memoirs of a pianist.

and not one cent made

still

so much sense

if anyone’s out there

waiting for what’s next

i’ve made promises to the universe

i haven’t kept up with

the time is approaching at a constant rate

what stands in my way?

more healing

the inner child is afraid

in the unknown you’ll find many things

i have no choice but to accept

with tools from the goddess, redirect

what does not serve me no longer angers me

all things exist for their purpose

ii

misalignment is a constant path for me

i learned to find comfort in crooked lines

the hermetic principles give me much peace

it’s been written

time and time again

what role i play in this lifetime

i fully can’t comprehend

 writer’s blocks happen because life happens 

and if you’re present you’ll see 

tragic

glory

i’m into it

more to say and share 

if you receive a notification, thank you

your eyes and ears 

back during those years 

truly made a difference 

i dream of suicide 

my dna knows death

yours probably falls right in line

with the concept of forfeit

“nos quitaron el mar nos quitaron el cielo” 

go listen to that song (tierra - bomba estéreo)

like a modern response to calle 13’s latinoamerica

there’s so much i haven’t said yet

i was too busy proving my authenticity

in a sea of carbon copies selling their people

materialism and consumerism disguised as truth

or black power

or eco friendly living

i was too busy proving my humanity

in a sea of money thirsty bitches

with no soul

selling their people caricatures

boxes 

chains we broke already but now gladly put back on

instagram is no longer a part of my artistic rollout

you may think i’m lazy

i’m from the era where cds 

vinyls

Atraks

they had value

i’m from the 90s

where i grew up with the internet

social media allowed me

to be opinionated and have no filter

it all comes with a price

who is the artist if the wifi bill isn’t paid

who are you without the lights

soon a new day will dawn

it’s all mine for the taking

anything i came for

i won’t leave without a fight

and my thighs are stronger

and i stand straight

my chest broader

my art my truth my words

are a weapon

you may have captivated me

you may have a fat ass

and yes

with all the eyes on you 

and with everything you represent

you may still shake your ass in a deli 

but you’re just a caricature

you and the army of lost souls

maybe my words will remind you 

of everything you gave up 

just to be famous

prepare for the afterlife baby

i sure as hell am

I’ve been casted in a play! Hope to see you there. xo

Oct 19th & 20th @ Theater for the New City 

i

she walks towards the 28th door

more scars are visible now

a long way down to paradise

ii

growing crops in a distant land

fresh water and clean sand 

this is where i live 

iii

the city plays a circle game 

there’s no real way out or in

everything overlaps 

trends followed as law 

drinking water inside of plastic

iv

cold waterfalls

sharp rocks 

fresh fruit

kisses 

v

i look all artsy

but really the inner me

wants to get the fuck out of here

* thanks to those who still follow. lots of poems and art coming your way. art for is about lifetimes of lessons and love and acceptance. it is a timeline and a journey. no real set destination but my goal is to find myself fully and fall in love with myself fully so my talents can blossom. one love💚

police live as security guards
guarding vaults
green crops
papyrus

ain't no love
ain't no love

founding fathers
grant allowance
claim the canyons
colonize mountains

land for commas
commas for land
divine comedy
take a stand

how much does it cost to have
the last laugh?

I left the party due to the feeling of needing to be submerged in something vaster than small rooms packed with drunk people.

We don't look at the sky enough in New York. When we watch the sunset and play catch with the stars we see more satellites than constellations. I want more information. I'm buying a telescope and setting shit straight.

You don't know shit without a telescope. Watch all the John Oliver you want, you're not a funny guy with a British accent.

I've seen light and dark, grey and pink. Been them all, characters in the book in order to return to center. In order to return back to a place of self love and love for neighbor, earth, existence it took losing all of it. Losing my mind and I can only tell you so much because after a while you won't understand. Futile attempts to refute my knowledge will leave you thrown in the garbage.

Soy bruja como Celia pero no llamo attention a lo que no me combiene. Los Muertos bailan y Los santos nos regalan todo.

