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Month: July, 2014

God Won’t Pay My Rent

I was starving so I imagined you coming back to me in a dress. I was lonely so I imagined you dancing without your clothes on. A gallery of proofs that you were here before. Exhibit A: an empty milk carton on the hollow of my fridge. Exhibit B: your lipstick stains on the carton’s soggy mouth. I am missing you, guilty as charged. Still, I want to bite your ankle like a snake, bite your neck like someone who bites necks for a living, bite your ears like I love you, and really, I do, with God as my witness, and all the bones in my body. All 206 of them forming the smallest shrine in honor of your spine, your kiss an Amen to the prayer of my breath. The cicadas in my lungs are humming hallelujah. The gospel this morning according to my hands: Your thighs are my bank accounts, I shall not want.


Laguna Is Not That Far Away

Everyone is saying their goodbyes
as early as this morning. If only
it was walking distance. I tell them
everything is in walking distance
if you have legs strong enough.
If my legs were strong enough,
I would walk away from all of my thoughts.
The only way a train can solve a migraine is if it ran
over my head. But crappy public transportations.
But poor urban planning. You cannot attempt suicide
in the city without making people late for work,
and the last thing I want to be when I die
is to be a bigger inconvenience. This means
don’t leave me alone with my thoughts.
If I set myself on fire, I would turn into a handful
of firefly look-alikes. If I throw myself in the river
I would turn into a drowning body. To be clear, I am not
a hydromaniac, I just want to be a happier shade of blue inside.
I take a cup of water outside and tried to fit the sky in it.
I drink the sky from it and feel clouds condense
on my stomach. I feel wings grow on my clavicles.
There is a girl sitting under a mango tree outside,
and she’s probably thinking how it is to go away,
change names, get tattoos because she is different
now. Take a fistful of drugs and feel better inside
for once in her life. Between the both of us,
I hope she is the one who gets what she wants.

Internal Exile

I am tired of being here where I am
right now, tired of being a smaller body
within a worn-out bigger version of that body,
like wearing an oversized boot on a rainy day,
tired of having water enter
privacy, tired of having my insides
broken and broken into,
and so for my last birthday
two weeks ago, I asked God
for an electron microscope, but instead
he gave me a map of an unheard country,
asked God for next month’s rent and instead got a portrait
of you in a dress, hands behind your back
like a hostage of timidity, and I feel like a thief
reaching inside you, turning your furniture
into firewood, but in my defense,
the blood in your veins; in my defense,
the roof of your mouth; in my defense, your collarbones
and how they form the smallest cathedral in the world
and the bacteria in your body think
your heart is a god, think your ribcage
is the warmest orphanage, and that is another thing
among the hundred other things
that we have in common.