his body was made for the sun
stone colored ashes surrounding
the ground
that drinks droplets of
palm wine; sacrifices; ancestors
spirits sip spirits through earth mounds
and prayers slip out of paper cups
his mouth forms animals, forearms
created, bent back behind goatskin, horn
wrapped around mirror, wrapped around
his un-sun-bleached body -
just as I, woman;
cream-cloudy; his American-European dream,
surrounded
a piece of him
you wanna brag.
i call it 6 months of jetlag.
you wanna show off
what i could write off.
you think you’re the boss
of what i would call a coin toss.
neither not
either so
this is going by quick
but for you, it’s too slow.
your cologne makes me dizzy, hips swivel in oval movements to the steady deep drone of your
accented words
and i confess without hinderence that it was your country of origin and story then, that intoxicated my
affectionate attention
and that night it was i who allowed me to be seduced - by my own self - and adore the qualities you have which in america we’d call
poor
and introduce, without pity, the momentary love within me and over look your poor qualities for something
more
Makayla Armijo
Untitled & Unfinished
Pencil on Paper
i started this drawing in Santiago de Compostela. the remainder has been cropped out because i honestly don’t know how essential it is to the rest of the drawing. both content and composition-wise, original inspiration for this piece may not be at all relevant or - for lack of a better word - “good” anymore. we’ll see, its on the shelf for now.
Original inspirations: love, sexual liberation, freedom, rebirth, and regaining gentleness from unexpected strangers. the sea. and Spain.
my stomach lining keeps me on my feet. that aching patter of bubbling noises (and a headache to match) mirror my thoughts of how much coffee is too much to have consumed in the last 48 hours… it really was too much.
its student warfare in here. this ‘resource center’ is overflowing with standing students scanning the area for a free computer. they even stalk and wait like a pack of hyenas in that ‘every-fool-for-them-self’ kind of style. waiting for the remains of someone else to jump on. they get confrontational and like -iwasherefirstbeenwaitinglongerthanyou- and plop, with a hop they take that ‘rightfully’ theirs empty space. and i’m left slap-stupid like DAYUM NUKKA, TAKE IT TAKE IT. finally got my butt on a seat myself, had to bust out some drawing-doodles to get my ‘HP scanjet’-on, and pretend like i needed to use the scanner so’s i’s don’t get kicked off the only available computer i could spot myself.
i’m consumed by blues and dixieland jazz. mostly the blues are eating me alive and i don’t mind even a minute of it. i want everyone to myself. i don’t want anyone but myself. i said on his recieving end last night “i just don’t know what i want.” homies always wanna hear what they don’t wanna hear. just keep it up, and play the game. fair-warning: i may fold.
Makayla Armijo
transpose -
mark up the meaning to make a force worth feeling
the bitterness of colors in your skin. forever decided to
strike back in thoughts, words burrowed in the corner of lips,
and the person entertaining all lightness will hide them self;
burrowed, entwined in my skin.
time teaches to shield from the gods
with heavy arms, the dark ages and allude to illusions
of an empty spirit without love.
hope, receding the lines of creativity and envision a new lie to see.
revise, the premise of a falling instrument to force feed elements into dreams.
increase consumption and ignore what is lacked. you are emotionally stale
and crave flesh to replenish. the tender sounds a muscle makes
and a person can coo them self into your heart.
hear airy-ness of inhales and process the texture and dynamics
of the pulsing center. a voice playing pizzicato in your ears and
finger prints slip through hair, evidence placing touch and
decrescendo into the silence of sleep, cocooned into his chest.
you are enthrawled, encumbered by fondness and idleness
in arms, stikes fear.
Generally, I’ve been a sad duck as of late. my mood has been thoroughly wrecked due to the overflow of bad ju ju. i’m terribly and uncontrollably frustrated by my current living situation and it is effecting every aspect of my life. i’ve only just started to shake myself from this super-funk - like 3 days and counting. i hate to promote (or accept) the concept that, as a social creature by nature, i would be cheered by beings other than myself.
