poetry night

i am a poet. just a poet. i like to write and then i like to read it aloud. i never thought much about it.
so i think its funny when i scan my facebook and pick out all the poets with their crispy new headshots pasted to their profile. are you an actor? are you a rockstar? or are you just so beautiful that it had to be shared?…
is it an art i practice or just rehearsal time? am i writing or writing to perform?
the man at the bar says, i got to hustle. got to hustle to make that artist money. i tell him i am not interested in making money off my art. he says its a shame. eh. i would like to think that if i ever meant to make money off writing my degree would be in publishing. i dont have a printer. never bound a book. never charged someone to watch me read aloud. but now i gotta hustle.
hustle hustle.
take that headshot. put on a show. perform. rehearse. perform.
and the poetry is the job. and the bueracracy that comes with it.
and i get tired.
and on tuesdays, sometimes, and i dont want to go. and if i do i just want to crunch numbers. chit chat. and drink a few beers.
then he tells me, i get one night off every 2 weeks. thats poetry night. it might be a job. but its all i get. so stop bitching.

free free palestine.

maybe its cuz i spent the beginning of my poetry career writing angry shit fantasizing about strapping bombs to my chest and walking onto a bus. maybe its cuz i have been to one too many seminars on palestine. maybe its the marches. maybe its holding my hand up for hours screaming, chanting…”no blood for oil!, bp, mobile, exxon, shell, take your gas and go to hell, free free palestine!”

free free palestine!

free free palestine…

and all at once through a friendly football game, a meet up at the bar…my screaming, my chanting, my fist through the air…it all disappeared. it all went to shit. it didnt make a difference.

because we are all sitting around the computer watching youtube videos staring at some southern man with his hand up the ass of a dead terrorist.

i used to march in parades
i used to hold my fist to the sky
free free palestine!
free free palestine…
now i am alone.
now i am alone.

and i remembered the time we met you up at the bar and you dared all the girls at the table to go hit on what you affectionately referred to as “the muslim across the way”. and i did what my father taught me to do with people like you…smile, and talk slow. i said, “you know, he isnt a muslim”. you said you didnt care what he was but he shouldnt come into bars looking all weird with his turban and beard. i smiled bigger and talked slower. i said, “muslims dont wear turbans, shikhs do. the length of his beard and the hidden hair behind white bandages suggest he is a shikh. not a muslim”. and you ever so charmingly chimed in that perhaps i should be the one to talk to him cuz you didnt care what religion he was, only that he was the weirdo at the bar. as you stared…as you stared. i thought of comparing your burnt skin color to his. i thought of rubbing my now silent boyfriends beard and distinguishing the little length between them. instead i did as my mother taught me. i smiled and shut my mouth. not interested in wasting words.

i used to march in parades
i used to hold my fist to the sky
free free palestine!
free free palestine…
now i am silent.
now i have a boyfriend and a beer.

now i watch youtube videos of comedians with their turbaned puppets. i wonder how funny it would be if his hand was up that of speedy gonzalez, george lopez, that WB frog or buckwheat. would we be laughing. would we be watching. my agitation has forced me to leave the room. and the ever silent boyfriend is starting to get mad that i never have a good time out with them. but all i can think about is my precious 1/16th of an acre with 3 bedrooms. all the food i could eat. my college degree on the wall. 3 TV’s. and a healthy son with more toys than he ever has hope of counting. and the security of knowing that today there are no mortar shells. no bombs from the sky. no kidnappings. no rape. no executions. no mass displacement.

i used to march
i used to hold my fist to the sky
free free palestine!
free free palestine…
now i have 1/16th of an acre and people i dont want to upset.

in this fantasy….a love poem.

when i am driving i listen to the radio and i have fantasies of singing these songs on american idol. so i get excited when outkast or stevie wonder and especially death cab come on. i am in a green dress. i am playing the piano. and in the finale i have a million gay men march onto the stage as i belt out “the origin of love” from the hedwig soundtrack.

i have fantasies of winning an oscar and telling my 9th grade algebra teacher that he in no way helped with this. and telling my parents they had everything to do with it.

i like to think about being brangelina.

i like to think about him.

i think about marrying him on the roof of the plaza and i am wearing the same dress princess leia wore at the end of Star Wars: A New Hope.

i fantasize about telling off that puerto rican bastard he knows at a crowded christmas party. and everyone turns around when i ask him exactly what makes him so intimidated by girls…or is it just white girls…or just the girls stooping his best friend.

but i dont day dream about falling in love anymore. havent done that sine i was 16. just sex. used to think about it with the hot drug dealer from the movie “Go” or the guy who plays lex luther on “smallville”. now i mostly think of it with him. being a stripper and doing it with him. being a librarian and doing it with him. being his student and doing it with him.