Misunderstood is the anthem
keep dancing til' ancient dialects romance the girls I once chanced my love for
insecure premature asshole blast kanye grown past all the bullshit and masks

Last laughs and cold blunts cul-de-sac was the new one and who run for president it was
heaven sent homie seen so many things
lyrical beings get inspired battling demons
retired to better days nicer ways to say the

Same thing on my mind for moments at a time
I rhyme to provide clarity shatter insecurity
for future poets to see we all meant to be
predominantly children of the cosmos
whatever that means bro

Negative vibrations
equate to hesitations
living in our nations
killing trees for wages

Positive vibrations
360  constellations
killed radio stations
brainwashing patience

II.

Ain't no right or wrong. Outside judging left and right, with a naked eye.
Jordan, Michael Kors, Louis Vuitton, Victoria's Secret, Target, Amazon, Apple, Samsung, Nike.

Consume
Consume
Consume
Consume
Consume

III.

Take some shrooms, look within
You won't find original sin
Beauty hides under skin
Knowledge of self
Your only friend

IV.

Rules are taught in school. We were taught to not wear our skirt too short. No nail polish, or makeup necessary. Short sleeves deemed inappropriate as we sat and watched men play freely. They were men then, boys now. Deprived of feminine energy has left them to salvage after the first visually pleasing woman to catch their eye. Poor guy.

V.

La mujerdiosa

I.

misused magic
leftover, tragic

you all wore
masks, tore

flesh off my
heart I die

II.

Not much left here, ain't there? You call this love? You call yourselves a couple?
Why, the boy's only in high-school. Mija, you're only in high-school.

You got the nerve to call this love?

III.

My virginity is an eye sore within the latin community. A vagina is the last thing
you speak of, even if it's for health purposes. Everyone's mom pretends like they
are saints while in front of the "kids," but behind closed doors, only walls can talk.

IV.

searching within
corridors of "sin"

overheard tales
of the one, one

convinced I'd find
right kind of guy

V.

Having a boyfriend is like having a best friend. Having a best friend that becomes
your boyfriend is letting the world end. Knowing that you've lost a friend is the
world ending. At the back of my mind, I see the could have, would have's.

I don't stare up at the sky with just anybody.

VI.

High school graduation is a cause for celebration, marijuana, drinks, and oh shit! My
figure is coming in. Time to party with the big girls.

VII.

riverdale driving lessons
yield mansions and hills

cramps lead to pink pills
mami disagrees, endlessly

he don't care about seeing
thin layers of blood on skin

VIII.

My freshmen year of college was the only year I dormed. Crazy sex life mixed with drug abuse? Quite the contrary. I lived with 3 hyper-religious, gorgeous Black women, who were thoroughly convinced that I'd been a heterosexual all my life. I found "Jesus" again, but in reality, it was the universe; nirvana; understanding.

IX.

You were the only guy on campus that caught my eye. We slept together all the time. Never got past dry humping. I asked you what you thought about oral sex, and you said it wasn't your thing.

I stopped talking to you after you asked me to suck your dick. In life, one must give to receive. Your penis was small, and you gave my boys suspicions of being gay. I love gay people, just not for a partner.

X.

two men can brag
bronx housewife

cared for you like
mama cares 24/7

no regrets or love
at least I know now

don't move out
for anyone

I.

They scream, "It's eternal, eternal!"
So we wait in lines wearing our sheep wool paid for by sweat. Faces so sick from the greed they sprinkle on their pizza. All the green hues pass from me, to you. Olive papyrus to satisfy the masses.

II.

We scream, "It's eternal, eternal!"
So I wait in line with my dunce cap, and a heart on my ass paid for with the time of his current girlfriend. Her face a lie; she's been a lesbian the entire time. All the fuchsia hues pass from me to you as I decay. 

Toxic from the NYC sewers dilutes in my oxidated blood. It mixes with the lies planted in the crevices of Latin rosebuds. My aura, a dull grey.

III.

The bubbling sensation in my throat is a question I can't recall, but you were the one who asked so the answer must be bullshit.

