You can’t give me love ,’I already have her , I already know her voice , I have already in my heart ..

You can’t give me riches , i can turn anything into to gold

You can’t give me words , I am devoid of poetry , I can sweep myself off my own feet , I am aphrodisiac… you can’t give me ambrosias … I am a goddess in my own right …

You can’t give me magic … I am .. magic the way I have turned boys into men , men back into boys .. men into pigs .. I have turned myself into meteors and dreams … and shooting stars , you can’t give me infinity …. If I am forever …

You can’t give me a future … if I’ve already seen it and went back to past …I am a time traveler weaving in and out of worlds

You can’t give me the world … it’s no one to claim , I am nomadic .. not a conquest … I do dream of a conquer , but I do claim colonization of this body … I am a map .. you will not tell me you been everywhere and give your world and I’ll give you it riches .

I don’t get sad … when I meet someone who can’t give me myself. Not ever one can swim in depths I’ve been … they are not yet ready for their own drowning …

i am nor a witch … but many have kept their distance …. As if I bite … and might lick their bones clean … and I do … I am fierce .. with every bone of mine , selfish holding on to my ribs … for every body I done pluck out my life like weeds in a garden … I am sacred about this space of mine …

My love , is all mine , mine .. mine

I am selfishly devout in myself

So yes I believe in my love , because this is me ..I am the fabric of my aorta and the harpist of my heart

Achilles

Fake gods that play fortune games with young boys and freshly beating heart and ripe of testrone and teen years before them . Dangle a life of boredom and or a life of fame he will chose Chariot and a mighty death , for a mother born from the sea promises immortilitay , as a play on words death and memories can make any man immortal ….. if spoken by word of mouth … give yourself of your bones and flesh … you will become hubris … and do we not all want to be come of gods … and worthy of a story that it’s only engraved in walls one will speak within museums …

A young boy is martyr

A man is a ghost

One minute I am numb … and the next minute .. I am In tears .. I miss my mom , I don’t think I could live without her .. I forgive all the bruises she’s ever done on my heart … because she is my mother .. sacred and home , belly and I am tenant … I never wipe my feet and I climb into her heart and I stay even though it walls beat against me .. for if love is not pain … if family is not a tree .. I am always it’s roots … even when I refuse to water … it ..

I have swallowed men whole and gave them back their body .. but not their bones ..

I have licked the skin off their kneecaps and watch them beg for mercy

I became a mercenary and martyr

… and a pleader and a beggar

man eater

man eater

man eater

collecting centuries of lost men looking for shelter inside of my thighs and comfort ..

says they could grant me gifts of a swollen belly …

trap me with poison and lace my tongue with lies , in my thighs

man eater

they tall tales of me

say I am siren eyed …

Man eater … I didnt start eating men until I watched they sharp their hands like forks …

trace side walks in the night looking for lunch and dinner .. and snack …

like they ain’t know where their next meal be .. like they kill for a taste of it ..

men who tongues form into knives and pack and carry inside they jeans ... body bags and massacre

man eater

man eater …

I walk around like I am either on the edges of death .. or as if I am waiting for it to catch me when it falls ..

and wishing it come with a cough … and silence .. I wonder if this has to do with unkissed knees and knowing to early … how to put on bandaids yourself .. … from watching the passage between children and on swings and scrapped knees that get kissed and gentle hands placing it so perfectly .. this is how we learned to always fix ourselves through observation and I wonder if this is why I loved science … and equations .. and puzzles ..

why I wanted to a doctor . I cut my finger with scrissors … while cutting paper .. and there’s was so much blood so much blood .. and I cried and held in every wind pipe and I rain to the sink and rinsed and I attempted to glue my skin shut … as to not become such a trouble ….it’s sits a loom … I stare often .. at its shape ..

When there is war … the girl loses …

I tell them how her body will become a bargain to men and martyr to women and warning …

To children …

I will tell them how men sit a tables and compare guns … and the measurement of its damage …

Use blood … like currency ..

