writing for the purpose of emitting emotions

WHICH YOU  can or cannot EAT FOR BREAKFAST

dancing for breakfast
break dancing fast
break for the fast
dance for the fast
fast the break down






Hope makes me feel liberated and like I can fly.


Sometimes I want to love every body and cover my flesh in their flesh and return to a time when we were all strings and threads woven into the same fabric, and we are. We are then, now.
But I can't reconcile some of my past actions. I can't reconcile the things I could never reconcile that flowed and multiplied into other things. I can't reconcile the people I've touched and hurt with my hands, emotionally and for breakfast. I can't forgive myself for hitting someone. For touching or throwing some collar up against a wall. For yelling AT a person while they cowered beyond a wall that they could not cower through, but sat on the asphalt while I grew in inches above their head and became what I've always been:

MONSTRO HAILSTORM
GRANIZADA MONSTER


I feel a deep ache in my heart for people who are afraid of me. Why I can relate to my mother, people are so afraid of us. Why are we so loud and coarse? And is it a choice? Is it a choice to be ourselves? When we know a 'self' is a thing you create... Then why these tears hands down on my cheeks.




A beard. A bead a drop from the ocean past, a bare whistle. A slide handed down, inside chords drawn up, like curtains. Am I believing this? When no one hand understands, but mother lies down tired. Our legs hurt with the strain of carrying the weighted-ness of being alive for many years. I sigh and cover my mouth the way a mother cradles here child.




I need to study the Mayan People. They are my people.


The Palestinians and the Mayans. They are my people.


People.                                                They are my people.