.:THE STREET POET: MY LIFE IN RHYME:.

.:SICK DAY:.

2009-12-22T20:05:00.000-05:00

sorry for the lack of updates but i have been feeling under the weather. i am hoping to kick this cold, but it takes a little longer for me. as soon as i am up to it, i will once again share more stories, poems and experiences that is the universe of me. :-)

.:IN HER SHOES:.

2009-12-19T23:49:00.003-05:00

if you live on the east coast, then you much like me probably snowed in all day. if i had a healthy social life i would probably complain, but i am a homebody so i took plenty of naps and watched plenty of tabitha's salon takeover on bravo. if you have yet to catch this show, do yourself and favor and do so. miss tabitha let's girls have it!

tonight my son and i watched the wizard of oz tbs. is it me or is this movie on every other weekend? anywho, my son loves the whacky characters like dorothy and i love the subtle shady one liners like "you have no power here! now begone before someone drops a house on you" or "you go away before i - i'll bite you too!"those lines get me all the time! i also love how dorothy sees the house on a dead woman and the first thing she does is stop to admire the shoes! i have vivid memories of watching this movie with my mother a child and saying "why doesn't she just give the witch those shoes? they belong to her sister. a sister that white girl just killed." my mother would give me a look that screamed "bitch, if you don't shut the hell up and watch this damn movie." so i'd keep my comments to myself but as a kid, i rooted for the witch. it was probably because as child i wanted a legion of flying monkeys, a black dress and a matching cone hat. but i would have neither. what i did have was a hot pair of ruby heels. just kidding, but i would have loved a pair of those. :-)

so today was a wonderful day to keep warm and to watch a movie with lovable weirdos singing and dancing their way down a yellow brick road to meet a man who wants a broom. mind you, this movie was released in 1939 and it is freaky! maybe when my son is old enough we can discuss why the basis of this movie is about two women fussing over a pair of shows, why the lion acts like the bar tender at the local gay bar and why judy garland is legendary!

damn, i love the wizard of oz!

.:THE LAST TRAIN TO PARIS:.

2009-12-17T23:08:00.002-05:00

softly puerto rican, you ain't alone, muchos estan contigo, and you've got a home. - piri thomas

i still have work to do. while i am never oblivious to this fact, i sometimes require a reminder. that reminder came today. a reminder that sent me running for the train and away from a party. so what happened? to really answer that question, i would have to conjure up memories that could set this world on fire, so i will not do that. well, i will not conjure up all of them, maybe some.

today was our holiday staff party. a party that i look forward to every year, so naturally i was excited. open bar, free food and karaoke -- yes, mommy was excited. it is one of the few times a year that my department has to interact with other staff members. however, things would not play out the way i hoped. that damn "reminder" stepped in. the party started at 5.pm and i was there by 5.15pm. i didn't want to arrive too early, but i also didn't want to be tardy for the party. so after walking around the block for 15 minutes, i stepped into the party. my first thought was "damn, this place is small". my second thought was "wow, there is no room for me here."so by this time, i am feeling awkward, out of place and ready to leave when a staff member from another department welcomes me. they state "in a disastrous blunder, we only have half the seats as they are staff members." i smiled my best smile and replied "wow." i then look back into the party room and witness people eating, laughing and being comfortable. it is this scene that harkens me back to my childhood -- a childhood filled with many times and places where i had to stand and watch others eat and laugh. a childhood where i just watched because there was never enough room or enough food. it is in this moment that i begin to lose my breath. i looked around for a face, someone's eyes that i recognize hoping that connection will entice me to stay. but that connection was not made, so i left and ran for the train as if it were the last train to paris.

so yes, i still have work to do. while i have worked to heal myself from the many things that have facilitated the perception i sometimes have of myself and other people, i still have healing to do around food and belonging. witnessing other laugh and eat just triggered me so. and admittedly, i was caught off guard. i was not prepared to deal with the memories and feelings that came up. so i ran for the train. but i am a workaholic, and so the work begins again. the first step was sharing this part of my day, getting it out of my head. now i can move ahead.

.:A QUEEN'S REVOLUTION:.