i have a fantasy that we die at the same moment. that heaven does not exist. and rather than living among the clouds or timeless energy we get to do this all over again. but the next time we meet when we are 4 as i move in next door to him. and our lives are spent making treehouses in the carolina forests. after that we meet as teenagers of different indian castes. the next we go into politics. the next we are japanese. and we do this again and again and again.

but you know what my favorite fantasy is?

it the one where i invent a time machine and i go back 11 years to my old high school and find myself zoning out in ms. towers’ english class. i want to sit down next to myself and say “hey its me..i mean, you”
and she’ll be like, “yeah, i know…i was waiting for you”

and i want to look dead in her eyes as i try to spout out only the important stuff in the few minutes i have with her.

like that the next 11 years is going to be the most amazing and testing time i can convey. that she doesnt even know how to cry yet. and she doesnt know how to truly love. but that can wait til later. cuz right now she has to get all that drugs, partying, lying, running away and fucking out of her system…so just go with it. because love comes in time. love does not find you. you find it. and the person she thinks is the one…is so not the one its not even funny.

and the person who could possibly be the one is quite probably sitting in the next room and like almost everyone in the room knows him. but he has this stripper, drug, juarez, fucking thing to get out of his system. so, he should see to that.

and you will find him when you are ready. because love is a waiting game. a game of chance. a game of timing. so sit tight. get in your car and drive. and dont come back.

and when the sadness consumes you and you cant imagine tomorrow getting any better remember that you dont deserve a person who would sit and watch you cry. or a person who would leave you at the club. a person who is late. and if it feels shady…it is shady.

patience and you will find him. and when you do…you wont even know it. cuz had it not been for the shots, you prolly would never have given him the time of day.

life has a way of kicking you in the ass….learn to enjoy it.

and i run out of the room as the clock ticks on my allotted time with her. she jumps onto her desk and screams at the class, “who is he?!” and just like it was before…it remains silent. perhaps the smart boys in the corner will have the last laugh.

she will prolly slouch into her seat as she begins to understand that she has no idea what i was talking about.

i will arrive home and realize nothing changed or maybe everything changed. i graduated from Ole Miss. I am on my second stint with the peace corps and exchanging letters with my uptight Oxford boyfriend whose snogging the nanny.

but still…i will find him.

for leon aka “i am a real big fan of your boyfriend’s work”.

Preface
in 5 months i have received oral sex 4 times. twice he was drunk. as a protest i decided to stop delivering the goods myself…my mistake…i did not tell him.

Chapter 1
We lay in bed on a saturday night. It is time for round 2. we kiss and stimulate each other manually. he rolls over onto his back, looks into my eyes and says, “hey, are you just going to use your hand?”

Afterword:
this blog is true and has been approved by the bf.

love, friends and blogging.

do you believe in redemption?

do you believe that you can run into the wall a million times then one day stand back and say “oh”? wait…maybe that isnt the right metaphor. here, let me be a bit more straight forward. do you think you can have a million bad relationships and finally find the right one? does the universe really come together one day to provide a right time, right place and the right person? i have begun to wonder… and let me tell you why.

i have dated all of them. every type of man you can imagine (well, except asians) from all over the planet. i have dated communists, punk rockers, GI’s and everything in between. but the past 4 years have been such a cycle of downward relationships i thought i would never recover. first i dated lil mike. someone who was an alcoholic, who lied and who cheated. i thought he was my best friend. then i dated bald mike. all i want to say is that he provided every form of abuse under the sun and then i had his baby. i didnt think i could find anything better. then came christian. and i thought he was the one. he was the one i had been waiting for this entire time. i took my friends aside and said, “i am done. this is the one.” but he would yell at the drop of a hat. then he told me he didnt like my kid. then he told me he was supposed to be on medication. my downward cycle of relationships had left me so bruised i wound up fired and in group therapy…hoping for the day i didnt think about suicide. it was obvious i was a mess. i needed to fix it. i worked out. i volunteered. i ate like a vegan. and the day came when i didnt think about suicide…only picking up my kid from school. of course i still had traces…of crazy. i obsessed over crushes on guys. i tried to have a one night stand or 2. i just felt gross. i realized i was different. these miserable dating experiences had changed me…along with a lot of other crap. i needed to date someone who was open to dating the me i was just discovering. and i did. i was lucky i found someone. he was patient. and he was finding himself too. so dating him for the few months i did helped us discover ourselves as much as we did each other. and i became way more involved with him that i had ever intended. sadly, it didnt last. he still had too many holes to fill in. but i am happy it didnt. it lead me on a path back home.

