(2015)
La presión atrapada Busca por donde salir Tapo mi boca Se me sale por los ojos Tapo mis ojos
Her fingernails Natural Long Pointed On fingers
I need to tell you How to survive With our disposition It’s okay to cry Maybe
He says I could never Get away with murder For I leave Pieces of me everywhere
If food is poetry The flavors The smells Singing in harmony Is poetry food?
My soft spot My sweet boy I’d do anything for Who convinced me Little boys are the best
Hospitality To love a stranger It need not be much For one who has little Will appreciate it
It’s not that I’m sad Though I am It’s not that I’m discouraged Though I am It soaks deeper
Most women are cooks But a man who cooks Is a chef She cooks over and over To feed the masses
May sun is warm An old friend You have missed June sun Still smiles
To be a true artist Must they be recluses Crazy mad or sick Or even better dead Show me a healthy artist
I find richness In the mixture In what others disdain Young people lost Between two cultures
Scratchy plaid blanket Red with yellow stripes Hot and itchy underneath Claustrophobia strikes Purple and blue prisms
This world is covered in bias It’s all over you It’s all over me too This world is covered in bias It shades our words
I crave stability Neither wandering spirit Nor home-body Yes I’d love to travel But the foundation