. Upper cut, to my gut

then a hook to my pride. I’m your a scapegoat.

Feed me your scraps, unprocessed feelings.

Coat me in your anger.

Your anger gets trapped in me, and I feel it.

I understand the charge, I take control, feel

electric when I’m angry, have me looking

for a Billy of my own so I can breath easy.

I am more than the words on this page

that will soon take off, pajaritos a volar!

In search of a perch, a mate they can sing to

be heard, be experienced by. Words to be

kept in a golden locket close to the heart.

I am more. More than my past

that keeps a steady pace on me

as I runaway, refuse to live in it.

I’m coming! I’m coming! Future is calling me.

Write Like a Girl

I write like a girl.

Up at dawn

morning breath fresh

not clamming me up.  

Head swallowed by bed

spit me out, hair in a horn

on the side of my head.

A satellite towards the sky!

Catching some vibes

and recording my dreams

not literally.

Write like a girl

desert sweaty

sitting on a basketball

glasses cloudy with steam

head pounding

to the sound of the dribbling

around me as I’m

pounding this poem out

call me Ms. Smith.

I’m a misfit, a magician

fill you with illusions

my fingers typing away

fast as bee wings

on my smart phone.

I write like a

Techy girl

sign of the times

write short and sweet

sometimes in rhymes

Ay, phone! how many times

you saved my poem’s life.

Grrr girl,

I write like a girl

invading males spaces

with my stats and analysis

my “what had happened was,”

POV to the game

carving my way into

locker-room chatter

taking a spot on the floor

chop it up like a girl

wearing purple and gold

swirled tie,

blazer, skinny jeans

pointy toed shoes  looking fly

a fly-girl.

Like a girl

putting out like a girl

churning right like a girl

crossing the line

pushing it farther and farther

stretched out like some tight

tights. Stretched out like a girl

pulled in all directions

like carnitas

my limbs feel.

Write like a girl

always on my PERIOD

, ? ! ;: “”

run the gamut of grammar

they give me such trouble

those signifiers inserting

themselves in my conversation.

Such a girl

to bitch about it

so tuned in to emotions

that are tuned into sensors

a bazillion receptors

effective communicator

like the game of Simon says, following the light

no matter the patterns just go with the light

got you more twisted than Twister.

But I’ll be nice like a girl

care for, nurture like a girl.

Like, a girl.

Write for a girl.

Like me.

Twilight Heat

Heat makes you do things.

Makes you stay out past sunset,

pounding the basketball against

steamy pavement

trying to beat twilight’s defense.

Makes little girl do the splits

on barely-cooling-off cement.

It gathers the homies to drink

under a big shady tree

building a pyramid of empties.

It’s Sunday, doesn't matter

if work awaits in the morning,

gotta quench that thirst.

The heat got the best of 'em, bro'. 

Heat, it’s passion in your guts

hot as an habanero

bursting out into “Spiderman” layups,

or dripping and dipping on warm iron bars,

like the young dude doing pull-up after pull-up.

Pull-ups give young dude

Ironman chest.

Sweat. Heat makes me sweat

I’m feeling under your gaze

“Chocolate Bar stomach”

look away, Mamma hawk

not hunting tonight.

As you were! Dipping away,

I’ll see you in my dreams

wet, shinny, flexing

pecks and biceps proudly

like some urban Aztec god

bobbing your head to the sound

of your workout routine.

Heat can make you

lose it if you let it.

Short circuit of the brain

old  wiring

can only give so much juice

can’t process the requests

and shuts down.

Leaving you in darkness

alone with your hot head.

So hot you see white

but doesn’t feel

like a walk in the clouds.

Washed over with tears

as you talk yourself off

sabotage bridge.

Get your ass up!

Crack that window open

bust that shit wide.

Come back from the future!

Refuse to die, to fizzle out

got the rockets red flare

of my nostrils

and heart working on overdrive

to prove it.

Pumping, pumping, pumping

cyclist legs,

pumping, pumping, pumping

urban Aztec god.

Pumping- burning away the toxicity.

Got my room looking like the 1800’s

Industrial dark, darker than dark

as my carbon footprint balloons.

Not just wasted resources

DiRTeee energy.

Angry, silenced, recycled

In-HER-Chi

cutting the bullshit out

much rather fertilize.

El Soul Por La Window

One day looking at the hill outside my bay window

sipping coffee, my first cup

awed at how the bougainvillea grow

when the bush, like a green curtain, opens up.

The hill’s earth now exposed, an entryway appears

framed by the pretty pink flowers-ballerinas in the air

humming birds danced about. My heart hiccuped, eyes filled with tears

to look outside my window and see such flair.

Then into the center leaps a furry little creature

dark hair, blue-eyes, skin tan, slender as a fawn.

The branches bow down, birds chirp, leaves flutter around her

such reverence. Like bees to honey, I too am drawn.

I want to catch her.

I want to teach her.

I want to touch her.

She nibbles on the fruit fallen from its tree

sits on her haunches thigh muscles fibrous-rope

I kneel closer to the ground so she won’t see me

“Please stay, don’t get scared” I secretly hope.

Furry little creature, I take a step closer

feet delicate under squeaky boards

but her faithful, furry litte-er

creatures, look at me vigorous like boars

Her companions’ tails-linked

around her while she nibbled away in peace.

They orbited in her aura. She never blinked

they had her back, she was at ease.

Outside my window

looking out, framed

I feel framed, some sort of Romeo

tricked by your image. Our story, pained.

Realizing it was a trap

a little too late.

Furry little creature, have me in your grasp.

Why can’t this be fate?