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
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.”
vividly - smells of aged breath, smooth as linen trousers rolled
and tempered with the sweetest warmth of a sugary coffee-filled cup.
A man built with the strength of burned bridges and
a sacred heart. reminds me of him -
a hail-made face bumped smooth by hail-mary’s and the lineage
traceable with effortless historical mirrors from past years
peacable pardons of a herritage burried in loyalties to the king.
A perfectness, pale and placed in greasy skin to savor all types to come.
Portions of pre-existing people. brief times
Pass mankind and leave sweetness of a future man built in age
and in more fragrant words to cherrish as old-world and handsome.
bitter your tongue by the salted air
of those countries we left behind and let those buds taste
patient fortune, heavy and rich with the darkness of my hair
in the hands of sweet smells to come, i ask you.
disapear. The joints and comsuming roughness - hope
that the day breaks again on your sunday.
Prayers and dreams breed hope inside the hollow skins
of our minute-hand love - breaking walls -
Crumbs of a too pleasant son and let nothing become of an unrushed outcome.
There is dirt in your hands and wood underneath in glass - alters -
We’ll stand. The young saints of beloved inspiration.
Paint your walls, smile
that devil-snicker with one hand to my back
and embrace me - cloaked
in wooly scents of a viejo in the making.
inebriated again, but only enough to enjoy it and not enough to stop from bloggin’. had a great time today. started a new and promising drawing and yes, it involves barnacles. you’ll see,
however, today i was gathering the mixed emotions from the previous month and smashing them neatly into a huge ball of unexpected rage which i’ve thrown at my sister too much. realized, apologized and began to cope. bottom line, we attended the blackbirds 80s dance party which i loved for the tunes - glorious beats and sounds - and danced with a real cool Kenyan who looked like miles davis. but what can i say, i’m kinda into someone i met recently so we’ll just have to take it easy and wait and see. i dislike liking someone, honestly. its kinda a bummer to get excited about a guy wanting to meet up for a date and talk (a guy who is actually my type and that i’m attracted to in more than one way) because it means caring - which takes up alot of time and space in my mind. ugh. but it also means a reason to settle down and that dancing is just dancing, it doesn’t mean that i’m easy and lonely. it means that i’m excited… to go on a legit daytime date, show off how awesome and smart and beautiful i am and see if i feel the same about him as i feel about myself, haha! until then, i’ma just hang out, theres no room for footsy until i see what i see… but theres a second potential suitor from prior years who truly trumps all men. we’ll see, we’ll see what we see. until then, i will try to keep this blog art - oriented. you dirty barnacles!
Makayla Armijo is an artist and poet from Albuquerque, New Mexico. These are her poems, paintings, drawings, and inspirations.
above photo credit: Tess Coats