A women’s body will become his grenade and he will leave her belly up and scoped out

Like a trophy .. like a prize ..

I tell them how at the hands of war .. their are always manly …..

I tell them how after every war .. their are sunken eyed women …

Men who … carry on …. With stories

Women who ( bodies ) carry on like maps … …

Children who carry on like history books …Surviving.

Give me your ghoul and your bones … and haunt me anyway …

give me your ghost and let me borrow your shadows

i Will love you even if we turn to graves and stones …

dust and ashes …

i will wait for you in purgatory .. while I withstand gehanna …

i will love you liked Adam loves Eve

and we will become naked … knowing what it looks like to love to the skin and bones ..

and will you regret .. giving me your rib … ? … after all we become is death .. and trees .. as we wait ….

*I still hope some days we grow into each other and become like trees .

Why do we always let others turn ourselves into the worse version of ourselves to fit their own prophecy ..

……you don’t have to give them scripture…

You don’t have to provide them verse ….

You don’t have to be evil … you can be good …

Don’t you belive …. You were always better than them ……. Who told you were not worthy … you would always be …. A criminal …

Building bars and sentences .. for yourself

Look at you stepping inside orange jumpsuits

It’s become fluid … like dance ….

It ain’t nothing to you anymore … sin …

Look at you , becoming worse and far from better …

I know that everything that glitters is not always gold … now

I miss you , Glinda good ….. i belive I could be good .. but I am better …. With my feet under houses …you don’t understand to defy gravity .. would to defy physics and fate … and maybe some of us were born villains to make heroes .

I miss you Glinda … I … do .. I could be good … if you defy us gravity .

I like my favorite food , like my favorite humans , I will consume over and again , addict to euphoria , idolizing the flavor , I will share it joys with everyone , but never a piece from my plate … over time It will disappoint me and their is no joy in consuming so much of something only to be let down … I have made a god out of peach O’s and watched it humble me … I have made thrones out of dirt and flesh … and only to be disappointed their is no altar fitting for humans and fleeting circumstances , that show me too much of how they are flesh and dirt , their is no gold in their bones , they will weather like iron in the means of storms .. rust showing all character and nothing becoming …

My body becomes a jungle gym

You climb on me

Knead yourself into

Me

I am placid and jello

The kitchen calls me

My mouth leaves itself open like a fly trap

I wonder if this is what being underground feels like… or sitting on a pedastal and watching mortals .. chose a god … and finding their is no heaven in between legs .. after the light goes out , we are all shadows and gaping mouths .. making gods out of dust ..

Would you even love me , if we created something beautiful and it never saw the light . Would you hold my body or caste me aside , would we turn into blameless faceless and hands full of acusations and no room to bury grief …

Spend evenings laying on coffins and waiting for this to end .. you don’t have to stay anymore … you can run …. And I still hold the bellly and the body … You can deny your body was ever a home … I have no choice to still leave the shutters open and hold the windows and the heartbeat … the faint jolts of laughter …. There was someone here … in me .. standing in mirrors and turning to the side … place hand.. hides shame .. and regret .. I know it all …. Lost and found… I tell her it is not your fault .. I tell her she may try again … and I tell her she will be a a good mother ….

Because on the days when she is longing for baby feet , she will say it’s her fault in the middle of the night when he doesn’t hold her or stay …

When she finds herself craving … to become more than a woman … she must know she can try again …

When she looks at her hands at the doctors with good news … she will doubt .. if she will be good .. she will need to know she is still a mother if she loses it and she will be a good mother …

And when I sit next to her I ask in Spanish … if she would like a hug … I stop in the middle of speaking … and I get nervous I want it to be translated perfectly .. I know how much words mean … I ask him to ask if she consents to a hug … I hug … I speak my Spanish .. it’s broken … it’s grief …. And I become professional .. in the moments … that pull me way to deep into personal … I tell her te amo … becaUse she must know she is loved …

She is loved

She is loved

She is loved

She is still a mother

Even when her body cannot hold a host .