Month: August 2019

mirror

acid 6


dropped a tab
didn’t work, then i
fell on my face

i woke up on some clouds
looking down, i
saw a scary fate

i saw the face
of a scary boy, i
think that he was 8

he had a mirror
and he saw his father,
a man he never knew

he grew up into the person that he
thought he had to grow into

boyyy

what father will, father won’t
what father did, father don’t

what father do
isn’t you,
what father did
reflects on him

what father won’t
live for his kid?
what father don’t
live for his kid?

father dead
father slew
father hues of greens and blues
father fell
father fall

mirror mirror on the wall
pull it down, smash it up
go look now, you look like us
broken pieces to pick up

mirror mirror, mirrors lie
try the sky, open wide

better yet, the ocean blue
watch the waves
as they ripple your face,
what are they telling you?

every moment, every breeze
affects reflection, be at ease

then i woke up from my dream
almost fell
off my cloud
smoked some loud
winded down

think i’ll
break some mirrors
for the sound

“mirror”
©Steven Cuenca

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ridgewood

NYC 14.JPG
--
roaches killed our fish again,
roaches killed our dinner.

how my cuzzos' gettin' fat,
i'm just gettin' thinner.

rats on rats on rats again,
"oh no, that's no conejo."

pissed my pants
every day,
think i grew up late.

think i grew up great.

ridgewood, queens
deli things
sour icees,
latin kings

gameboy color,
crack the hydrants,
stressless summers

daytime sirens
wizzing by.
nighttime street race
lullaby. 

and it wasn't all bad,
my brothers and my cousins
were all i had.

loved my mother,
loved my dad.

never called him that.
it was too soon.

we left the city too soon.

but once in a blue moon,
i find myself in that
little apartment again.

where everything i knew
and loved were within
arm's reach.

sometimes i find myself in 
ridgewood, queens.
-- 

"ridgewood"
©Steven Cuenca

the place i stay

nintendo 2


there’s a puddle of spit that lay
in the place i stay
where there’s smoke that sprays
from my mouth to the moonlight.

it’s a type of howl, i guess.
all the day that’s left
building up to my chest
and exploding.

it’s the only way i sleep,
such a monkey sheep,
finding medicine that works
only sometimes.

and she hates it.
i was ugly before
and she took it.
but i’m uglier now,
my eyes are crooked.
my face is numb,
my face is dumb,
i’m stupid.

but i can count by twos
and tie my shoes
like a turtle do.

she loves me,
but that hurdle grew.

used to make her cheese,
she watched me curdle too.

but porch days
are porch grays,
we awake
with heartache.

so there’s a puddle of spit that lay
in the place i stay
where there’s smoke that sprays
from my mouth to the moonlight.

“the place i stay”
©Steven Cuenca