He screams, "Eternal, eternal," and that's when I buried myself in American soil.

My love for you is at a station

Sand stabbing swollen pores

Running without cause

7am hungry and lost

ii
You were saying something about comets
About girls like me

About comets

This blog was founded by my teenager self. A young voice searching for answers, while swearing I had most of them. Offering my advice to both small and tall folk, even though I needed some myself.

I am approaching the age of 21, the age many have told me to be excited for. The alcohol, exhilarating time spent with friends, a moment to finally live. Nothing excites me more than the now, for it will not always be so. In fact, it may not even be so. A quest for wisdom has yielded more questions, a critically thinking mind, and a passion for peace.

Here, and only here, will you find any of my writings. Commenting on many issues both adolescent and now from adulthood. These are my stories, some fiction, some heartbreaking, all genuine and from the burly fibers of my mind. Thank you to everyone who's been a click away from not reading, but took the time to anyway.

Shrooms can show you many things, but all they showed me were a path way. Someone said, "Don't forget you're a writer first. This is my ode to anyone who's ever related. These pieces stem from dreams of suicide, and nights of freedom blowing my hair in the wind from a crazy drive, arguments with my conservative family and relationships that went...well like most relationships.

RELATE. That's all I care about. If you can't relate to any emotion, if my writing insights nothing within your soul, I've got to try harder.

4 years old this here blog. Thank you.

I am currently going through my old journals, fishing for fiction! I'll be coming at you very soon with some stories.


Cheers


Rosa

Grey hair 
Bone marrow pearls 
Yellow, red, blue
Traje de carnaval 

Coastal sunrise
Blue seas
Cartagena
Santa Marta

Garbage tides
Slimy sand 
Bloody streets 
Shed for those

Sugar cane baby
Love undeserved

21 started at 14 
Sweet cranberry
Glass hides
Silent vomit

15 joints for Mary 
Outside Dean's window 
Grapes for eyes 
Little school girl

Numerous lovers 
Double digit Mistress
Never the one 
I've been them all

Big breasts 
Cave my thoracic
Elevated scapula 
Internally rotated

Kinky hair
Untouched by salons 
Brain tells me 
You hate me

Claim I copy
You exclaim
Haven’t seen girls 
Quite like me

My skin is you
My body is you
My lips are you
Hidden these truths

With your church visits 
Plastic couch covers
Museum home
My liver hurts

I feel it burst
I lash out 
I need silence 
So I can sing

II

When I was 13,
You called me a

feeling worthless 
still uplifted you 
quinoa eggplant
tomato soup

took trips  
bronx buildings 
Jamaican grandma
victim of a crime

eye tears 
subtle soliloquy  
ready to pull 
the emergency brake

the billboard we 
always looked at  
hoping one day 
it would be ours

above the stadium 
we can have
can be
something

extension of you 
submerging in
pink matter 
without question

you took what was not yours

and owned it.

Can I

Purchase
Sleep?

Cannot

Recall
You.

Matrix

Reveals
Lies.

The Earth

Withholds
Soul.

V 

asking me questions
I wouldn't know

alone in nyc  
why is it always me

come to spring 
resurrecting things 

that were never there 

a mask
of
calcium

the
uh...
ther day

flew
by
my face

it stole
my
lungs

i walked
a way

and woke
up
gay

reliving a
dream

that my third eye

is victim of a crime

let me be
peace monk

discovering 
disease

been here 
before birth

don't live vain
cousin slayed

santiago
oriente

palma
cubanos

red casino
bluff to win

many men
claim sin

dying dome
raisins, old

heart warm
losing heat 

within a housecold

soñe que

regrese

a mi tierra

atrapada en 

un pais 

abnormal

nos miran

con ojos

de culebra

me dicen

siéntate

escuchame

un sueño

revuelto en mideo

pidele a tu senor

para pan

you
your paper

weightless

ant farm
crisis

cut out
churches

women 
no say

sleep in parades
social crucifix 

stealing time
it was never yours
never mind

flag dream 
elm street

taking chances
placing bets
big blue

names fall 
sweat drops

our land
taken

(Does it bother you at all mama?)

my hair
broken

home
unknown

Secret stories
by the window

blending in
bunnies swept 

under
never heard

you got in with money
what about him, her?

reflections
deferred

broken
sinners 

want to 
start over

You better find paradise,
heaven is getting older.

