Attn: Voices Needed

Voices Needed
Because that one time at the bar you felt it was okay to go up my skirt with your hand
Because my drink made me sloppy drunk with a few sips
AND you took advantage
Voices Needed
Because community peeps for ‘social justice’ feel that it’s okay to support a rapist instead of their semillas
Because that movie tells ‘our’ story ‘so beautifully’
AND semillas need sunlight to grow… NOT… shade…
Voices Needed
Because young girls can get raped because they ‘drank too much’, ‘wore that dress’ and ‘were looking for action’
Because those beautiful wombyn find ways to stop their breath
AND they need to keep on…going….
Voices Needed
Because sexism, misogyny, and patriarchy are ‘not a big deal’ and make us ‘lose focus’
Because movements need to keep moving and ‘your shit is a roadblock’;  ‘you’re a manhater’
AND we raise and love men
Voices Needed
Because our stories continue to be questioned
Because we are told, ‘Police report please’ and ‘be consistent with your story’
AND our traumas, our fears are carried so deep inside us nothing… comes… out
Voices Needed
Because I can go on and on with these stories
Because you think you know who wrote this yet it is not who you think because these stories. feelings. are common…
AND they need to be STOPPED. SUPPORTED.
KEEP USING YOUR VOICES.
WE HEAR YOU!

Rest In Peace

Rest in peace.

Past midnight when the sun is no where in sight
There lies the struggle to maintain the fight
Don’t give in don’t stop the try
Tears turn dry I can’t cry I won’t cry
Trying constantly to paint rainbows in the sky
Ghetto streets turn dry as blood spills in endless crime
I can try to paint the rainbows but the ghetto vibes will turn it dry & they will just cry

A Message to All History Robbers in My Life

I will battle anyone who tries to
take away my history;
those wanting to evaporate my stories into thin air
All because in truth’s narrative they are the oppressors
Oh, diplomatic
history taker of mine.
History robber.
And your grave digging tools are a silence so thick
the darkness builds a second home around your
vision
and the very sound of spoken words make you shake
with unease.
Yes, I am speaking to you, Oh America, the beautiful-
stealer of my land and mother tongue-
calling it “Progress.”
Leaving memory of whips and chains, a ghost on my body
passed to me through generations-
and you calling it “Democracy.”
And I am speaking to you too,
dear teachers of mine fighting for cultural education-
raised high above all the rest of us
on isolating pillars
scrapping the sky.
Using your morals and values as stepping stones you
walked all over on your ascent up.
A magnificent death of Panche Be. A buscar la raiz de la verdad
To seek the root of the truth.
No more, no more.
For truth to you falls on deaf ears;
Evaporates into thin air.

Dress

She used to wear a dress
                And her dolls watched as she danced
                                And the sun smiled upon her, and her light was bright
People would come and go
                And tell her she was pretty
But HE stayed
                Told her she was pretty too
                                Wanted to show her just how much
HE liked the way her dress was easy
                HE could go in and out
                                Unseen
                                                Not even her dolls watched
But she could feel it ALL
                She could feel her light go out
                                Every time she wore a dress
 
Then HE turned into SHE
 
SHE saw her
                Small and scared
                                And told her she could help
SHE held her in the dark
                Told her not to tell
But she could still feel it ALL
                She lost her light there in the dark
                                And began to disappear
Then days turned into months, and months turned into years
 
She didn’t own a dress
                And never slept in the dark
She learned to live without having to feel anything
                Until
She met the one who turned her light back on
                The one who told her it was ok to be pretty
                                The one who held her hand when things turned black
And with this love, her light began to shine again
                But
She was still afraid of the dark and never wore a dress
             But
She was still afraid of the dark and never wore a dress

I Can See Your Shattered Ego

Those with the smallest minds have the biggest mouths.

I can see your shattered ego all the way in Colorado.

You can be as angry as you please over a depiction of you that occurred at Malintzine’s event a few months ago. You can call it man-hating. You can call it sexism. You can call it gender violence. You can criticize the Tucson Weekly for being racist, but the embarrassment you feel over people applauding everyone’s favorite Xingona mama kicking your ass is nothing compared to the embarrassment we feel every time you write a new article.

