but do not judge me
by the cover

I’m a stilettoed socialist
strutting her talent
amid these temples erected
to worship money
if you know enough
of the world
you can crack
the cipher
of my swagger
I have my own agenda
I’m not lost
I’m a fashionable vermin
who knows her way around
these tow-away zones
one-way streets and
orthopedic bus stops
I’m a gambling addict
wherever the stakes matter
and have cast my lot
on a future
that outshines
these bright lights
and a soul
of enough magnitude
to not let this big city
define me

and you can’t give me enough
elevator rides
as to convince me that
people are meant to
be boxed and move
in one direction alone

and you can’t make me
cross streets through
underground tunnels too often
as to make me stop
juxtaposing myself
and the other pedestrians
with the archetype of
warriors of a Resistance
emerging into the sun

and no matter how many
metal detectors you
very politely force me
to walk through
I’ll never forget that
I’m concealing a weapon
that you can’t see
unless you truly,
deeply know me.

.

            sending message…
…message sent.

I used to party harder
than any of them.
I was always the one
pushing rhythm
into the arms of intimacy.
Always the one wearing
the effervescent music
like a satin cape
and flying around the
maelstrom of bumpin’
and grindin’ bodies.
Always the one talking in
the language of the dark,
taking on the deeper,
less legible
side of the night.

I don’t anymore,
though my friends still do.
The difference between us
is I was a poet.
I was open.
I was looking for something.
Something whose name
I supposed wouldn’t fit
in dictionary pages
but might be read
between the lines of
slurred sentences
succumbing to the whip
held in Hennessy’s fist.
Something with a
touch-and-go
now-you-see-it-and
-now-you-wish-you-did
rare kind of spark,
not unlike glare
on bling-bling
as it winks
at the disco ball.
Something that
skims the being between
waterproof Mac makeup
and sweat.
Something as
at home in the shadows
as the thoughtful soul.
Something more expensive
than money.
So I squandered money
and searched deliberately,
covetously
enough number of nights
to know for sure
that I would find it
if it were there.

No, I did not get old.
I still paint myself with
the do-or-die autumn
colors of expectation
to accentuate the edges
and match the skin tone
of my passions.
I’m still dancing as
intensely as you
well remember I could.
But not in the clubs.
Not in any particular
physical place.
Wearing different clothes.
To a softer moon and
a more forgiving beat.

.

Affect me.
Make me feel like getting up.
Make it real.
Move me like
there’s something
that doesn’t belong
where it is,
that needs to be shifted
and make me restless
until I’ve shifted it.
Stir my blood.
Make me blush.
Make this blizzard relevant.
Don’t hurry on
with your collar
up to your ears
with no more than
a passing glance.
An entire crew stepped
their boots all over
the dying embers
of my hearth,
grinding it down
shapeless
into the snow
near-fatally frostbitten
with expression
left unspoken
through three seasons
and my heartbeat is
slowing down
to a crawl.
I need to borrow
some warmth from somewhere.
That’s why
I need you to touch me.

.

And you can explain it
until you’re blue in the face
what you call “your” side,
what was going on
within your inner hell
during those weeks when
all I could see
on the surface
was a glacial apathy
towards me
no matter how hard
I knocked,
you can tell me
you had no choice
but to treat me that way
at that time,
but nothing
can undo
a death,
so save your breath.

They all warned me
about you;
my faith in human goodness
stood in the way
of my believing.
The same people
are more than ready
to blame you, but
I think there comes a time
in one’s life when
she must take responsibility
for the wrong turns
her life takes,
and I will do it now
not because I
want to shield you
but because it’s
the fastest way to
wrap my mind
around the fact
that you’re no good:
you hurt me,
and that bad,
because I let you.

I won’t, again.

.

This place is overrun
with mediocrity.
And maybe I am mediocre too.
But I have a burning desire
to rise above it,
an intense passion
to keep moving. There’s
a difference.

But in this place
I found you and
I wanted your beauty.
I wanted what
you could do
with your hands
to be
not mine,
but for me.
That’s what
that I love you
translates to.
And for the price of
a weak-kneed frolic
with what was never
worth it to
begin with,
I forgot my ambition.
I lost my bearings.
I got caught up in the
rebellious rumination that
I could stay in one
directionless place
and dance in circles
around you.
And when you
dispossessed me
I had no legs with
which to rise
and walk away from
the place where
I choked
on the normalcy
I thought I needed
so badly
and started believing
I could never be as good as you
I could never be as good as her
when we are all
small fish
in this small pond

but fate
picked me up
with her nimble fingers
and gave me back
to the somber heights
I was destined for

and I found it.
Self-denial is punishment.

I am going to
push myself harder.
And I will get better.
And better.
And even better.
Until finally,
I can leave you behind.

.

of your first push
that I thought
was mere carelessness,

your second push
that I thought
was a private code
asking me to lie low,
but stay,
anyway,

your third push
and I started wondering
if something was wrong,

your fourth push
and the full magnitude
of your cold, cold heart
took a fair swing
at my senses
and my brain
too long captive
of my capricious heart
finally understood
what you were saying

and I stopped pulling.
Recent memories

of holding myself
for warmth,
bracing myself
for stabs of pain
knife with a jagged edge
day after day
while you successfully
pulled
even farther
and farther away
the parts of you
your presence altogether
disappeared one by one
until I was numb
about everything
that has anything
to do with you.

I am nothing to you,
you’ve made that clear.
You are nothing to me,
now,
it wasn’t easy
but I got there,
all right?

Now it’s finally
caught up on you
and right on cue
you’re here again,
pulling
me back.
And it’s my turn
to push
and don’t you dare
pretend like
you don’t know why.

Can’t we find anything
better to do?

.

We didn’t need adjectives,
metaphors, or
highfalutin words.
We had that love.
A love that trumped
all eloquence.
We lived side by side
and didn’t have to
look for significance,
or be interpreted
by an audience
to be something.

I’d exchange
all the poems in the world
just for another day
with you.

.

I got life to do, baby.

From the depths
of my emotions
uncalculated when I
audaciously plummeted
I’ll keep pushing
up
until I break out
into the clarity
of real understanding
and revel in
uncompressed air
again.

This is my struggle,
and mine alone.
You can’t lend me a hand,
or stand in my way.
I occupy this place;
it’s up to me
to vacate it.

.

Get my face off your wall.
Delete my number from your phone.
Give me back my compass,
my Yamazaki chopsticks
and the freedom
of my dreams.
I refuse to be an accomplice
in your synthetic heroism.
I no longer have love for you.
I have nothing but contempt for you.

.

Take the time to look up,
when you walk
from the office
to the bus stop,
and find yourself.
Discover who you are
exactly where you are
because you may not
be able to afford
the fast and fancy cars
they drive in,
but they can’t afford
to slow down
and see
the scenery
you’re seeing.
And you have to be there
for that beauty.
Give it justice.

Look up.

.