On July 28th, this blog turned 4.

It all began with my question: who am I and why am I here? What should I expect from this
existance and where the fuck am I going?


Thanks to my introduction to Joseph Perez, this blog evolved into poetry also promoting the works of Bronx Hip-Hop artists such as Fat Will, BIC, and others.

Much love to the communities out there seeking truth. With this said, enjoy the posts that will follow this one. I've been re-reading and re-writing to ensure that every line counts.



BLESS

shots of the shroom juice
fruit amoebas 
crystal clear us

amazon rivers flow
through city sewers
working on the railroad

all damn day
trains still don't work
employees swallow dirt

confronted fears
almost lost my love
lemons squeezed

turn a teal
turn a nasty green
krispy kreme nightmares

asian ancestral tips
on how not to lose your life
how not to lose your wife

holographic truths
slaughtered by
the blades of doubt

vocabulary exhaust
can end global warming

but saviors don’t have smartphones

Violence and music
in their purest state
traps twenty seven sailors
while I lock them away.

Mama says don't meddle
nestling your hands
where they don't belong
but you belong here.

Dry eyes
Dry mouth
Your fan 
dries us out.

Our passions
expand
from your ship
to other lands.

Safe to say
I enjoy being

the pirate above the reef.

salmon melusa swimming
living in lubricated lakes
watching wary willows

looking so peaceful 
upon plump pillows

abandoned mall 
I am no one
to judge you

in the food court

no bouquets 
with pink ribbon to
idolize consumerism
rotten stems
fallen petals

madre tierra frowns

envied by fallen leaves,
now amongst them

II. 
I abandoned my husband
while he was sleeping
packed my bags
wrote a note
 
told him
to never give up 
on dreams
 
like he did mine
like he did mine
like he did me

III.
my flaw was to love
to be loved by none
and to love too much
was exactly what my
conservative mother
warned me about

I maintained a neutral spine upon the black marble by the fountain. My pupils follow the floors of the skyscraper ahead of me. My legs have gone numb, still unsure why. An urge has risen in me to write on my modern typewriter.

Ridicule follows me, most of it based off of monetary things. This life is more beautiful than I, than soul searching lesbians in Germany.

As of right now, I feel free. 
Wishing I could reside upon this marble. Letting the wind caress my abdomen. Watching the sunset fall off a skyscraper.

My mother would have a heart attack if she saw me this way. 



how we do 

The internet. Telephone numbers of foster care programs, and the internet. Infinite selection of latin lesbian porn, and of course, the internet. Multiply this by the imagination of a nine year old on dial-up. Netzero.

Crack, screech, crackscreech, static. The sonic vision of successful connection. One of the only rhythms I knew by heart. Coming home from school wasn't complete until my computer's cadence was fulfilled.

I sit here on this train wondering why I never ran away. Basquiat was successful in his endeavors. I should have been next in line. Convinced that my destiny is way behind me, I begin the next chapters of my life alone.

II

The first time I went to Colombia, I woke up in Madison Square Garden. There had to have been at least 150 members of my family present there. Most of whom I had never met. They swarmed around my mother and I, both of us getting different forms of praise.

Welcome to America meets me, in South America. I was treated with care and examined by members of my “family". Surprised they didn't dissect me.

"This is your American baby?”"What's wrong with her hair? It's so dry"

I was labeled a foreigner, a gringa in my own country. A land holding the roots of my ancestors, and their ancestors. Fresh arepas, and wide hips. Guanabanas, and men selling mangoes on top of their heads in weaved baskets. 

Playing soccer in the best field we knew, the street, or at least Colombia’s rendition of one. Barranquilla, the coastal paradise, a home I once knew, now a salty memory.