Chan Chan

Chan Chan playing loudly

He held me --softly

A hint of rage as well

I could not be all he hoped

He was my Spanish sun

He had thought me beauty in silence

I ran to him a fatherless child

He stripped--my religiosity 

I wanted to connect the dots --

the ones on his body-- to see the

Before and after link

Lost snapshots in an ocean of un-wept tears

Curve of his lighted Camel

Tense elevator silence 

Unnecessary cordial conversation

Mounting climax to -- Nothing

The Aftermath confused me still

His tanned skin cut by the white starched sheets

Sounds of late night brawls, midnight kisses

Coming from out there

Sleep would not make me drop 

Into submission, street-lights and

His breathing were companions 

But sleep I could not

He left two days next

Summer had been planned

In the fall he would be arrogant still

A touch of whimsical-mysterious in his hair

I tried to hide it, as long as I could

It came out all colors -- orange, green, yellow

Things unsaid, left unexplored

Though it's a shame I could  not die and let go.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JEdf7XsV5g

Alcool et amour

Un aimant devant moi, mais qu'un objet pour toi
Une autre bouteille parmis les autres, aucun appat.

Une seule gorgée apporte pourtant l'oubli et le bonheur
Des fausses promesses, cependant, irresistible leurre.

Mon cerveau soudainement brumeux
Des étoiles brillant dans mes yeux
Je veux danser, bouger, chanter,
Je veux oser, braver, aimer.

Serre moi dans tes bras trépides,
Remplace ma liberté liquide.
Et si tu pars, je reviendrai
A aimer cet objet abstrait.

Saleté

Cendre noire sur neige blanche :
On crache sur ce qui est beau.
J'essuie le mirroir avec ma manche :
De la saleté, il y en a trop.
Je frotte, jusqu'à en avoir mal -
Même mon visage devient saleté.
Je crache dessus pour l'effacer,
Et le miroir redevient sale.
C'est un grand tourbillon vicieux,
Cruelle-réelle-réalité,
Ne plaît jamais aux yeux.
Comme quoi, l'obscurité - c'est mieux.

Folie

Perdue, apauvrie, amaigrie,
Elle marche seule sur le sentier.
Par ses malheurs poursuivie,
Elle continue sa randonnée.
Paranoiaque, elle se retourne :
Gauche, droite, avant, arrière, encore...
Sur elle-même elle tourne et tourne :
C'est la folie qui la dévore.
Sa seule amie, son compagnon,
Qui lui chuchote dans son sommeil,
Qui soutient la conversation -
Venin versé dans son oreille.

Cheer To The Teenage Years

Red prom dress
because red suits my passion
my personality
that can't be boiled down to predetermined
paradigms.

Black shoes like the hole
sucking up my last silver linings 
the last drops of my will.
They match my darker eyes, hair, skin tone too
and the thoughts twirling in my head.

Prom will be one of those nights
with praises, glasses of champagne 
congratulations for not seeing the jealousies
pains, cuts and bruises of all these years

The hidden puke behind the desks, 
the angry poetry in the bathroom stalls,
the silent cries for help every morning

Prom will be a celebration
of a your selves left behind, 
embracing a world of adulthood
lost papers, lost invincibility
careless coffee stains and 
late night meetings

The days staying up late 
texting you my fears will disappear 
so will the smiles in the hallways
the fast food lunches
the ripping of failed exams

One day it will all mean nothing 
and we'll just have prom pictures 
a collection of broken souvenirs
memorabilia of the days
when we meant something
when we weren't pawns 
in the game of bureaucracy
ghosts on the conformity playground

when "YOLO" was a thing
or we didn't care about
the colour of our hair
the glitter dying in the toilet bowl
when we 
cheered for our teenage years.

Discoveries: Slam Poetry

Poetry has always been a big deal to me. Growing up in my own personal dictatorship at home, it was my escape route to, you know... non shitty stuff. And so, I've recently taken interest in Slam poetry and boy oh boy am I having the best "night after failed math test" day of my life. I present thee with a few of my most promising findings. I've found my calling! (Apart from marrying Jon Snow from Game of Thrones of course).

