smashcrash
originally written 01.29.03

(not to be confused with my other poem crash/smash)

smash, crash: the sound i make
when i hit the ground
when you talk to me.
you've broken me down,
shattered me down to the
very smallest piece.
i fall for it, i fall for you
everytime,
i guess i am your fool.
smash, crash: you smash me
send me crashing to the ground.

smash, crash: you bring my hopes up,
the you smash them,
crash into my heart.
let's just be friends,
let's just pretend,
that i don't want to ever start
loving you, thinking of you
like i do, yeah
i already do.
smash, crash: you smash me
send me crashing to the ground.

did you ever think
the things you say
and do mattered?
do you ever think
to put together
people you shatter?

like me, like me,
you smash and crash me to the ground.

smash, crash: there's nothing left to break.
a nightmare love,
but i'm awake
to feel the pain, can't fill this empty hole
that you've burned
in my soul.
you smile and then i die, a sweet torture,
pleasant agony
on the floor.
smash, crash: you smash me,
send me crashing to the ground.

did you ever think
the things you say
and do mattered?
do you ever think
to put together
people you shatter?

like me, like me,
you smash and crash me to the ground.
so deep, so deep,
you smash and crash me so far down.

hip-hop
originally written 01.16.03
as a rapper, and an avid listener of hip-hop music for a good portion of my life, i've been able to hear good hip-hop and bad hip-hop. unfortunately, in the past few years, i feel that popular hip-hop music has taken a turn for the worse, at least from where it started. it's really difficult to find good hip-hop groups like jurassic 5, the roots, a tribe called quest that make good music, and write lyrics with a deeper message than the mainstream. i do respect mainstream rappers (i.e. eminem, jay-z, etc.,...) for their talent, some of them are even great writers...but, too often the message is tainted with negativity or materialism. i've just had enough of the bling-bling aspect that has permeated modern hip-hop music...popular hip-hop music seems to have lost it's soul. if you haven't yet, please do open up an ear to groups like j5, the roots, common, mos def, etc.,...that's soulful hip-hop. but, enough with the explaination...here's the poem/verse, whatever.

hip-hop monotony
has been stopping me
from purchasing lps.
can somebody help me?
hip-hop was once
about the individual--
now it's all the same,
the image is residual.
we used to pump positive,
now it's all negativity.
i'm hard-pressed to find some
lyrical creativity.
there's only 500 mics,
and a million emcees...
seems like we're drowning in hate--
it's so hard to breathe.
style was a part of the game,
i can't deny it...
but all the bling makes me ashamed,
i must decry it.
i believe that is time
to come to a close...
women are women,
not bitches or hoes.
i remember a time
when emcees could get along,
but now all we hear
are death threats in a song.

after cleaning out my drawers, i found a lot of old material...so, i present to you most of that material, even some of the stuff i'm embarassed about. also, somewhere in the mix, there is one new poem...but, seven out of the eight new poems are older material, i don't even remember the dates on some of them. well, you'll get to see how i've evolved (or de-evolved) as a writer...i hope, in some way, you'll enjoy this.

swimming
originally written 06.18.02
i wrote this?

i want to feel the waves crash against our bodies.
to swim in the ocean of our love with you
would give me the sweetest, wildest rapture.
i want to share this rapture with you.
the contact, the sweet sweat, our euphoria.
emotions our ocean cannot wash away.
emotions our ocean breeds and multiplies.
holding your body so close to me,
keeping you afloat amongst the crashing of our waves.
feeling them crash, and crash, and crash,
our bodies drenched in our love-oceanwater.
we try to escape our ocean by rolling in the sand.
our wet bodies, toppling on top of eachother
getting covered in sand every second.
every inch of our bodies coated with sand.
showering eachother, scrubbing eachother down,
wiping the sand off of every single part.
after we're done bathing eachother
we run back home, our bodies aching from our wonderful swim.
rubbing eachother down, easing the tension in our muscles,
multiplying the anxiety between us...
only to find ourselves swimming again.

crash/smash
originally written 01.11.03

i would like an invisible car
to crash into me,
smash me
into little pieces.
i would like the driver
to put me back together
and see every bit
of who i am--
what i am.
somewhere in the process,
this driver would
breathe new life
into my body...send new blodd
through my veins.

right path?
originally written 07.22.mm
it's really weird looking at this poem...i still feel the same way about what i was writing...despite my anger towards america in this poem, i still would like to say God bless america.

what is this so-called right path?
we're taught to respect diversity,
yet many advertising their right path
condemn and condescend natural diversity.

who's to say what's right and what's wrong?
what gall one would have
to impress their beliefs on another
through oppression and depression.

the rebirth of the american campground.
before: slave shacks, concentration camps for the japanese.
now: deprogramming camps for the homosexual.
campgrounds based on fear.

embrace diversity, in the age or tolerance.
america tried to keep the black man shackled.
america imperialized the philippines and shunned asians from its own land.
now it tries to abolish a different diversity.

a nation with citizens who burn their own crosses.
what's to say one path is right? and one crooked?
those advertising this right path are descecrating a symbol of their faith.
how righteous can this path be?

no one knows of the realities of an ultimate destination.
no one knows the path to this ultimate destination--if any.
no one knows if there's more than one path.
so why insist on rightousness when even you are not sure?