2009-12-16T13:47:00.009-05:00

sometimes people make us feel strange. but those folks, they'll just have to catch up. - sylvester james

imagine a pied piper with a dazzling falsetto, wearing glittery sequins, and leading the people of the nation to a place called liberation, where nothing was straitlaced or old fashioned. and everyone was welcome finally- to come as themselves. this was not a fairytale. this was real and disco sensation sylvester, whose hits included you make me feel (mighty real)and do you wanna funk was that piper, and san francisco was the kingdom where he reigned supreme. (excerpt from the joshua gamson's amazing book the fabulous sylvester.)

in 1978 sylvester released his sophomore album steps II and set dance floors across america on fire with the now legendary tunes you make me feel (mighty real) and disco heat. produced by the god-father of hi-nrgmusic patrick cowley, these songs would both break the pop top 40 and reach the top of the dance charts. The album would win three billboard music awards and reach gold status making sylvester the first openly gay artists to reach this level of success. sylvester was also one of music's most electrifying performers whose live show included two tons of fun, a group that would later become the weather girls.

in 1986 sylvester signed to warner bros. records and released mutual attraction which featured the number 1 dance tune someone like you. the tune would also garner major radio airplay on both r&b and pop stations. unfortunately, sylvester became too ill to properly promote the album. after being diagnosed with HIV, sylvester became an avid spokes person and the first african american celebrities to acknowledge the impact of AIDS in the african american community.

on december 16, 1988, sylvester while lying bed, asked his mother to turn off his t.v. so that he can rest. sylvester closed his eyes and made his transition. sylvester was just 40 years old. he lives on in the house music we hear when we dance. he lives on in the progresswe have made in lgbtq communities. he lives on in the progress we have made in the fight of AIDS. he lives on because divas don't die, divas fly high above.

sylvester, today i celebrate your life and the courage you demonstrated as a person of color, a gay man and a person living with AIDS. you were more than disco, you were revolution singing. for you i have written this poem:

.:my body strong:.

i wish i was there with you

dancing until my eyes burned

making me see visions of a sexy jesus

i wish i was there witnessing gospel

watching you give service

as your followers, parishioners watched you in awe

trying to recognize that one thing in you

that made being a brown man in heels

so damn fuckin’ sexy and cool

especially in an 8 inch rhinestone shoe.

i wish i was there with you

there by your side

ready to testify that feelin’ might real

is revolutionary in stiletto heels.

i wish i was there

walking outside the line

at a time when insanity was contagious

when speaking the queen’s english

meant you were listening to a great speaker

a prophet.

i hear you say to me

you are star, everybody is one

no one like you now

and there will be no one after

you gotz to be alien

out of this damn world

such an “X” factor

accented with the perfect touch

of max factor

you light me

and shine me

with your sequence

your shimmy

i become intense with hunger

and unapologetic selfishness

screaming “give me more!”

i wish you were here

to see us bare witness

to all these bits and pieces that survive in us

because of you

living proof

trust is joy

and joy is truth

and only someone like you

could have bound our harsh realities

into glorious tunes

that send us running to the center of floor

kicking our legs up high

wailing our voices until strained

dancing soaked, sweat

wet from liberation.

my eyes full of bass

my body strong with rhythm

my hands full with my face

and my legs full with your spirit

my spirit full of affirmation

that is when i know you are here

keepin’ it mighty real.

.:PUZZLES:.

2009-12-15T23:38:00.001-05:00

today, after work i went to pick up my son from his after-school program. a program that takes place in a church. while i am a spiritual person, i am not a religious person but the program is affordable and close to home. back to the story, i walk into the church and ask for my son. this is where things gets awkward. my partner, my son's other father usually picks him up, so the church ladies (that is what they call themselves. scary, huh?) are more familiar with him. so after asking for my son, they give me a puzzled look. the same puzzles look i get when i mention to strangers and old friends that i have a son. the look that reads "let me get this "straight", you are a gay and you have a son?" the look that even now, seven years after my son's birth, still puzzles me. so back to the church lady -- did i mention that she is white. so yeah, i am asking a white woman for my son and she is trying to figure out in her head why the boy i am asking for in a church has two dads. she then looks outside and sees my partner in our car. she waves and smiles to him. i take it that was her of making sure that i was a "safe" person to pick up my son. i am and they should know, i am listed as one of two people who are the "safe" adults. but i am assuming that they do not check their files. i can dig it. checking files suck. anywho, she greets my partner and has yet to acknowledge me. by this time, i am ready to turn this church out but because i was raised to fear any room with hanging cross, i keep my calm. she then asks me "are you the father's friend?" admittedly, i was caught off guard by the question. but the universe has a way of providing answers, even to white church ladies. right as i was about to answer her "question," my son appears and says "that's my dad. he is my dad too, i have two dads." she looks puzzled. i smile. she smiles. and we both feel less awkward. so today i was reminded of two great things. the first, continue to patient with people. the second and most important -- children, much like the universe, will always provide an answer.

