This is enough
walking down the stairs as it opens up to a wide corridor, these people, this place and me
as I am –enough

and all my dreams in the bending
of my wrist
all of my heart can be found
spread out inside  pulsating chests
within all the people around me

My whole existence a blink and simultaneously
an eternity in the shared
look, that give my loved one
eyes to eyes endlessly suspended
in this sea of living

over our small dinner table I could be finite
and I could be infinite

I like like like art
even fashion…

I can look at the rack
and see 80’s shoulder pad fashion
the oversized, big collars almost
on every shirt

but I
leave them hanging
from the rack.
I’m going for 90’s
silk skirt
tight at the hips
because it feels
more like me. I don’t care

about trendy; I care about “Mmm
it feels good, when I slip it on”.

my life is in the details
I like like the details

Benny Moré’s music cushions my night
his voice plays, as I open
and then read a hand drawn
card by a dear friend

how with all her joy
my joy as well wishes to come out
in celebrations of the beauty
she has found
in sunflower seeds, in plants
and the learning Spanish

Let me never again allow
someone to stand before me
and tell me
“I knew you were suffering but well…”
as they proceed to excuse
not sending an email or
calling back
as they play–
play me
play me a rendition of “ I just stood by because”–

let me be quicker to take
my “alarm setting and special date on the calendar marking” habits elsewhere

let me be like lightening
when it comes to honoring
how devoted a lover I am,
with my deep dives into music archives
and books to fish out gems from the depths
of this wide ocean of archived living, that
we take for granted
as we scroll down or peruse old books, images
of paintings, stereo versions
of songs and psalms
and recorded lectures with
sounds levels so low you really
have to concentrate
and within the relief carving etched into my chest

my own soul
let it speak to me loudly
let my love be bigger, that it can help me smell the sweetest scent, while I wander through the night
that its whiff can walk me downthe path of less sorrow

sometimes nothing, is kinder for everyone

sometimes someone can be trapped in their need to self protect at all cost
believing that this world and it’s rules allows them to set others welfare, others  feelings, real love aside and dub it meaningless

Let me never again take
their blade in my hands, let me walk
away, when I see the glinting of the knife
they hold towards me
even as they smile,

2.
He held a glinting knife, as he smiled
did he know he was holding it,
so close to me
the pain of its point confused
with the pain of heartbreak
when there should of never been pain
not in something as sweet as love

What we were yesterday falls away today
the mascara dripping under the shower head
the introduction to said mascara, the time our a best friend brushed our lashes
not one by three times claiming somehow that would make them nicer

owning things
Being “__” because it matters

Matter for what reason?

all the yesterday’s fall away no image
worthy of being clung to

all can fall away
and what remains below is what can never go

I pay my dues with each poem

I always waited for them to be sure of me
the way a weatherman is sure about the forecast, before I decided to settle in a certain country or city
and perhaps they waited for me to decide to stay before they were sure of me
but what is never asked or addressed never can be transformed

Nosso corpo pega as barreiras
e con sua mistura de sangue
e as desfaz

The time I tried to delete and wipe him from my life was not with the intention to hurt him
it was with the intention of cultivating self respect

It was me trying to liberate myself from being pinned under intentional disregard towards me, constantly being ignored, and engaged without the intention of helping my soul (of lifting my spirit)

The way I had let him treat me showed such a lack of respect for myself  that I had to try


It was never about hurting anyone; it was about being better then I had known myself to be

It was growth or being a doormat
and I ached to grow and unfurl

I ached to return to my own arms

My smile combines with artistry, with intellect, with profound gentleness,
with my audacious willingness to dance, with my multi lingual tongue,with the rising of my chest as I lift it to prepare to catch a wave
it marries in my fingers, that were taught to play Spanish guitar in my humble demeanor the scent of the girasole, and the monarca butterflies that migrate to my mother’s state of Michoacán each year
their wings and mine a miracle

I wish to love this world with everything I have got
to be unyieldingly –the coming of spring
just as by nature I am the end of December

The start of the circle and
the end of the circle
are just ideas (perspectives)
both just the circle

The flesh and bone my home
the organs and palpitating heart that is before me the one I should look upon with eyes of appreciation
“Look at you and that shine in your eyes” “look at you and all those years that have opened up your smile”

Look at life, how dear it is
how I wish to ripen my blood and the creases of my eyes with wisdom of truth

this momentary mass awake moving through the bead maze

How tender are they the young and the old
Am I tender, too ?

It is so hard to see what’s so close to us sometimes

Oh dear how we wake up to hold the clouds and the sun
The rain and the splendorous shimmer of our being: lightness on this earth

Oh dear how, how can I cry for this long without being seduced by the trees,
the flowers, and the howl of my own deepest nature

I cannot
so I run off like toddler smiling towards today
“Come on” I tell every part of myself

I sit with myself, take each unloving sentence off the wall and continue to cultivating this love, this smile that surprises me in afternoon, these hands that help sing to the birds and draw those I love in sketch books

I sit in my own well of joy knowing it’s the only one that can truly fill my thirst.