--and i know you're not sure,
unless you were there at the moment of universal creation,
and can see through the thick fog called the present,
and see the light of the tunnel called the end.

eight.fourteen//oh.two
originally written 08.14.02

after falling asleep in
the lonely darkness i
found myself lying awake
in a mysterious land
of articulate perfection.
the sun shone perfectly,
not too hot nor cold.
the breeze blew wonderfully,
in seemed that all objects
were beautiful glass sculptures.
i fell in love with
this mysterious dreamland...
only to realize that
it was not a dream,
but reality. upon finding
my place in this real
perfection, i felt
misplaced amonst these
glass trees shaped to
perfection. i did not
belong here. so what
did i do? you ask,
i broke something.
consequently all the other
glass figures shattered,
only to be reshaped
by the wind and sun
for my next visit...
i'm left to wonder how
it will look next time,
and when the next time
will be.

sitting here
composition date: early 2002...

i'm sitting here
impatiently staring at the phone
waiting for you to call--
wondering if you're going to call...
hoping you'll call.

*ring*
hello?
*click*

damned telemarketers.

still sitting,
still staring,
still waiting,
still wondering,
still hoping.

i just want to talk to you.
if only i could hear your voice...
hell, even better,
if i could see your face.

damnit...
why won't you call?

call me,
call me,
please,
call me...

*ring*

no--it's not the phone,
just the oven timer.
i've got oven mitts on,
and i'm staring at the phone...
sitting here...

quickwrite: it's on its own now...
i don't know the composition date of this either...it was a writing excercise from my ap*english class last year from mrs. hahn...i wrote a lot of good stuff in that class, i just happened to find this while cleaning out my drawers. i miss mrs. hahn...

a boy was born in the wilderness,
amongst the sounds of wailing police cars,
below the roof-tops of apartment buildings,
above the concrete floor.
he grew, and learned how to be
a productive member of the world,
hoping to surpass the numerous beasts
that populated the world around him.
the boy thirsted for knowledge,
but somehow, his jungle couldn't give it to him.
his mind was populated with
an endless mixture of trash, junk, and unprettiness.
the wild world had set this boy--this thing--
free. free to do anything.
free to persue anything
but this thing is unprepared.

this thing--it's on its own now,
leading its mysterious life,
becoming more itself by the minute,
like a child grown-up, growing strange.

(instapoem)
i don't know when i wrote this...but, it was one of those things where your word choice is limited to, like, 30 words...so...here it is.

a memory of you
the fire that i have
as the smoke is drifting
i lose you

the orchid in the rubble
piles of memory crush me
trying always for you
i lose you

i like you
you change me
you ruin me
you lose me

five-ten. now...
originally written 08.09.02

is this where i want to be?
i used to be so sure where i wanted to be.
i never was wrong...
it's just that i know
where i want to be five-ten years from now:

a nice home, a loving wife,
a job i love, a family i can support
and be there for.

the thing is that i never know
where i want to be now, five-ten minutes from now.
has this completely blurred my
conception of reality?
i'm afraid to find out what i really want
now.
i think i'm going to find that some of the
things i have now aren't really what i want
now.
now,
my conception of the future has become
not-so-clear, as the lack of my grasp onto the present was never there.

banana
originally written 01.10.03

so ripe, so ready...
it's so hard to stay steady.
you don't know me, for real...
you'll achieve that after you peel
me...when you no longer
conceal me from your eyes...
then you'll realize
that this banana
was one bad mamma-jamma.

--[ mig's banana is longer. ]--

i'm back. below, you'll find my catch-up posts for fruitbasket.
enjoy.

strawberry
originally written 01.05.02

those strawberries
were very, very
sweet...dipped
in whipped cream--
from a chocolate covered dream.
i remember how you fed me those strawberries.
the flavor carried
its way from the fruit
to your finger,
the juice lingered
and dripped so lightly,
so slightly,
in that gentle way...
i could think about this for days.
this sweet euphoria
with the sweet strawberry flavor,
memories that taste like this can only be savored.

--[ mig has strawberries too ]--

pineapple
originally written 01.03.02

a pineapple had been dropped
in an apple pie.
this tropical fruit
must've slipped the baker's eye.
all these apple slices
act like it's a crisis
if there's something different--
really, what's the difference?
so what if the pie
is slightly diversified?
if there's something unique,
you label it a freak.
this pineapple will never be
the apple you want it to be...
the pie will never taste
the way you thought it would, so waste
it not--instead, apply some thought.
think of the uniqueness the pineapple brings,
the funky newness of the song it sings.
seventy apple slices and one pineapple piece.
seventy apple slices and one pineapple piece.
seventy apple slices and one pineapple piece.
the pie never tasted so delicious before the pineapple was released.

--[ pineapplicious miguel ]--

tomorrow came
originally written 01.01.02

the next day dawned...
same old song...
but for me,
a new key.

destiny still calls...
i still fall.
flailing down, alone
looking for my true home.

answers are still being sought,
i still long to be caught
up in a storm...
longing to be warm.

tomorrow came,
calling my name...
this year came so cold.
are there more stories to be told?

i promise to get back to the poetry suite...i haven't been keeping up lately...but, i haven't had many chances...i'll be back.