.:DIZZINESS:.

2009-12-14T21:05:00.008-05:00

i still miss him so.

.:dizziness (a poem for a former friend):.

we danced

when the synths, rhythms and beats

pounded against the wall until

i was sure my beating heart

would fall at my feet.

and we danced in the middle of the room

at the center of the floor

spinning around until i was dizzy

too dizzy to run from myself anymore.

my mother called me strange

and i said “that’s okay,

i like spinning around

until i am dizzy.”

you took hold of hand

our fingers intertwined

like veins running through our linage

you whispered to me

as they screamed obscenities

you spun me around

until i got dizzy.

when faggot and sissy

clouded the air until i couldn’t breathe

i pulled you in closer to me

and we danced.

when they threw sticks and stones

to shatter our bones

we snapped our fingers in "z" formations

i will read you, write you,

erase you and retrace you!

when their words would flow

like floods, fire and judgment

i’d hold you closer and two-step

take two breaths

to catch the base line

never having much room to waste time

this song can be fleeting

so we dance to the tick

to the beating of our hearts.

it takes heart to beat

or to attempt to beat

what we were up against

it made us both so dizzy

spinning around

until all we found

was that you and i were just strangers

sharing a dance.

from the forthcoming poetry collection my bones glow in the dark.

.:HEAVEN IS SOMEWHERE:.

2009-12-13T19:52:00.003-05:00

death is nothing at all. i have only slipped away into the next room - henry scott holland

five years ago, i watched a friend of mine pray. his mother was losing her battle against a chronic illness that very few people spoke about. even now people speak about it in whispers. i watched him hope. hope that something, from somewhere will fall out of the sky and give him more time to make was wrong between them right. i watched him dance, laugh and cut-up because that was one way of not breaking. i watched him cry and because since the death of my brother, i was paralyzed and could not, did not know what to do or what to say. so i just watched him. i watched him because i was learning. like him, i too had a mother who struggled to overcome an addiction to crack. i knew the burn of the shame a child carried when everyone on the block knew your mom was "crack-head." he and i never discussed the matter again. i suppose losing his mother again, first to addiction then to death, was to heavy and profound for words, speech and sound. so i did what i only know how to do, i wrote a poem. the poem is from the perspective of his mother.

.:heaven is somewhere:.

heaven is somewhere

right here if you hold clear

and still like the moon

you feel my breath, me talking

my life made you hard

and my death left you softened

but i come to you at night quite often

hoping that the light

that i now own

will wrap you

as i try to trap you in a space

where water will never fall

down your face again.

if you sit still

and watch god from a place

i used to fight to live and breathe

you will find that you can rest

because my last breath

gave me relief.

i tried so hard to do right, i swear

i know that i had you

believe for years

that i never cared,

but i did.

if you hold still like the moon

you will find that heaven is somewhere

right there

where you hold

everything you wanted to say to me

i ask you now to talk to me

to pray to me

because i do have many things

i want you to know.

i died in that surrender

in that splendor of knowing

that this sleep will last

and never again will i relapse

and let you down.

danny, i'm okay.

love me, like me and own me

like things that come from your mind

heaven is somewhere

right here, if you hold clear

that memory of you and i

on nights when the lights were out

and we still had a strike of hope

in finding new that that would make us cope

with whatever was or will be taken away.

danny, this is that day. right here.

heaven has come to make this clear

that you, my baby, will be okay.

from the collection the trouble with being myself. 2005

photo by aparatka

.:A DIFFERENT KIND OF DREAM:.

