Midnight poem

The words are blur
and hard to catch,
like raindrops in the wind,
they run fast and unforgiving.

The smell of this night
Is as addictive as your lips on my neck.
I want you.

I want you as the naked winter
trees want to be dressed
in flowers and sunny blows.
Like the whistle of the wind,
looking, searching, craving
It might never find
I might never have

I want you,
I want the restless depth of your touch.
The endless sweat of your anatomy.

I’m drunk and unkissed,

and I want to be covered in your skin.

I may be drunk and unkissed
But I’m here and you’re real.
And the words are blur
and hard to catch,

I want you. Come.

Feminist or womanist

Am I a feminist or a womanist? The student needs to know if I do men occasionally and primarily, am I a lesbian? Tongue tied up in my cheek, I attempt to respond with some honesty. Well, this business of Dykes and Dykery, I tell her, it’s often messy. With social tensions as they are, you never quite know what you’re getting.

Girls who are only straight at night, hardcore butches be sporting dresses between 9 & 6 every day. Sometimes she is a he, trapped by the limitations of our imaginations. Primarily, I tell her, I am concerned about young women who are raped on college campuses, in bars, after poetry readings like this one, in bars. Bruised lip and broken heart, you will forgive her if she does not come forward with the truth immediately, for when she does, it is she who will stand trial as damaged goods. Everyone will say she asked for it, dressed as she was, she must have wanted it. The words will knock about in her head: ” Harlot, slut, tease, loose woman” — some people can not handle a woman on the loose. You know those women in pinstriped shirts and silk ties, You know those women in blood-red stiletto heels and short skirts. These women make New York City the most interesting place. And while we’re on the subject of diversity, Asia is not one big race, and there’s not one big country called ‘The Islands’, and no, I am not from there.

There are a hundred ways to slip between the cracks of our not so credible cultural assumptions about race and religion. Most people are suprised that my father is Chinese. Like there’s some kind of preconditioned look for the half-Chinese, lesbian poet who used to be Catholic, but now believes in dreams.

Let’s get real sister-boy in the double-x hooded sweatshirt. That blonde-haired, blue-eyed Jesus in the Vatican ain’t right. That motherfucker was Jewish, not white. Christ was a middle-eastern rasta man who ate grapes in the company of prostitutes and he drank wine more than he drank water. Born of the spirit, the disciples loved him in the flesh.

But the discourse is not on those of us who identify as gay or lesbian or even straight. The state needs us to be either a clear left or right. Those in the middle get caught in the cross — fire away at the other side. If you are not for us, then you must be against us. If you are not for us, then you must be against us. People get scared enough, they pick a team. Be it for Buddha or Krishna or Christ, I believe God is that place between belief and what you name it. I believe holy is what you do when there is nothing between your actions and the truth.

The truth is I’m afraid to draw your black lines around me, I’m not always pale in the middle, I come in too many flavors for one fucking spoon. I am never one thing or the other. At night I am everything I fear, tears and sorrows, black windows and muffled screams. In the morning, I am all I ever want to be: rain and laughter, bare footprints and invisible seams, always without breath or definition. I claim every single dawn, for yesterday is simply what I was, and tomorrow even that will be gone.

Dear hero

Don’t try to save me.
Let there be darkness and sorrow,
Let there be death and pain,
I can only be beautiful that way.

I see grace in this tears
And power in this blood stains.
Hurt is my best friend,
The only one who truly understands.

I no longer aim to live, I survive.
Because life taught me to pursue this scars.
And there’s not enough love in this world to fix my heart.

So, don’t try to save me.

Although your cape feels like lustful silk,
And your eyes are one mile away from Heaven,
I’ve climbed the mountains myself,
Barefooted and naked.

Don’t try to save me.

Let there be loneliness and silence.
Let there be insanity and misery.
Let there be fear, wander, loss…
Let it be. Let me be.

I only know beauty this way.

Metade de mim

Que a força do medo que tenho
Não me impeça de ver o que anseio;
Que a morte de tudo em que acredito
Não me tape os ouvidos e a boca;
Porque metade de mim é o que eu grito,
Mas a outra metade é silêncio…

Que a música que eu ouço ao longe
Seja linda, ainda que tristeza;
Que a mulher que eu amo seja pra sempre amada
Mesmo que distante;
Porque metade de mim é partida
Mas a outra metade é saudade…

Que as palavras que eu falo
Não sejam ouvidas como prece
E nem repetidas com fervor,
Apenas respeitadas como a única coisa que resta
A um homem inundado de sentimentos;
Porque metade de mim é o que ouço
Mas a outra metade é o que calo…

Que essa minha vontade de ir embora
Se transforme na calma e na paz que eu mereço;
E que essa tensão que me corrói por dentro
Seja um dia recompensada;
Porque metade de mim é o que penso
Mas a outra metade é um vulcão…

Que o medo da solidão se afaste
E que o convívio comigo mesmo
Se torne ao menos suportável;
Que o espelho reflita em meu rosto
Um doce sorriso que me lembro ter dado na infância;
Porque metade de mim é a lembrança do que fui,
A outra metade eu não sei…

Que não seja preciso mais do que uma simples alegria
para me fazer aquietar o espírito
E que o teu silêncio me fale cada vez mais;
Porque metade de mim é abrigo
Mas a outra metade é cansaço…

Que a arte nos aponte uma resposta
Mesmo que ela não saiba
E que ninguém a tente complicar
Porque é preciso simplicidade para faze-la florescer;
Porque metade de mim é platéia
E a outra metade é canção…

E que a minha loucura seja perdoada
Porque metade de mim é amor
E a outra metade… também.

Oswaldo Montenegro

Daddy’s little girl apology

Daddy, I’m sorry!

All I ever wanted was to make you proud

But at the time it sounded like

The loudest voice was the crowds!

I left my virginity on the back seat of your car,

That night you went out.

And he told me that if I loved him

I’d go down.

So I did it.

I let him drive me insane

I did everything he wanted me to

Until he came, then pain came. Then shame came.

I did it and I wanted to tell you before

But I didn’t know how,

I’m sorry dad.

I’m still a child, I can’t be a mom!

I still have dreams of graduating and going to prom!

You know the girl with the big belly never wins prom queen.

And I can’t do this without him.

I thought he loved me. He said he loved me!

But what do I know about love?

I’m a just little girl and he just too old!

Your little girl, your baby girl.

Daddy! What am I supposed to do?

Adoption or abortion?

Neither of them sounds like a life option!

Daddy, I’m sorry.

I never pictured my future this way.

In my dreams we’d both be happy

Somewhere else far away,

But in reality life feels worse

Than my worst nightmares.

I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.

But I couldn’t look you in the eyes any more.

I had to runaway and find something worth living for.

Although all the stupid things I’ve done,

Besides the wrong path I choose,

I’m still daddy’s little girl.

And I’m sorry.

People say I’m a whore,

They don’t know my story!

They don’t even want to know

Where I come from!

I do drugs not because I feel worthless,

But because I need something to kill

The pain of sleeping with someone else’s husband,

Brother, cousin… father!

Because I am someone’s daughter!

Maybe a prostitute, a failure, a drugs addict.

But at the end of the day I’m still your daughter.

Daddy, all I ever wanted was to see you proud!

To see that smile of yours you had when I was a child

And you would spin me all around!

So forgive me father,

For leaving town,

For giving up on the prom crown,

For failing in life somehow