and here in el paso…though i was ready to like actually date…i figured it was el paso and like totally impossible for me. yay! back in the town where i dated the cheaters, abusers and crazies. and i had this thought in the car as i drove home for the reunion….”great, i can just pick up some dude i went to high school with and hope for the best…ehhhhh”. HA! little did i know in my sarcasm…there was truth and there was the predictability of el paso i know so well. but there was also something i didnt expect. that sometimes the perfect person for you is standing 1 person down from you in your senior class photo and you never knew his name.

maybe i shouldnt use the word perfect. that scares people.

what i wanted to say was that i have dated a lot of shit storms. to the point that i thought i was my own shit storm and i prolly was. but i didnt give up. i want a partner. i want a partner like i want to be a good writer and like i want to be a good mom. and when you want something bad enough you change your shit around to do it. i guess i am on the right path. for 5 months i have been dating the most amazing guy i have ever met. and every day he gets a little better.

but its not just him….the other day one of his friends got me alone. i refuse to disclose his identity. and told me he thought i was awesome. i thought “hey, that is great…his friends like me.” and then his friend butted into my thought with “dont tell the boyfriend this…but i read your blog…i fucking love it. you are awesome.”

and i almost cried.

the last time a boyfriend’s friend read my blog i was stuck in an awkward 20 minute IM about how i dont understand anything.

and here these guys are showing up to my lame poetry readings and inviting me out to da club…even if i hate da club.

i guess what i should say is this…am i going to say this guy is the one and that i am done? fuck no. i learned my lesson. that you never know who it is or when things can change. but 5 months ago i got the most fantastic slap in the face i ever got. and sometimes a slap on the face is better than a hug. and its definitely always better as a slap on the ass. which he does now. thank god. seriously, i had to scream “hit me” like 40 times before he actually started the spanking. and now he’s a pro…

you like that?…that was for all of you sick fucks who are his friends and still reading this shit….

but seriously, i need to stop writing about love and start blogging about politics again.

oh what a night…

i started my thanksgiving eve as usual. i woke up at 7 am with a cranky little boy. i made pancakes, eggs and a crap ton of bacon. i watched Dora with jimi and learned that mochila also means backpack. i like to take advantage of holiday weekends by cleaning up the house. i know it sounds gay and sadly domestic. but i do. i tidy my house and i make dinner every night.

now, my boyfriend had reserved my wednesday since last week. we were going out with his cousins. yes…those cousins. the cousins who like to go out drinking at clubs that are so packed you can barely move let alone breathe. the club that charges you 6 bucks for your red stripe. the club that is playing akon’s “sexy chick” over and over. the club where the only people who got a chair or table or even a spot at the bar are the stupid kids from juarez who paid for that place. you know….that new club downtown where people stand in line to get in. you know…that club…where i show up and the record scratches to a hault and they be like, “shit, white girl is here”

now this is the part of the blog where i have to rraise a disclaimer. if you or someone you know is my boyfriend’s cousin…dont worry…its not that i hate you or that i find you annoying or think that i am better than you. its actually quite more complex than that. its that i am a bitter and cynical writer who is so needy for attention that she would spill all of her pathetic drama in order to get some hits to a stupid blog. the more hits that i get mean the more people love me…really it does. and if i am to get some more hits…i apologize…someone here needs to be the bad guy and it sure aint gonna be me…it is my blog after all. so you know that little exchange we had? that time i said something funny and you didnt laugh? or that time you asked that inappropriate question? well, guess what? i am about to blow it all way, way, way out of proportion and advertise it on fb until an adequate amount of love has been sprayed all over my blog.

anyways….so i tell the bf about my crazy day of mopping and that tomorrow i have to wake up early to help with the cooking and i really shouldnt be out that night at the club drinking all night. he gets upset. we talk through it. and though i am tired. though i have no interest in getting all dressed up n shit. i figure a promise is a promise. so first i blow off some steam with the guys over some racks of ribs and beer.

then i was on my way to the bf’s.

and boy do i hate that guy sometimes. how does he get me so wound up only to kiss me as i walk through the door of his house. like he had been marooned on a desert island for 3 years. i like the look of his face. how he smells. how he wears that vespa t-shirt.

we headed out to this dreadful club that i have already described to you. and i am sorry. i just dotn get places like that. you know what i like to do? talk. conversate. drink a beer and discuss obama’s plan for afganistan. you cant do that at the latest club. the bf tried to explain the concept of drinking, dancing and no talking to me…but i just dont get it. so where i usually seem to be great girl considering we keep meeting his cousins in bars i seem to be a mondo bitch. his poor cousin bent down and shouted to me over the latest shakira hit, “is this your kinda place” and wide eyed in disbelief i screamed back “NOOOO!!!! not even close” she didnt talk to me for the rest of the night. guess i cant blame her.