This is how my road to Slam started today, thanks to Jezebel and Doug Barry. And though what Rachel Rostad may be flawed in some ways, as she mentions here, I think that she has a point. I'm tired of seeing "token" Black girls, token Asian girls, token Hispanic girls... I'm tired of over-simplified characters that I don't feel represent my voice. Maybe I should write my own stuff you say? Sure, but I think it's a valid point to bring up and no, its not being "over-sensitive" of causing "controversy" or whatnot. It's a valid point, because all these girls also use the media and read and see images and when those images don't reflect something that looks or feels even remotely the way you look and feel, you start asking questions. You think I'm crazy? When I was 8, I wanted to be white, thin, with blue eyes like that was the only thing that would solve all my problems. Now, that's crazy.

Kait Rokowski. Holy mother ****. You hit me straight in the gut. Like, wow. I've been down for a while now (parents' divorce, you know...happy times!) and I won't say "depressed" because I haven't had a formal diagnostic. But I've been down. Very low. Not wanting to breathe and live and all that jazz. So I feel so numb when I hear this poem. And, yeah. I've had an 11-year-old tell me "Well, depressed people don't like... have a problem, they're just like...really lazy and don't want to do anything". *HEAD EXPLODES* This girl is a neighbour, so I can't go screaming bloody murder but boy...that struck low. Anyhow, enjoy it!

This right here. I laughed sooo hard. Denice Frohman, ladies and gentleman. It's a hell of a piece and I'm glad I found it today. I've questioned my sexuality, even though my family isn't the best one for that sort of self-discovery... anyhow, back to the poem. It's brilliant. Just listen. SPOILER ALERT: the best part? "Dear straight people, you make me want to fucking rob you." Don't take the quote out of context. Just listen to what she has to say.

Only dude on this list but boy is Jear Singer a beast. Like, oohh boy. You took that literally, didn't you? I mean his skill to convey, in a funny way how he just wants to dance, and how he'll be mocked but he just wants to go out on the dance floor and leave his heart on it. And just the way he start. I won't spoil it for you. Do yourself a favor a see it yourself. If this isn't really your cup of tea, you can always listen to his ABC's.

Motivation

as the vacuum sucks up

specks of unwanted dust

and my last aspirations 

i think to myself

"how will you save the world

when you are so lazy and tired?"

i tried coffee, which i drank at three

but it was quite late and i couldn't 

escape the pull of the pillow

i tried yoga for enhanced flexibility

both in mind and in spirit

but got bruises and sore muscles instead

i went to great lengths to find

motivation to work and slave 

and sweat and get to it

but i found no motivation at all

just an ice cream bucket

and a good romantic comedy

so that i could feel sorry 

for myself

Sunrise Is Near

sunrise is near

and yet my eyes not once have shut

for my mind to empty

for my heart to take pause

in its cruel aching

we never reached the zenith

never once held each other

as lovers do 

never brushed away 

tears and nightmares 

small instants of glee

glimpses of magic 

are mine to dwell upon

as the moon withdraws

hands held in a crowd

heat rising, bubbling when 

face to face and stares 

ripping through my soul

moments of intense passion

which the cold wind of denial

or negligence smothered thoroughly

my heart a pound of flesh

now a ton of eroded stone

will beat no more
will beat no more 

Hamlet's Sleep

Mere succession of unfortunate events
Occasionally highlighted
By intermissions of sunshine
Or white lies to stay relevant.

     Why forget the pain
     Clear indication
     That our lungs fill
     With poisoned air

     That our being
     Grows weary of
     Our abuse

     That we approach
     Our inexorable
     end.

          Forget these things
          With the false certainty
          That better things are to come

          Pushing our minds
          To the brink of insanity
          To the edge of an infinity
          Of sadness.

Why do we search
Our own hurting?
Why entertain the ghosts
Crowding our hellish nightmares?
Why leave a legacy of dreams
That amount to nothing
     and will soon the specks
          in History's dust?