2009-12-12T21:14:00.003-05:00

while i can not remember the first time i was called faggot, i can remember the last time i was called faggot. it was a couple of years ago and i was working at a local high school, a public high school. and yes, it was one of those "oh lord, call the police" type of high school. a high school with metal detectors that were more sophisticated than those at U.S. airports, but a school with four IBM computers; two of them rendered out-of-order. the school was in the heart of the hardest and most neglected parts of philadelphia. it was a school full of students creating miracles on the daily, simply by surviving.

i was working with students as a mentor of an HIV/AIDS service learning project. it was the day that they were to present their individual projects by conducting teach-backs to their peers. during one of the presentations, a young girl in the group stated that "although, only faggots get AIDS, you can get it too." i immediately interjected, "hey, remember we talked about not being judgmental?" well miss thang began to scream "why are you so mad? are you a faggot!?" although i was burning, hurting, reeling and feeling a lot inside, i replied, "i am going to have to ask you to leave my class room." she continued to yell "faggot", except the next four times she screamed it directly into my face. i remained silent just looking and staring at her angrily. it was clear that she was yelling at every person who has ever made her feel ugly, dumb, useless and unworthy. she continued to yell "faggot" until security arrived telling her that she needed to her "dumb" ass up. she was forcefully removed, still yelling "faggot". i, along with the other students were silent. i suppose we were all shocked, scared and puzzled by her sudden and violent outburst.

later that night while in the shower i cried. i cried for the little boy in me that wanted to disappear in the class room, but had to stay because there was work to be done. i cried because i felt powerless, embarrassed, ugly, dumb and ashamed. i cried because in this society, to some, i will be nothing but a "faggot". i cried because i bore witness to a child who was screaming to be heard, screaming to break-through to something or someone, screaming until she could breakdown walls or just breakdown. and i could do nothing but stand by and watch. i cried because i knew that would not be the last time i heard the word "faggot" but i also because i knew that child would also continue to be called "dumb." craig c. harris wrote that the cost of oppression is the loss of humanity. so to quell my pain, i wrote this poem:

.:a different kind of dream:.

my dream,

i can dream a bigger dream

than you can dream,

this is why

i am here apoligize

for breaking and losing myself

when you looked me in the eyes

and called me faggot.

i should have let you have that moment,

your time in the light

to speak your mind

for whatever reason you had

to deliberately make me feel bad.

the dam in your mouth broke

and the water was rushed and hushed

by the waves of words you spoke. .

i should have found a way

to shoulder your pain

felt the brunt of everything

that comes long with your name

because i know it can't be easy.

fire never puts out fire

but makes the glory of it rage

and i shared my flames

only to watch our village burn.

i want a chance to apply

all that i have learned

about comforting pain

about not using shame

to create more of the same.

so with this, my dream

i offer my apologies

for reacting and not listening

not honoring your anger

when you were whispering

love me even when i hate the me i see in you.

so my dream,

know that you can dream a bigger dream

than i can dream for you.

poem from the collection the trouble with being myself. 2005

.:CONCRETE FAGGOT:.

2009-12-11T21:01:00.001-05:00

maya angelou once stated that "we must have the courage to re-create ourselves daily." it is a mantra i often whisper to myself. as a gay puerto rican male, i am often berated with words and looks, that on an off day, chip away at the person i attempt to be.

i can not remember the first time i was called "faggot." it seems as though that word had been born attached me, like an appendix. as a child, i never cried when that word was uttered. mainly out of fear that it would re-inforce to people that i was indeed a "faggot."although i did not understand the word completely, i understood it's purpose; to shred my mere existence into confetti. and somedays it did. those were days i'd just disappear into myself.

i have never told my mother that her son heard "faggot" more times than he heard "i love you". i am not sure if she would have even known what to do. she was a woman who heard "crack-head" more times than she heard "woman." i suspect she knew but didn't know what to do. so i suppose that is probably why she never asked about my school days. or why other boys treated me like a leoper. what could she possibly do? it was the 80's and early 90's, the height of the AIDS epidemic and gay men, even little gay boys or perceived gay boys were open season. I knew this, even as a man-child. so for most of those years, instead of turning into concrete, i'd disappear into myself.

"we must have the courage to re-create ourselves daily."so i am continuing to do this. today, i am creating a man who is no longer afraid of speaking this word aloud. facing this ugly and inhumane word and demanding that it give me back the little gay boy still hiding in me. facing this word to re-claim my power, the power i often allowed to be stolen from me. facing the word to forgive it. for the word alone is just simply a word, it is the "power" the spoken sound breathes into it. so today, this is what i have created and re-created. myself.

welcome to my new and first introspective blog. a blog that i hope will provide me with the opportunity to share my stories, my experiences, thoughts and poetry. because a wise woman once said "tell your story, because it will heal yourself and others."

photo entitled "pigeon boy" by maria little