#yesika

[harvest-collection]

Yesika

[larryleal]

#yesika it's like Jessica but ethnic. Lol. My peoples

[neverendingjournalofthoughts]

You continue to pay her attention, when all she does is show you she’s not worth it. She doesn’t deserve you or anything to do with you. I would show you so much more, but you don’t pay attention to me, not even as a friend. You can do better.

[yesikastarr]

LETS WRITE POEMS TOGETHER THIS SATURDAY

NEXT SATURDAY August 1st I will be offering my first writing workshop. What is my writing workshop about? It's about translating who we are into our work. Whether we are bilingual, immigrants, children of immigrants, transplants from different countries/states/cities, POC, lgtbqia there are always parts of ourselves we are trying to explain to other parts of ourselves and the people we love. The goal of the workshop is to help us explore who we are within our intersections. To create a space within our art where we can exist beyond our translations. Where? TBA (but will be in the silverlake/echo park Los Angeles area and will be disabled and public transportation friendly) Time? August 1st from 2 pm - 5 pm How much? $25 What do I need to bring? You. Nothing else. You could be a new writer or someone who has been writing all your life. Just bring yourself. I will provide writing utensils. NO COMPUTERS OR TABLETS/iPads. You won't need them. Email: [email protected] to register

[yesikastarr]

Phone Sex

the first time

a man said

“I love you”

he had never seen

your face

it came between

grunts

between questions

of underwear

and how

hard could you take it

you were a child

and had found

the number

in a phone book

somewhere you could call

and someone would

always listen

to the sound of your voice

the shallow of your breath

every one

a cliff

they were begging to jump off

when your mother

blocked the 900 numbers

you told her

where to psychic hotlines

you  then

found the internet

full of men

trembling to touch

the small of your

prepubescent  back

you were good

at saying

the best things,

words had always

been your best toys

and you

shared them willingly

when you got older

and a flesh and bone boy

climbed over your body

you closed your eyes tight

pretending his mouth

was a phone receiver

and you were nothing

but a stream of

of words

climbing out of

places you had kept hidden

from your parents

your priest

your conscience

your god

things you stomped

so far out of you

you fragmented

yourself

before you

became yourself

and this boy

working away at you

digging into you

like those phone men

trembling

to slide themselves

into you

doesn’t know

how long you’ve been waiting

to hear

“I love you”

from someone who sees

your face

someone who

drinks from it

as if it were

all there was

for their parched

lips

that you’ve been waiting

to have someone

steal the knot in your throat

and take it as their own

far far away

from the night

you found a number in a phone book

and let men

rub themselves raw as they listened

to the poetry

you had yet to learn

was a blessing

and never a curse.