Golden Hour.


Brand new.





If I loved you last, I would love you best.
The sun sets and the darkness overcomes us.

“Quédense, unos minutos con nosotros…”

“4 and 3 and 2 and 1”..

We are loud in the quietest of places.
We are overly expressive in the sounds of the oppression.


It’s Domingos in the church in our Sunday best.
Clutching our Jesus pieces and praying tomorrow would be better day.
Paciencia y fe, as we look to the cruz.
Paciencia y fe, because we have nothing to lose.

We are bright colors on your plain unmarked white walls.
We are Graffiti on your pristine street signs.

We are big hoops and bright red lips.
Always places to go. Always places to be seen.
Walking out the streets like this week’s Vanidades cover.
Mucho mas y todo eso.

We become your aesthetic.
We become your mood board.


You ask me where I am from.
You ask me where I am going.
We all beg to leave but afraid we stay.
We can’t be proud.
We can’t be who we are.


You want to be like us.
You want to act like us.
You want to take everything from us.
But don’t let us be proud of who we are.
Until the next season fad shows up.
Another culture to add to your bookcase.

When the chorus comes in, don’t forget where you’re from.
Latino and Proud, then on to the next song.

Self portrait with Chopped hair.



If you cut your hair, I will leave you.



Frida Kahlo - Self Portrait with Cropped Hair - 1943






Forget you.

The minutes turn to hours. These months are moving faster then days in the year. When did that happen? When did months fly by faster then the actual days. Something is missing. Something is losing it’s place with me. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s slowly further from my reach, way beyond my grasp. If I reach for it, it’s no longer there. Disappeared into the months that move faster than the days.

Its was either you or me. You with your sad, melancholy feelings. You with your never ending excuses, line after line of lies that you word so eloquently. You against the world, or something like that. Anchors holding you down, to help you from steering off course. We were all pawns in your game of life. Another person you lined up, to shoot back down again. YOU are what matters. YOU are what holds all this clout.

You, you, and only YOU.

Selfish is, as selfish does. Cherry pick only the things that matter and that fit our needs. Everyone against you. Everyone having what you wanted. Everyone having what you needed. These countless stories of being the warrior in battle, going off to war. As always, only you.


How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so blind? How could I have believed these stories that were mere myths to an average person. That was you. All you, right?


When I no longer have to pick up the pieces of you, its becoming easier to forget you. When your ghost stops haunting my sleep, it’s easier to forget you. To leave these memories and misplace these feelings of what never was. I could never be that selfish. I could never be that petty. Maybe I was a fool in believing, a fool in deceiving all these lies. You were the master conductor of this orchestrated drama. How delicately you picked at your strings and watched people come back to you. How violently you cut those same strings when they didn’t seem to fit in your world. I could forgive you. Forgive every single perfectly worded explanation. How can I forgive a person, I am already forgetting?

If only you knew how easily people can misplace you. How easily they can forget everything. All I want is to forget everything about you. Its easy to make up mythical stories of battles and wars. Stories about the world being so tragically against you. The minutes turn to hours, the days become months, and like a well dressed villain your name seems to escape me. You are easily forgotten, and forgetting you is easily done.



Goodnight, Bad Morning.

Goodnight, another bad morning. 




What a beautiful state we’re in. 



Everything is vanishing faster than it appears.  Sand through the hourglass. I am chasing through the words finding myself falling to catch them. If only this were easy, if only this wasn’t so hard. It’s all just a game that my mind can’t quit playing. Searching through every never ending crevice and coming up empty handed. Finding the words to supplement everything you want to say and coming up blank.


Racking my brain waiting for a sign. Looking to the clouded skies to find some piece of mind. Coming up empty as the fog clears through the sky. My mind goes a mile a minute but I can’t slow it down to grab the words to say what I need to say. I can’t formulate the magic to bring everything to the light. I come up empty. How long will this last, I’ll never know. A day, a week, a month of this empty space running through my brain. I’ve got nothing. Its the vacant silence that scares me the most. The moment the night hits my eyes and the whole world disappears. Words have a way of haunting you but they have a funny way of disappearing when you need them the most. You never know how much you need something until it’s gone. You never know how much words can mean to you, until you can’t reach them. Thats all you do, reach for something and obtain nothing.

I can’t stop it. I can’t keep fueling the fire. I given in to the notion that the words will find me when I stop looking for them. They’ll appear once I stop forcing them. Masterpieces aren’t built on illusions, but the will and the need to show to the world what we need to say. I just wish I could put together everything I need to say. Show to the world every single emotion I want to say out loud. But I can’t, all I do is come out empty.