during the teen years i became smitten with two sisters i’d take them from the pockets and purses of the people i knew dated them too my wayward street girl path hit the thickest part of the city jungle in my early twenties with my ruby mouth cigarette dangling out i would work through the summers at whatever i found i loved the way the first sister built up my courage i felt like a god she was so very soft put her in my mouth and fill my nose with her essence but like in all relationships i couldn’t trust myself to be faithful i needed more more more insatiable gaping fool on an empty heart hurt in the prime of the blossom so i cheated with the second sister exotic delicious i remember the first bang like it was three seconds ago my God what a fuck and then the downfall the second sister i had been forewarned by all the zombies before me little girl that lady is forbidden fruit but i chased that wild dragon sucking at my tits what a beast of a filly the things she would do send my clitoris up to Neptune and soon i had to pay dues and in the foggy LA morning they found each other out yeah i was singing the blues so we experimented with a threesome their death plot foiled by an angel on the street after running in traffic and taking a beat lost in the dessert of old Mission street but i was too much my father’s daughter i couldn’t be a slave to these beautiful women we know them by name a prize on my head said sister one i’ll blow out her heart crooned sister two no angel no devil could free me from them so we tried our ménage a few more times and it came down to the fundamentals their soul or mine i quit them cold turkey they dragged me to hell i brought up our pre-nup they tightened the screws sent their foot soldiers to give me the news entice me with freebies and i had to say no and the soldiers those soldiers they understood gave me a green light and i’ve been running ever since then
Author: mbrazfieldm
simple misunderstandings
we
met
by the
fruit table oranges
you said were your favorite
fruit i smitten with the fairy tale ideology
of white pickets two point fives and a dog maybe even the PTA
you upstanding patriarch of the family business man in town i would be your one and only not your rodeo clown
psyche flags were risen and when discussed with the appropriate matriarchal councils all my flags burned down with the kerosene of suck it up or else you are not a woman worth your salt
fuck this i thought in the middle of a fight i would not be how i was expected to lay down
so rogue i went from that world of delusional pleasure tumbling weed freed
but alone in dissension doubt demons taunt relentless
so give me another bottle
to numb the
imposed shame
of
failure
la princesa guerrillera de la sur central
pequeña niña un sol con cara
triste que a la misma vez sonríe
porque así dice la ley paternal
florecita de todos colores
tus pequeñas raíces se esconden
detrás de palabras que ahorcan
tu garganta por no poder decir
lo que sientes en la casa
en la escuela en la telenovela
siempre debes de ser
de una u otra manera
pero cuando nuestros ojos
se estrellan los tuyos morenos
llenos de vida
los míos verdes escurridos
porque han visto mucho en la vida
tus labios se parten en dos
arrancas de tu mami y me miras con valor
oiga porque tiene esos dibujos en sus manos
y con mucho miedo me haces responder
son tatuajes quieres ver
y dices que feos tiras tu mirada al cielo
vuelves a la mano extendida de tu madre
pero solamente tú y yo sabemos
que un día vas a disparar tus propias palabras
a los cuatro vientos
mientras que las mías se quedan trabadas
en mis pasajeras manos
a princesa guerrilheira do sul central
menina um sol com cara
triste que ao mesmo tempo ele sorria
porque é isso que a lei paterna diz
florzinha de todas as cores
suas pequenas raízes se escondem
por trás das palavras que pairam
sua garganta por não ser capaz de dizer
o que você sente em casa
na escola na novela
você deve estar sempre
de uma ou outra maneira
mas quando nossos olhos
seus pardos quebram
cheio de vida
meu drenado verde
porque eles viram muito na vida
seus lábios se dividem em dois
você arranca da sua mãe e olha para mim com coragem
ouça por que você tem esses desenhos em suas mãos
e com muito medo você me faz responder
eles são tatuagens que você quer ver
e você diz feio você olha para o céu
você volta para a mão estendida de sua mãe
mas somente você e eu sabemos
que um dia você gravará suas próprias palavras
a quatro ventos
enquanto o meu fica trancado
nas minhas mãos que passam
south central warrior princess
little girl with a sun for a face
sad but at the same time she smiles
because that’s what the paternal law says
little flower of all colors
your tiny roots hide
behind words that stick in
your throat not being able to say
what you feel in your house
at your school in the soap opera
you must always be
one way or another
but when our eyes collide into each other
your brown ones full of life
my green ones drained
because they have seen so much in life
your lips split in two
you tear away from mommy and you look at me courageously
hey why do you have those drawings on your hands
and with fear you make me answer
they are tattoos you want to see
and you say their ugly while you look at the sky
and run back to your mother’s extended hand
but only you and i know
that one day you will launch your own words
at the four winds
while mine stay locked
in my aging hands
ain’t Nutbush City
1989 was a period in life when all back doors of an imminent hell opened to me my loved ones were self-deceived and in their view doing well so i let them linger in their truthful lies
the Cecil was really falling apart at that point a metaphor for the characters in my life i being a bit player young addictions mushrooming everywhere with most here and there would be one character more sophisticated than the other that player was Amos
the other being my mother she fancied herself a feminist with her valley feminist friends me i wasn’t sure what i fancied but started to steal more of my folks booze and pills it felt good to be honest about my thieving it took the edge off the lies that we told about how bad ass we were in controlling our demons
Amos’s demons would wear pink hustle old has been business men for a suck that never seemed to happen they were rolled here and there after falling asleep taking their pants off on the faux zebra stripped bed