I would much rather
be a privileged member
Of Hamlet's macabre sleep

A dissolving essence

                       in eternal

                                        slumber.

Days, Weeks,
Months, Years,

Time and time again
I wondered

Does he remember
Can he recall

My fat fingers reaching
Beckoning to his stone face

Marble heart
That may or may not

Have melted under the blazing sun
Of Africa.

Does he imagine a life for me
As I did (do) for him?

Does he wish to gain
What we both lost

So many years ago.

Time passes,
Heals
Conceals

Reveals the true nature
Of things that have lost their importance

He implores forgiveness

Asks for redemption

Wishes the clean slate
He shamelessly specked

With unspeakable actions
Angry insults

A desertion
That today still reflects the bullet hole

From which my essence pours to the world with
Significant words

Meaning nothing.

Moulin à Rêves

Il te repère

Te trouve
T'amène

T'enchante
T'enchaîne

Il sait que tu ne resistera pas
Tu crois que toi et lui c'est pour la vie

Tu vois noir sur blanc
Alors que tout est gris

La fin de rêves, de conte de fées
Avec lui, tu sais pas comment
Tu l'as trouvé

C'est un moulin à rêves insensés
De voeux inédits
De fortune sans crédit

C'est le monde à son meilleur
Qui ouvre ses portes
Pour que tu y vois
Amitié, Liberté

Tu es arnaqué
Pris au piège

C'est le sourire qui t'as eu
La voix douce et encourageante

Les applaudissements qui retentissent dans ta tête
Pleine d'envies et de rêves.

Il vend ça part paquets
Par poignées de mains
Par seaux d'eau
Par milliers

Tes rêves, il n'en fait qu'une bouchée
Pour la recracher
Plus brillante, scintillante
Que tu ne pouvais l'imaginer.

Il sait ce qu'il fait.
Il croit t'avoir eu.

Il t'a eu,
mais ne t'a pas fait marcher.

Il est temps de partir.
Sortir.
Courir

Rattraper les rêves égarés par son beau discours
Les pauvres chéris recouverts de crasse d'or

Il t'a eu.


Mais tuu as su t'en sortir.
Sans lui, tu vas quand même trouver.

Qui rira bien, rira le dernier.

Larmes

Elles ne coulent plus

Ne partent plus en fumée en été

Ne gèlent plus en hiver

Elles ne s'avancent plus

En escargots ou en cascades

Sur mes joues

Et ne mouillent plus mes poèmes

Remplis de joies et de peines

Elles  ne s'en prennent plus à mon maquillage

Ne se déversent plussur les rivages

D'une épopée de courte durée

Dont nous sommes les héroes

Mes larmes éphémères

Ne coulent plus depuis hier

Our Dying Love

Can't see my reflexion
in the windows
Or in the mirrors
of my mornings

Can't run
Hide from the Truth
the Pain
the Anger
the Words

The ones spoken
The ones heard

Can't scream
get it out of yourself

How much you want things to change
How much you want to dream

Of better "afters", "tomorrows"
Post-tomorrow, post-after
Posthumously

After it all
Remember I loved you
Tried to call

Only thing that answered
Was the dying dial

Echoing my dying heart

Our dying love.

Clichés

I think I'm getting better,

Clichés will now guide me,

'Cause they make so much sense?

I'll just follow my dreams,

Whenever I'll find them.

I'll just find the right guy,

Wherever he exists.

Well what if its a girl?

Just shut the question out.

Les sourds muets.

'Bouche toi les oreilles fort fort fort, tu entends comme je t'aime?'

Et si tu es loin,

Tu n'entends pas mes cris.

Les oreilles bouchées, ça aide pas.

Les yeux aveugles non plus.

Que faire,

Comment te faire réagir ?

Lack

Lack of Sleep

Lack of Love

Lack of Peace

Lacking a lot of things...

And lack means boy trouble:

My friend is leading 3 guys on

And though I love him

And he loves me

I can't be the one

He wants me to be

Life is so unfair...