The annoyance you feel every time someone calls you out on Facebook for your discrepancies, your lack of ethics, and most importantly, your protection of a known woman-beater is nothing compared to the irritation that rushes through our veins when you try to proclaim yourself as a progressive. You continue to cry wolf, and play victim. You spotlight articles that are targeted at you, or men you follow like a lost puppy, and use that as evidence of hate. You target articles that promote Malintzine and proceed to give your two cents about why it is sloppy journalism. For someone without a degree in communications, you sure seem to think you know a lot about what makes a good reporter.

The ecstatic happiness you get from comparing Malintzine and their supporters to Jan Brewer, Joe Arpaio, and John Pedicone is nothing compared to the joy we feel when we see your fan base shrinking as we provide the stories you have refused to tell. You know nothing of the bliss when we see the emails pouring into Malintzine talking about men exactly like you and the abuse they suffered at those assholes’ hands.  You are unaware of what its like to know you’ve given people a voice, because you continue to perpetrate one agenda.

It’s takes a long time for a woman to realize it’s okay to be a Chingona, but now that I have, I won’t be going anywhere. I like the sight of a man pissing himself because of the power I now possess. It doesn’t matter that you don’t agree. Your thoughts are trivial when there are so many more people calling for Malintzine than there are calling for you.

Love Letter

I’m mostly mad at love right now cause it hurt my friend. Love made my friend hurt my friend.

And it hurt me too, but that was a different story. Love hurt me for the best. Love made me choose. It made me choose between loving someone else and loving myself. I chose myself. I made the right choice. Thanks love.

So I guess love saved me. I guess I shouldn’t be so mad at love. I guess I should be thankful. I am grateful love, but I am not indebted to you. I don’t owe you. I don’t owe anyone for being nice or tender or loving toward me. I deserve it too. I deserve love.

We talk an awful lot about you love.  You’re selfish. You’re a ham. Love, why don’t you step the fuck down for a moment.  Back the fuck up!

I need a breather, I need a break. From you, for me.

You hurt my friend. I didn’t forget. That’s not okay. Love, you need to get your shit together. You can’t keep hurting me or the people I love.

Love, your reputation precedes you. You really aren’t as great as people say you are. Okay, you are great, but you’re really harsh and hurtful too. And you’re mean to nice people. You hurt people who don’t deserve it.

Love, I’m checking you. I will no longer stand by and witness you hurt me and the people I love.  You need to shape up or ship out. There’s no more room here for your bullshit.

So start taking notes. I will be your example of how to treat me and the people I love. And if you can’t live up to these standards, you can get your things and leave. If you can’t live up to what love should look like, then love don’t live here anymore.

Pleasure Is Measured In Presence

The bed and it’s room
is no place for the computer to cast it’s shadow over your eyes
My thighs and universe in between
no place for carelessness, half truth, and lies
Pleasure is measured in presence
A place of vulnerable posture held by caress
moved further to openness
I let you in deeper
through fear
The stars of my inner night guide you
The story of these constellations
Passing expressions
remain in memory long after the taste of your sweat has left my lips
Alone now
No light in the bed or it’s room
Inside myself
Closed eyes
Thighs wide
Tongue traces the lips it protrudes from
The taste of my sweat
Pleasure is measured in presence
Oneness the O in Ohhmm
The mmm in orgasm
I leave myself breathless
And rest in peace

Borders borders

When I went through the border I heard a man
speak his name, speak for his freedom and the freedom of those around him
and I saw a soldier standing behind him
who was there to kill, disappeared, repress, impoverish, murder, steal, lie, thieve, die
sometimes too, everyday inside he died, that soldier, I saw it in his eyes
soldier funded to stand there, given money, by a government that I “have” somehow to call “my own”. 
… I Pledge Allegiance…
But I can’t I can’t I cant I cant I cant I cant I cant I cant
 
When I saw that man and heard his sweet voice and saw the look of recognition between the people, their hearts and their lives,
then I felt my spirit renew, I felt my heart come alive,
I felt the pains of the people, I saw the pains of the ages, and I saw all of Life speak together
and their song was beautiful,
and the deeper it went their lives intertwined with that of the suns’ life, the plants, the bats, jaguars, agua y oro tambien
 
