Did I loose my funny bone?
maybe I need a new one
or did I break it
in that case will the pieces shake and rattle as I move ?

i hang in there
i choose to trust you
i choose to give this a chance
i choose to hang in there
i chose to keep finding
the renewed strength
because choosing you is worth it to me
in choosing you
i also choose me

I need your help dear but you do not reach out to offer it

On some mornings I wake from a dream of you
and there is so much longing that my words cannot express it
my entire body feels tender like the skin that grows after a burn
pink, sensitive and vulnerable

During days like these the thought of you does more than tingle through me
it sits over me and for a few minutes I can move without acknowledging it

What are you under the sunlight
when the day reveals you to the world

how do you smile in the early hours of the morning as you let the the whispers of grace guide you and the thoughts of gratitude fill you

who are you when you do not pretend
when you are at peace with who you are

May I never lose my hope
even if all else crumbles
May I never forget that my joy is something I cultivate
May I understand that if I am not the caretaker of my own happiness no one in this lifetime will assume this role

I am grateful for the morning sun that awakens me through the window
it’s warm light brings me joy
I am grateful that I am endlessly strong
and loved
I am grateful that every year life takes me where I want to, no matter the outcomes
How magical is it that all I set forth comes back to me
That no love is too small or wasted
That there are no words uttered that go unheard
and no prayer unanswered
it is a matter of closing your eyes and listening


I am grateful for this small, fragile lump of mass, and this lifetime

When I cannot, i brim over with words like a glass of water.

Failing in the wind you were more than that
what the spark of you
ever present my women you bore a belt of bullets

and if I were to tell people I come from women who bore guns who fought in revolutions
a lovely Adelita
my lovely great aunt

how wild a heart
How strange a women they would  think  you were
What choice did you have but to sing a song of rebellion and to sing a song of war
I am  lucky that I get to be gentle and sweet
Drunk walking back from a bar
Having drank  a whole bottle of Chardonnay with friend whose family lived through war and moved out of Sierra Leon

How lucky I am to be able to have the option to be gentle and loving

Great aunt, we are of the same tree

you are a stream that flows
and I no longer ask why
you flow in that direction

Open fields
just look out on the open fields
What else do you need

The swirling butterflies
in autumn begin to disappear
but they will come again
with the whirl of spring

Look out calmly upon open fields
each direction speaks of endlessness
takes the tongue of spirit and soothes


opportunity is here , healing is here
in this open field you meet yourself

For me there is was only love I wanted to give
everytime it felt easy
natural to give
that was all
all I intended to do
and when I held my hand out
there was nothing
except the wind that blew
and I knew your hand wasn’t for me or else it would of decided to reach out too

I do not regret a thing
you mean that much to me
that I would take the leap again even if I got a do over
I mean so much to myself, I would give myself the opportunity to go after what made my heart sing

The salesman stood in front of the poet and tried to sell her words
what a sight

I came here for me
and I came this way for you
that was all

for the things that have the greatest meaning
take the biggest leaps of courage

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

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

you walk
no matter the direction
this dream
      never changes much
they put their foreheads
to yours And smile

in some they are wolves
that sleep at your side

in others travelers
that gather
with you in the forest

in others they
   point toward a tiger
lurking in your chest

you walk
        and they protect
nothing is wild

        (not even a dream)

When I smile there are beautiful lines under my eyes
and I do not want to hide them

I bear with great joy this life of mine

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.

It is just that I want to continue to grow
throughout the entirety of my life even when it hard
it just that I don’t want to abandon myself
or stand in my own way
I just want to try consistently until I leave this form
I just just want be truer to myself and love deeply this precious, precious life
I would never jump ship I am committed in the small things which are truly the core of all of me

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

For all my lives lived and lost
I cry for none of them

for now in understand
What a gift this mystery is

for all my lives lived
I am thankful for each of them

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

A turtle dove brings its wings into its sides and dips
beginning it’s a descent into the air below it

like a seasoned diver with great confidence
gliding through the blue

Maybe for some people love quantified by the things your give them or the physical proximity of you to them, what will they do once you die ? Will they think you have stopped loving them?  

Can they feel the world? The way in which birds feel the air currents while defying gravitational law

Are they aware that nothing truly dies?

I seek peace and reconciliation
everything else:
the silence
the arguing
the finger pointing
the largest vine extending from the past to a future I project I cut

Pruning this life from all stories, no past, no future only this spacious garden of presence that I hold it all

Elizabeth Fraser sings me angelic tunes through the speaker and I become a circling girl.

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

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

I decided I am going to be wonderful
whenever I can
and that what people say or project on me is their dealio

“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 do not want to keep crossing lines people draw for me

So when my stupid heart want to run passed the painted line I now pull it back

I am not in-charge of redrawing that line
someone else is , the person who put it there is in charge of that

so I hold it, I hold this wild heart and comfort it
at least I am strong to comfort it now

and yes some part of me really wants to be there but there is that line

and I sink back down a little
and sink because I just don’t want to cross anything anymore
I want to feel to roam in someone’s garden
when I am invited
I do not want to invite myself when no one else has

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.

I will pick up the whispers over the dry patches of land amongst the chaparral

the womxn who births over the earth in a dense city bears the name of “mother” when I call out

The long fabric roll unfolds her story and the those of the ones she calls “brother” and “nana”. Crafty hands and animal loving eyes set to see the sunrise over the North American sky reflect its light over the railroad fabric and back into my eyes

I pick up the radio waves, the ones my cousins, my friends, my sibling and my grandparents heard as they serenaded each other or played music in the living room . It was always static I could never make it out. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz

A static buzz was all I could hear for a very long time.

Then the two bars of 8 beats for salsa; the 4/4 ballads I always giggled and stumbled my way through at parties when the old folks got up to dance, and I would grab my one of my best friends and give it a go

the endless ways in which I was taught to feel the world around me, to weave myself into the music, into words, into this earth and into light begins to carry me through hard seasons,
and I understand now if life is meaningless, If I am only an irrelevant speck in this cosmic ocean the best “****  you” the ultimate undoing of this
is to live a life of meaning, and burn bright and authentically until there is nothing left and this existence is enough

(in truth it has always been enough)

Soy poeta disfrazada con una arcoíris
soy energía colorida
riza contagiosa
y amó los sonidos raros
y beso a la música alta por traerme placer

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

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

I gave it all I could muster with all my strength I dared
will all the might I could call upon I came
with all reserves of courage
with everything I am
with no tear withheld with shakey hands
but I came

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

Quiero leer la literatura de la onda
quiero asomarme en otro mundo

The evening prepares to fully gulp
the sun, the car engines zoom contorting the sound scape and twisting gravel into their menacing rubber wheels

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 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 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

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

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 tried my best, and even more
but who can compete with time
or with silence

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

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

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

The quiet helps

It rearranges the pieces and it maps out the

rest

It inundates the outside voices and timelines for what human living ought be like and it frees me

and in my palms it lays an offering

and calmly whispers “here”