and then this boyfriend of mine takes me aside and tells me to start having fun. i explain that its just not my thing. and i would rather hang out with his family elsewhere. it got heated for a moment and i had to take a breath. “hey” he says “i want to be happy and i want to be happy with you.” he always has to say terrible things like that. i melt. he has had a few and i am not interested in him getting all mushy. “dont worry” he says “i wont tell you how much i like you tonight.” “like!?” i laugh”ha. i think you passed like about 2 months ago, buddy”. it takes him a moment. other things discussed. maybe it took a while to hit him. maybe he needed to form a response. maybe he needed another shot. but as the conversation quelled he held my hand and said “you know i more than like you, dont you?” i nodded.

and it seems for us….that was enough. i was full.

full of love and liquor. only 2 beers and a shot into it and we couldnt find the car. i got mad, sat down and made him find the car. he did park it after all. he called me 5 minutes later, “you are in the wrong garage”

we laughed as we walked to the car. and i am happy.

love is bizarre.

it was a friday night and i had not seen the bf in 6 days. i had been begging him for a night for just the 2 of us for weeks. it seemed every time we got together it me, him and his bazillion friends. now…i aint got nothing against his friends. they seem nice and all. but i got my own friends and plenty of them. and when i spend time with him i like actually want to spend time with him…not a shit ton of people i dont know.

plus, i think there is a common misconception about me. i am a lot of fun. flirtatious and wacky and loud. that does not mean i am like that in any situation. in fact if you saw me like that it prolly means i was surrounded by those i love most and know me the best. secondly, just because i am wacky and loud and funny and shit does not mean i necessarily like other girls of the same traits. actually…i tend to hate them. loud, obnoxious girls tend to be ignorant whores and i hate them.

so the bf calls me to tell me that we are going out to dinner with his cousin. i am like “ok, i can deal…a nice restaurant and we shouldnt be out that late.” Wow, was i wrong! no rezzy. no dinner party. just a bunch of chicks we didnt know ready to get drunk. i was miserable. and dont even get me started on the cousin and the 101 inappropriate questions she asked like “what did i think of the bf, am i serious about him, have i met his mother” i was like “ahhh! for realzzz?”

by the time we got to his house i had reached my limit….this was yet another night in a string of countless nights where i get stranded with a bunch of people i dont know and barely get to talk to the bf…argh”
we went home and had “our talk” and made up. but the next day i was still fuming. it was one of those days….you know where you spend the entire day rehearsing the speech in your head over and over that you are going to scream at him. you pick and choose your ultimatums. you decide that you are too good for this. you decide you dont need someone who isnt going to share his feelings…

he was going to pick me up on sunday night and i was going to let him have it. i was ready and looked good just to yell at him. i played it cool. we went to pho tre bien and had seafood soup. it was a nice evening and i told him about the great party my cousin had thrown. he seemed genuinely regretful he did not attend. and then THE BIG SLIP. he tells me about the day he spent with his mom. how she asked him about “his lady friend” and he freaked wondering about how his mother found out he had a girlfriend. but to his delight she was asking about an old friend of his. and then those fateful words, “so dont worry, my mom has no idea about you”

it took no time for him to read the expression on my face. and then watch as i pushed my soup aside, crossed my arms and stared intently into his eyes. “wow, he said i cant stop saying stuff that gets me in trouble…huh? its like i just cant be cool. i always gotta fuck shit up”

“yep” i said

“so we are going to talk about this?” he asked

“yep” i answered.

it went well. i spent the rest of the night letting him live in that peace between fear and sorrow. we went over how the relationship had been for the past few weeks. what a train wreck it had become. how did it get so derailed? we went for a beer. the bar was freezing. we left and went to his house. we continued to talk.
we crawled into bed and talked it all out. i asked about his mixed messages and for the first time he taloked about his feelings without being drunk. is that sad? at the time he was just a prince…as i type it out now…i get depressed….it seems so gay. haha. shit.

however pathetic it sounds it was a nice night where i finally got to talk to my bf. where he kinda proved his worth to me with words and not just his wallet or sex like usual. dont get me wrong…we had sex…twice and it was just like when we first met…(details have been removed by author).

i try to write about this…but i get nowhere. i have no words to encompass this…. i wish i did. it seems words like love, happy, perfect or imperfect… are not enough and have no place here. as though i would have to make my own language or stand at a mic and just mumble and gah for 20 minutes to get this through.

he is a part of me i didnt know was there. its is beautiful and it is vulnerable. so, as i fall in love with him for exposing it…i also fall in love with myself.