…..
Borders borders
 
When I came through the border aiport security of the land called “US”, I felt screaming silently and erased
though not erased
 
That
I am not the murderer. 
Not the one who goes to other countries with paid boots and guns to [insert propaganda]
No not me
And I am not the one who thieves, who goes and pays for bullets to go into the bodies of children in lands maybe I’ve never seen.
Not me.  No not me.
I’ve seen the bodies of children afraid of bullets marked USA-made
I’ve seen those kids and I loved them, I laughed with them, I told them all I could,
I don’t believe they should be murdered, I don’t believe in the destruction of their bodies or Hearts or Minds
I believe they should live the depths of their lives, I believe they should live the magic of their childhood, and the magic potential of their lives.
 
And I am not the one thinking that raping lands and lives for money is worth the profit$, and fuck the deaths and fuck the depths of the losses.
Not me. Not me.  I feel that loss, I see it, I watch it as the earth has started to bleed onto our feet
While the rich line their pockets with forgotten denials that
they don’t have the right to thieve/profit of/f our communities, to thieve/invest themselves in the stealing of our lives, our dreams, our visions sometimes even too.  They don’t have the right to thieve/profit of/f the loss of another, off water, off the earth…
 
And I want to scream into the well that I see you liars
you thieves
you stupid capitalist imperialist bastards who forgot where home is
you jerks who took my water bottles and threw it in the trash, who made me take off my shoes, put my shit on a belt, open my bags for you, put my hands up inside a machine,  made me watch every foreigner get doubled fingerprinted and photographed, and told me You were “keeping the skies safe,”
I want to say to you that the border has long been reached. 
The Emperor with
No Clothes
has been spotted,
has been spotted,
spotted,
spotted,
and I’m screaming that I see you, and I don’t Pledge Allegiance
 
I don’t lie for you, my “US” government, I don’t excuse your behavior, I don’t cover for your forced and constant “mistakes,”
I won’t put my hand over my heart for the rulers/thieves/liars/murderers/sick capitalist imperialist bastards
I would rather give my allegiance to those of this life who are striving for Life
Because my heart still feels So Much Love
And Because I still do believe in the visions
 
I am not the one who behaves like my Rights obligates me above all others,
and my Right to profit, and my Right to lie in your face and make you behave like you’re the criminal.
That’s not me.  That’s not that man I saw standing in front of a soldier calling for the right of the people to live in peace.  That’s not her I saw striving with eyes so wide open, with heart open striving bent on the strength of her vision.
I don’t Pledge Allegiance.
I want Liberation.
I want Liberation.
 
The other week in Tucson I gave $5 to a man who looked like he could use it,
and he cried and hugged me and spoke of Robin Hood,
and we spoke about the idea of Robin Hood, (hey we need more Robin Hoods)
and when I told him I wished him the best
He gave me a depth of a look
and he told me, “Everyone says that to me.  I’ve just stopped listening.”
And my heart felt a fracture, felt to be precariously shackled to a depth opening beneath my feet.
And I felt like something slipped between us two and said “That’s just the way it is.  Somethings can never change.  That’s just the way it is.”  Came to haunt us two, and beg for our votes, and told us not to trust each other, and told us we could never be free of this Hell called U.S.
instead
instead of us two, three, all of us, us us us, we one.
 
I want this stupid Fucking “US” government to stop thinking it has the right to make the most money
Because I hate the costs of the deaths
And Because I love the
Depth of the Lives

Hace mucho tiempo te quise

Hace mucho tiempo te quise.
Fuiste la mujer de mi vida.
El amor más grande de todos mis pinches 27 años.
Tú me decías que era muy joven
Y yo quería crecer y ser la mujer perfecta para ti.
Quería que me gustaran las cosas que te gustaban.
Quería alcanzarte y gustarte.
Yo sé que te gustaba.
Me decías que me querías.
Sé que lo sentías…
Que lo vivías.
Te gustaba besarme.
Me gustaba mirarte.
A veces nos gustaban las mismas cosas.
Pero nunca fue suficiente.
Tú querías otra cosa.
Otra vida.
Tal vez otro cuerpo y no el mío.
Otro amor.
Una vida normal
Sin mi y sin dolor.