(2014)
I enjoy his company Riding shotgun Conversation No one to overhear Our inside jokes
A palomino gallops Beside the highway Look out the window Rides over green hills Through yellow flowers
How do you describe A man so dramatic? You can recognize him From afar with his hat Always the gentleman
My poems are short Written at night In my head I wake at dawn Shake my memory
Bags full of diapers Cars waiting in line Smell coming from the load Ashamed it was mine He noticed my insulin pump
I’ve known Deep inside All along My value That I matter
I wallow in my sadness As it pools up It has not swallowed me Who floats above its surface This surface
Does the world need Another book? Another poem? I add one more to the pile To be left alone
The teenage rebels All fall in line Be they hippies Goths, rockers or skaters Moving from one mould
My objective is selfish Not to share or be heard To get it out and move on No one seems to hear my pain No one seems to feel my pain
Manos fuertes No me sueltan De la cama Yo les digo Me tengo que ir
Mis manchas de Bambi Manchas blancas Cubren mi cuerpo La gente se queda mirando Pero no les da asco
No es solo la tristeza Aunque si lo estoy No es por el desanimo Aunque si me desanimo No es tan sencillo
Most women are cooks But a man who cooks Is a chef She cooks over and over To feed the masses
Traffic Irritation becomes a nightmare As the lines start to squiggle Bending in and out And the world starts its attack