#perothepoet

[peropoetry]

till then.

I will write a poetry book

when I have poems

that I am proud of.

Self reflective beautiful things

that touch my soul

and make me whole

and make me some kind of happy.

My want is

to be nothing more than human,

and nothing less than alive.

And that is progress in the works.

-pero.

[peropoetry]

a conversation with my mother about our sex life.

My momma asked me

what I want to get

out of being with you.

I told her

I want someone to finally

call me by their name,

and mean it.

I want to live

the rest of my life,

come it as it may,

shedding skin cells

like split hydrogen atoms

beneath your palms.

Let it be loud, and bright,

and all consuming.

I do not care -

so long as

the dirt beneath your nails

fosters a forrest.

Our own little kingdom

where we can get lost

in ourselves

and no one will bother us,

and I can make up

for all of our lost time.

She did not understand

so I laughed and told her

I get everything I wanted

and more.

-pero.

[peropoetry]

hola.

Mi llamo Kennedy

Así que, mi español es muy malo

Pero, yo entiendo plátano, salami,

mangu, mofongo, sancocho

Entiendo que lo siento, que te amo, que alguien trabajo duro para esto

When mi abuelito opened his mouth

I could hear the ocean

he crossed to get here

I could hear the english bashing around his mouth

Like the raft he took to get here

I am not fluent, by any means

But sometimes when I see a label

or something

in English and Spanish

my brain begins to translate

before it realizes

that it can read English too

It’s like I am trying to prove

I am Latina even to myself

So I made this poem

This poem was written to be cried

between ruffles of a folklorice dress

pooled at the feet of your tata y tatai, mamita y welita, and all them

This poem was swept up off the floor of a barbershop

Bristles moving to the beat of bachata, merengue, and all that

Coming through the open door

from half a block away

This poem does not come with English subtitles

And my Spanish was tossed out with assimilation

So there will be something left in translation

There was something of me left in translation

-pero

[peropoetry]

Jamaica was beautiful.

The tress blacker than it’s people

even more so.

It’s people black as me

even more so.

- pero.

[peropoetry]

a toast.

I am trying to get into the habit

of saying “good morning”

as loud as I can inside my head

when I first realize I am conscious.

I want it to jar

whatever bad dreams I was having

enough to let me lose.

I want it to jumpstart

a day that is better

then yesterday.

Do not get me wrong

sometimes I get annoyed

with myself.

Turn over all forcefully

in the sheets like

“why you so loud?”

Then I think

“ain’t this a celebration? A party?

Don’t every good bar

deserve a few good brawls?”

I am trying to remember

the story behind every scar

in eye sight.

Just something I seen

them men in the corner do.

If they can bond

over their battle scars

then watch me do it too.

Some of them

make me just laugh

with how dumb I once was.

With how innocent used to be.

How I could forget just how good

this tired thing can give.

And don’t this here laughing

sound a lot better than sobs.

Mix in a bit better

with the clinking glass.

This jack

don’t go too well with pickle juice

but damn if it don’t go down

a little smoother.

Oh and I have learned

a thing or two

about bad combinations.

But this is not about that.

Some things are holy enough

that they deserve

only be done well.

This is me

out drinking all my past selves

out the window.

This is me

containing all my excess

and no longer forcing it

in everyone’s face

hoping they will not forget me.

If I am not living for that flash

that microsecond highlight reel

of my existence

then who am I even living for?

My new morning mantra

as I knock back a glass of water:

I don’t drink

but here’s a toast

to what ever the fuck this is.

-pero.

[peropoetry]

i asked everyone to wear something yellow.

& there were sunflowers

at your memorial

so big I thought you’d

be able to see them

from just about whenever

you ended up.

So bright

I almost forgot just how dark

life can be.

So tall

for a second I let myself imagine

it was your shadow.

The service was a shit show.

But in my head

all I could do was hear you laugh

and laugh.

Hear you say

“go on and leave them be.”

There were so few people

but so much food

and so much laughter

it reminded me of your kitchen.

-pero.

[peropoetry]

unique.

When you come from a

Multicultural

Dual religious

Biracial

Household

It can get confusing,

Truth be told,

To know who you are

When by and far

The world will put you in a box

When you are the child of

A Dutch/German, Geechie, Creole Father

And a

Afro-Dominican, Black American

Mother

Life can be hard

More times than not

The kids in school

Will not understand

Why, when at lunch,

You pray over your plátano

In Arabic

Why, for show and tell,

You wear an abaya

And dance bachata

But that just makes you rare

Now doesn't it

-pero

[peropoetry]

“this is the lords house, come get this work. Sis.”

A drag queen called Quintin

duck walks down the delta

Carrying cackles, confessions,

and dollar store crystals.

She, or he, or they but never it

spits the shells of a sunflower

Walking her way to welcome night.

He was never the pretty boy

yet is always the ugly women

And They have combined

despite y’alls need for reason

and rhyme

Just because they can.

Amen.

- pero