¡pero si eso lo sabe todo el mundo!
this is so… just as i am influenced and inspired to the point of brimming brilliance by folks - i’ve got them male-induced-smiles. (now, keep in mind, its my usual state. i tend to crush a lot, playa style and all…) but i met someone that i will always appreciate for the short time spent together chatting over t.v. land type prehistoric shows complete with all sorts of snuggles at the hotel blue. this homie caught my eye at burts tiki lounge just a few days after 2012 turned to 2013. i liked his striped beanie and bouji attitude, but it was the merlot in hand on a dollar beer night that got my attention. i did my usual, brushed my shoulders off and collar-popped my charms as i passed by a few times. asked what kinda red dye he was sipping and got him to come sit wit me and the crew a minute. we exchanged introductions which is when i realized who this honey was…
long story short, it wasn’t the kind of night i expected. hogans heros glowing blue on the tube, his larger than life voice speaking making messages on repeat and uh like “you can’t hear to well, can you?” and me “what? just playing… no i can’t” and him “have you ever heard of me, i mean, of what i do before this, before we met?” and me
”… yeah.”
tons of affection and i’m sorry but i have a soft spot for black men who want to be held. the morning was me watching him scramble to get his clothes into his suit case, and his smile beaming down on me with a head pat or two. there was no sex. no kissing. homie didn’t even grind. just hand holding and hugs. and “you got a skype?” and “here’s my number, its a five oh five because i bought the phone last time i was here.” a few scribbles on the back of a receipt and him “I said six, you get that?” me “yeah, yeah, i got it.” he gave me an embrace and pointed to his cheek for a kiss. and i could help but laugh when we walked out together and his partner called out to him
“what up playa.”
dear cosmos,
i’ve got my favorite graphic novel, a cup of hot chocolate and a list of undying concepts to adore: my love, my life, my hands, my thoughts, the ability to feel warmth and be honored. i’ve tried my best at being wise this past month and a half - it gave me a glimpse into humility yet granted me an appreciation for my own strengths not previously noted by my heart.
i’ve fallen in love.
i learned that it was possible again, to allow my feelings to grow and become genuinely gentle. and, i learned to do so selflessly and without expectations. though i’ve been emotional in my most human nature and acted on such extremes which nearly compromised my recent meditations, i’ve learned from every word and feeling… been able to not so much ‘bounce-back’ but rather to be in a constant state of self-evaluation which is also sharing with me the pleasure of inner-peace. i feel infinitely fortunate and blessed. i’ve never been a stranger to cowardice, but have opened my eyes before my fears and am in the process of confronting them… and i urge you all to do the same.
…y’know, if you feel like it or whatever.
p.s. i’ve got some killer art in the works.
Myself, a child’s mind over the means of grown men make worries break hopes of great success
Falling short in accomplished states of old age, and grown too young for my own good.
Masterpiece pumpkin, your shirt still smells like you
In the corner of memories, those Hawaiian print patterns on your
Little outfit set, purple and white and sticky
Pale as the rice in your bowl
As the chop sticks that leaned in pans
As the acid erosion eating at my early teeth
After leechee fruit cubes in tiny gelatin packages, handed to me
I can touch your doll clothes in the lost and found of my mind,
Taste the air he made salty by your tiny tears
When the boy mocked your words, name
Did he ever grow up knowing
You were the phoenix of this desert?
That the sun set for you, dear girl,
And that summer you left, you took the warmth
Did he feel it? Did he know?
That we wrote letters in bubble handwriting
On milky blue lines with glittered gel colors
And that our hands met words to speak when we could not
That the moon belonged to Hawaiian purple with the slender frame
And big brawny me wrapped in black vinyl jacket year-round?
I’ll tell him, sweet haze, that we never forgot to be children,
That we grew up in the heart of eleven years
And never apart though separate,
You with your red and gold new-year packets
With your sesame fish spine snacks and canned corn,
Rising above the dry heat into a bird,
I’ll never let those tears put out
your flame before you could become, again
i imagined love as a childhood friend
taking leaps forth from screen doors open
leading bare-ankled patter into honesty
fingers weaved, leading through:
charmed walkways of un-whole-y
affection
leading windowed hearts through fog
insides: toying with the virtues of
damnation
initiation of intention
to bring a pang back-forth and slipping
into narrowness,
a claustrophobic handshake turning
finger prints into suffocating gestures
of romance.
brings out the color, to afford
effortless good fortune and use
words like ‘adore’,
as in to cherish to the nearing nature of
worship
when a wisdom dumbs itself to worship no one - except your own self;
the fool
and am no liar but a
regretful speaker
unbound by hysteria, the pleasurable
measure of truth frees
only forget myself,
confessions of feelings
that are
no more
longer
not.
Makayla Armijo is an artist and poet from Albuquerque, New Mexico. These are her poems, paintings, drawings, and inspirations.
above photo credit: Tess Coats