Some days I still cry for a love that never lifted a hand but claimed with love songs it’s presence
still I wake up some days sad  

I sit with pain sharing a of drink in the morning
And eat biscuits of hearty realigning perspective
My worth placed over my two hands like a small tender bird
I must take care of it

You came like a lightning bolt
quick and parting the rumbling  skies

if I had let my sorrow drown me I would of surely missed you standing there lighting up part of sky

you are indeed one of the gifts of remaining painfully open, lovingly open, open and touching life– touching your face in the middle of night

something kinder and gentler has finally come my way and I can see it in your electric smile which does not go over me
I see your glow and soon I have no doubt you strike the land

I will finally hang Rich’s “Final Notations.” above my door

It will be a 8.3 x 11.7 rectangle holding space for my courage and my will
to not close or shrink from life

it will substitute as an answer to all the question I want to ask you
because I will not ask you for how long
you will hold me at peace in bed or for how long
you will get up and meditate with me over the cold linoleum floor in  the morning, I will not dare and ask you for the sun and
the moon or for the things that bloom eternal

I will just behold you there folding the laundry with me, there cooking next me while holding up a spoonful of soup to my mouth,   
“there,there” as I cry and tell you all my sorrows

I will hold out my two palms towards you in the same manner as I do when we start to dance over my grey turquoise carpet

I will open not just my hands but my heart so that you can come in, so that you can hold me as the sun begins its morning trek, so that you can sit so close to me during morning mediation, that I cannot help but sync my breath with yours, so that if you find the moon or the sun on your way to me
you can lovingly show up with them in your eyes or tucked in the width of your smile and I will be present enough, enough
will recognize them
so that if your love springs eternal you can show me and I will believe you

I will hang her poem up because I believe
I still believe
even though it has not been simple
I believe enough so to welcome you and let you show me who you are and how you can love me
I will hang it needing no guarantees
I will hang as the answer to all my questions

When we dare sing into the world a new song
we do not lead it
we follow it and watch
how it cozies up to us and comes through the body

each year a bucket that if it were not there
the song’s rhythm could not be played in streets of dirt road and in the town where soul is more abundant than money

And it is
that this is who I am
I am not chasing
any kind of glory, that I don’t care about being the best at
something worldly I care about being the “ best me”
nourishing my natural gifts in order to share them

I am not competing. I am not running on empty or on misguided comparisons( I save my energy for what matters)

I
already everything I will ever be in motion towards my inner and outward destination
sit calmly because it trust again not a man or a womyn but myself

What someone can take is only a fraction of the real strength, courage and authenticity that flows through me
I am really human, fragile and sensitive to the touch
small and unassuming like all life on this earth grateful for every rotation in this galaxy.

I know what I really am and I call upon it and it calls upon me and we smile together
one in the same
this is what I am

with love for the little things that hold me up
this earth
that dark soil
This mount of well earned tenacity and gratitude

with love i behold everything that makes me up

If I picked up a cigarette today
what good would it do trying
to puff my way to tranquility

what good would it do to start crafting an image, start removing the little things
that set me apart for the rest
start hiding taking down the pictures frames which contain goofy photographs of me, real non-**** ****, that don’t turn on even a light switch
in lieu of beautifully shot photographs of
in nice lighting


What good would it do to start when I don’t want to, when I don’t feel like I need to be like them
What good would it do light one up
when I give a flying **** whether I smoke or not
when it’s just another stick and I could just as well pick up a twig and stick it in my mouth

What good would it do being someone I am not

“How beautiful we are “
i carry this sentence tucked in my coastal
in case I forget
how feet and how lungs move the way butterflies flutter in time

I get to listen and be taught by living
masters in my craft
I am amongst the youngest between them
I am there to soak up it
again
I take cement to cloudy city days
and break all expectations places on me
as I create the path no one thought could be carved out


It is not my time yet it is theirs their blooming flowers mine, ours, the world’s to appreciate

but it is indeed my time to learn
to sit in a kindred embrace of the art of life
the divinity that language can point to
it is my time to stir world in my belly

I am scared that I will be disappointed but I am aware and I am trying to face my fear
whether I succeed or not whether I can do it or not is not the bottom line
it is whether I can accept myself, liberate myself enough to try

I just do not want to be
who I am not

I want to sit by the beach over the sand
hear the waves roll in and out and
share this life

share and be valued the same way I deeply value all creatures
be heard the same way I try to hold space for others

be given devotion the same way I devote
Equal give and equal take

a world and safe space to be heard, walked with

Its just that  what ever I wear, who ever I meet does not matter if they truly cannot see or hold space for me
if they cannot let me
be me

Swirl my heart in light and love have me dissolve into them never to accept separation
have their presence shower those I love
give me strength in this lifetime as minuscule as it may be in the span of this universe to be of service
grant ‘s endless devotion so I can care for in this one humanely life for all those I hold dear
so I can offer them beauty even when there is pain in our hearts, keep me rooted
open me so all that is left is body used to it highest potential
who dares to love, fall, rise and feel the extent of what it means to human

I look at the tree and see my lovely leaves
We share life together their bark makes that part of the world and my body makes this part of the physical world. “Oh my leaves :))”  what do you think when I stare at you with such joy in my heart ?

