remixxxxx!!

what makes a good remix: a strong storyline – makes sense, is strung together well (this also counts with things that may not make sense but fit in nicely because of the sense of humor or design of the project). 2. humor! why change it if it’s not gonna be silly? 3. creativity – if you only change a few things it won’t be a very strong story. i think changing as much as possible in interesting and funny ways helps make your story concrete while still being able to identify the original story.

although i don’t like macklemore (#1 A is for Ally I’m-so-important-to-the-gays-ya’ll-need-me perpetrator), i really liked the “Same Love” remix. i thought it was really well put together – it had strong transitions and made sense. the combination of pictures and video clips really worked well, and flowed nicely with the song put atop it (unlike say, the tea party remix which, although very funny, took a long time between transitions with awkward pauses that made me want to stop watching).

stories i’m considering: STEVEN UNIVERSE! i could make twitter feeds for him and the gems (who are aliens from space with advanced technology and magic, and even though they’ve been protecting earth for 5000 years, they have no idea how to handle human technology and customs). or adventure time: i could create a newspaper layout with articles about some of the crime fighting they do, then add in small sub stories about lemongrab being a weirdo or a love advice column from lumpy space princess and an engagement announcement from marcy and bonnie! i definitely want to do one of these two because they’re honestly my favorite shows – i love children’s cartoons. they are so innocent and good-intentioned yet layered with so much more! these two shows are also have confirmed lgbt characters, making them gay-friendly and a great source of representation for kids, which i see as super important!

picture of one of my favorite shows (adventure time) found here!

butterflies

you do not have my heart.
you have my stomach,
all 23 feet of my small intestines
curling up inside of me.
you cause me pain, discomfort
fulfillment and happiness
all in one.

you spread to my liver,
poison it like the strongest liquors.
you run through my spleen,
gull and gas escaping me.
you cause me cramps;
I curl into a ball
and curse mother nature,
because of you.

you drown my lungs.
you tinge my blood.
you fill my insides.
but you do not have my heart.

on death-

1
metaphorically speechless and unsure how to react from a bad message and selfish thoughts, actual words lost from a two day old scratchy throat and no time to rest. your mother tells you to bring home something black to wear as people laugh nearby. you want to tell them to stop.

2
standing around looking at others looking at flowers, looking back at a dead nose and dead forehead and tuffs of dead hair peaking above white sheets temporarily holding her, only to be set on fire in a day or two and turned to dust in the most thoughtful way to destroy memories of a person that are already slipping.

3
people you don’t know cry behind you and you wonder why you get to sit in front of them and not cry, with some unspoken right to be closer to those sheets with that body you’ve only met a handful of times as a clueless child or ungrateful teenager, introduced and reintroduced and told how much they mean every time.

4
you only tear up bothered most by your mother’s face, drooping and cracked by the childhood shared with the dead, trying to think happy thoughts of a sister, afraid she’s only retrieving moments surrounded by bigger and sadder pictures. you hold her hand and stare at photographs that look nothing like the body laying in front of you.

subway interactions

moon shoes and gray hair,
yellow and white and red in her mouth,
she smiles at her partner
and receives a pat on the knee
and soon she is smiling at me.

a young man approaches me
from across the car as i sit
next to the woman i make love to.
with a smile and an accent,
he asks for my number.
he’s new in town
and needs a pretty friend.
slight glance to my lover—
she grins slyly and looks down—
i tell him i’m not from here, either,
i’m only here for her.
but thank you for the smile.

knees to his chest, a child detective
writes down everything he sees,
peering sneakily from behind
a notebook much like mine.
he stares at my body
snuggled into my lover’s
and scribbles words i cannot know.

traveler’s shell

bits of stolen pieces
slowly stitch together my skin.
i turn into myself as i turn around others,
unable to think of words without still turning,
crazed by them – my bones burn
even with ease of heart.

with only small pieces
pulled from reality, i’m left in the silence
of myself pushing forward
self realizations tinged with hate
as i try to accept instability
in a world designed to toss me around
without it.

for those-

raped at thirteen fourteen fifteen
by their father their neighbor their friend
knowing of what sex should have been but unknowing of how to say no.

advil. half a bottle, another half more.
to thin their blood,
to send them somewhere other than a children’s psych ward for a week.

stiff white sheets-
perfect white, perfect, to check for blood stains,
the kind not allowed- woken up in on valentine’s day.

a heart-shaped card for “no one” in mid-day group therapy.
back to school. no one asked.

lost their voice to the everything learned
told their body was meant to be desired but untouched,
only owned and unknown.

found their voice in the back of a dodge charger, choked lovingly
by a boy with a crooked penis and a vague understanding of the female clit.

sang loud despite silencing secrets
coughed up by cries at the bottom of throats.

saw sunshine in winter through the eyes of girls
meant to be friends,
nothing more.

kept singing.
still singing.

stain

every time i bleed,
i think of how my underwear must hate being gendered
and used as a rag almost as much as i do.

i soak my garment in cold water and scrub away the reminder
that I am nothing more than a stain in this world.

adornment

1.
you seemed to live your life as art- so i hung you up in mine
until i stared too long, blank notebook, blank face
and someone took you away

2.
i miss falling asleep with you in my arms to prove i wasn’t alone
and letting you slip away in the middle of the night
waking with a steady sense of independence
and you to my back

3.
i stopped by your hookah bar last night (it only feels right to call it yours) but you weren’t there. i looked your friends in the eyes, sipped water and walked away.

i found you while searching for something to write about, not for someone to love. i’m sorry.

sensibility

you are all my winters, summers and falls,
you are a death and a life
that leaves me again and again in a state of decay with unhealthy inclinations

there’s something crude
about your consistent resurrections done without care in rebirth
that makes me question my sense of self

i sleep-
waiting for a spring to overcome
the cold hold you have on me

m-

although i did really like the little hairs connecting your eyebrows together

(i found them endearing//truthful//confident),

i didn’t like how long your fingernails were

but i guess i really just don’t like fingernails.

i wish i followed my instincts, or my mother’s advice,

when she told me never to date a smoker

after being one herself for twenty years.

maybe one day i’ll listen to myself and never again trust someone

who uses books piled up on top of each other as shelves

(you’re all real liars and too good of talkers)

m, you did teach me that i don’t always have to take care of myself,
because sometimes someone else is there
to put a trash can under my face
and feed me cheerios
and call me mija
and sometimes and that’s ok.
i wish your inherent loveliness was enough to make me fall in love, but life in the after-love’s a tough one.