my folks never knew about my life in the city i was just a latch key mess 4.0 gpa high school back door graduate i went to college i don’t know why or even how or how i got a 4.0 shit just happened growing up i had to think faster than your common drunk or cokehead or devious spoiled beautiful caged in their superiority women who struck me as being in horrible painful relationships what was heart breaking was that in their fantasy of being happy and better than thou they were murdering their true potential with worthless crap
Amos wanted to be so much like those women but she just couldn’t go through the medical change or even tell her mother back in Haiti whom she adored i was ignorant as hell when it came to identity i just loved Amos and wanted her to be happy i saw a lot sex violence addiction pain tears orgies more violence but in a way i’m grateful to Amos she did the best she could to raise me if i happened to go by the Cecil drunk or high and she was home i’d had to stay there and get lectured until i passed out
for Amos life had to go on and the hustle continued i’d pretend to sleep or if a fight broke out i sneaked into the bathroom or the murphy bed on the wall no biggie i was a pro at hiding and by that time swinging the punches too on account of my folks and their way of life in a very twisted way sword life might not always kill you
in retrospect i somewhat owe my life to Amos she taught me many things such as using protection don’t go home with anyone don’t walk the street alone “be good kid for Chris’ sake” don’t ever leave your drink alone stuff like that
for Sally and Giorgio
echoes in soft violet
the hem of your
second wedding dress off
to bury your soldier
and marry the promise
of loneliness which is
heavier now at the
beginning of your widowness
and the threshold of
motherhood the only joy
in your frozen heart
three sun girl
at seven months utero blue washroom
the fists pummeled my mother’s face
she never knew i felt it too
in 71’ there was a great earth quake
they ran out and left me in
she never thought i felt it
a tiny tot no older than three suns
the girl with more suns you left me with
shoved my little hands and face
into her secret universes
nobody cared that forcefully i ate them
often told to talk about the greatness
of your perfection as a guide
remind me if you can what were your triumphs
with this backwards crazed unparentble child
other than your abandonment
for many years and as i developed into a self defined
grotesqueness of abomination
taught by the punks the junks and queers
they are my kind they know about the record
not knowing then what i know now
this feeling i snorted it in chugged it
down with lots of gin that other feeling
i shot it up to the Lord above and took it
in the front and back from any boy as lost as i was
i took the punches curses put downs and secrets
too unsavory for the family name sake
there was a time when i yelled fuck you to
everyone around i cut the cord called you both whores
and headed into town and here i stand until the
end that nears upon me nuzzling my throat
with words in nature cleansing
i now move up one more step of wisdom
understanding that the spark of love for you
unrequited as it was never tainted
the three sun girl can go to rest
her eyes no longer brimmed with tears but hope
dissecting the Geneva Convention
the summer is what it is here
the humidity clinging to my tired skin
like a crazy 50’s t.v. wife mockery
on Wall there’s the law and then there’s us
each side with glaring mutual understanding
that nothing is being done
no longer angels no longer devils
Gods gone fishing and they won’t be coming back
the species of Adam failed to keep their end of the
Covenant with Noah and Jesus holy shit what have we done
in life there is reason and there’s law
inside the soul there is right and there is wrong
inside the ego all is mine and nothing yours
on Koehler there is a man who doesn’t know he suffers
the fear he knows not himself prisoner of
the bio-hazardous ecosystem freedom gone awry
the filth the human shit the rage the insanity disease
the pain addiction poverty starvation piss trash
tears the waste of modern time
no longer get through the stains of a life
poorly lived or sorely wasted no logic
no feelings no rhyming no Kingdom will come
betwixt the cardboard and the shelter
the damage has been done
wage on me wage your wars
indifference is your nuclear weapon
shameful irony
after a long afternoon nap on USC’s lawn i lift my arms toward the heaven in crucified form there’s hair in the grass and my skateboard is gone i sit there still wondering what happened to me was i just walking and then crashed to sleep or was i doing something i’d later regret people my age future doctors lawyers business men grounds keepers maintenance crews walked slowly on by talking about this or that getting up i fell down twice no one looked a second time maybe it was the grass stains on my shirt makeup runny laces untied LA Kings jersey hair in a nest from my left eye i catch the PD stares i smile a dainty coy like smile and they ride their bikes toward the black guy who’s finely dressed reading the medical text book
on Hill st.
she knocked over the bottles but made it up the drawer to the mirror on the shelf my tabby is alive
the helicopters rumble through the smoky skies the news vans are ready for the close up the tents the chalks the body bags three hours after the big bang
right behind the liquor bank debris in the alley empty Old English bottles and some candy wrappers big hot Cheetos Big Mac box
i saw some guy take a noisy shit on the corner of King street and wipe it off with the LA times i closed the gray gingham curtains
i’m never really sure when the psych meds will kick in but i don’t care as long as i can hear the Garcia’s next door just in case they get drived by since mother had a stroke and lost control over her boys
i do have all i need i don’t mind the four am sirens at five am i’m still not sleeping looking out my fire escape balcony the LA Rams play tomorrow and Dignity Health wants to cure my everything
traumatic stress post disorder
the part that is peace within myself is a
tiny girl humming bird
here and there can’t stop for air
i’m not prepared to answer why
i can only sing at the bottom of my lungs
so high so high that no one can hear
the sky and the flowers don’t deserve another
song of sorrow and hurt to add to the menu
of those souls who are caged in their own
stories of struggle torture and pain
nor do i know when i will stop fluttering about
looking for somewhere to rest my thoughts and calm
my fears of getting caught in the nets
of monsters
words less spoken 