Sometimes I just want to dissolve into now and I want every scary thought or idea that comes as advice as warning to melt away. There is no one way. There is not right way. There is just what is… ever flowing. All possible. Pain and pleasant things nothing hinging on correct or wrong.

I will sit and catch the stones they throw at you.

What does love do now
it opens its palms

I don’t now what it is about the way skin is fragile and tender to the touch
no matter whether young or old that makes smile and love our little boats islands of flesh each so different, each so radiant and full of beauty

What if I am watching myself grow more and more beautiful
inside tulips bursting
what if I am also like one of  the monarch butterflies that migrate each year to my mother’s state in Mexico
what if I, too just emerged from the cocoon

And then I will have no big reasons to live here

my work can be done from any country
and now so can my studies

and when this year is done
perhaps you’ll think I would of left either way
but I would not of
I would of called this place home
because your were here

I have pushed my body passed  it’s limit
wobbled to the pavement swiftly
and appropriately landed on city concrete because by what else would I be cushioned or met by in an eastern metropolis denser than my flat, patchy L.A extending to the sea

I will not pucker up my lips and try to kiss you
I will deliver poetry over your tongue and ask you how it tastes
I will be what I am with my fragrance
eternally unrivaled as is yours, theirs and everyone’s else’s
our uniqueness solidified at birth

I did not find you broken nor off course
I found you whole
in pain perhaps but wholly please never forget that silent prayers follow you that they ooze and hide in the winds breeze never to be spoken
silence is their language

I am Jane loving Austen
Purring with her own happiness in there solidarity home

I am flower moving in the wind
feeling it’s conjures that life is indeed cyclical and you should sway to its wind

I know it was not his fault nor my fault
I know it was trauma bonding
painful inheritance of pasts resurfacing
triggering unconscious cycles

I am not angry
I am in love with my own becoming
and I can see his becoming
and think we chose well

Two different roads
my love on the other fading to nothing
alive only in the forever of yesterday

You sweat through the fury of a blazing love that gave too little and still wanted to call itself love

Today I love the moon and all the dreams in my belly that speak of sweet womanly passion, of sweet burning match sticking life’s wick
of sweet, oh so sweet fervor to be everything I am with out compare
of sweet, sweet, willingness to release myself and continue

Find my hands in the water of the graces that do align

My body is tired by my will it’s so strong
I plow in one direction with all my might  because i am young and I can do that
and I have enough energy
and I am dogged
headstrong
but even with that
the rest of road is not for me to sole clear
it’s in the graces of what things do align

They can all see my blind spots
and I would not hide them

everything must be looked at
and all brought to light

all old pattern examined
and what remains must be what I choose
to nourish and uphold

all parts
splinters
and gentle flowers
All in the light

no need to hide
they are all worthy of being seen

both no obstacle simple what is

I dreamt of a full room, something important was happening in your life, an opportunity or something you worked for
some sort of celebration
I was there just to say hello

All thought patterns need to be out in the light. If it makes me uncomfortable I dig in even more, see the thought patterns and give them a name

I talk to folks whose job is helping others navigate life and identify unhealthy ways of thinking and acting
from monasteries in the mountains to therapist over zoom
the classroom extends to the even the people around me
there is a teacher everywhere

much growth is in progress

All the frogs leap
all the walls feel like today
all words are near approximations
to what you can only point at

It is gone like the river
everything including I change
sand through my hands
gone

no grasping of resisting anything
or we resist life
and when we resist we suffer

Who knows what tomorrow’s flowers will be like

Paradise is in my apartment
It can be found over my small work desk
Or on my soft  blue duvet cover

I can be seen in the scooped white bathroom sink
or piercing on the back of a ray of light
that has made its way through my window

Paradise is in the way I love even the smallest fruit fly over my narrow kitchen counter

And when I close the door it follows me down the street to the convenience store, around the corner to the subway station,
down the street to a small mom and pops restaurant

When they look at old photographs of you
,you will tell of them of all the crazy stories and all the mistakes you made as you grew.
how your chest expanded and your heart pressed against your ribs inflating like a ballon on certain years, wishing to become airborne and to lift you along with it towards the sky

you will tell them of all the unfortunate situations that lead to all the food in your fridge rotting and all your sadness eating up your appreciate
and how you turned inwardly and perched like a bird over the ledge that you decided was not to jump off but a clear vantage point from which to see peace all around and from which to oversee the land
and make out what direction you were now going to head down

The grounded planes begin to take off
and friends begin to spread far beyond the sprawls of L.A county
some to school, others on tour, quite a few to start off somewhere new
my brother among them
on his way to Denver
and me sorting through thousands of poems most of them never quite right
and drawing scene from my everyday life
flying inwardly and heading toward my own destination
gathering the annotated white papers containing poesy off the floor
picking out the ones that will make it into my first book baby