Month: September 2019

una cara triste


my mother was born
con una cara triste,
and i’m the same way.

doesn’t matter how i feel or think,
my mood reflects my face.

guess i gotta face it
like a mirror do,
but i’m always smiling at the mirror view.
(always lying at the mirror view)

i don’t smile on sunny days,
i’ve tested it,
i don’t smile on snowy days,
i’ve tested it.
the world has tried to cheer me up,
i’ve bested it.

tryna stay in a happy state,
but there’s no happy hour
in the Utah state.
no shade on Utah, literally;
Utah’s been great.

i absorb all the love that’s thrown at me,
but it’s a puddle to a lake.

i’m fake, i’m phony,
to take a line from Tio Tony:

“chuuuuuuuso,”

is my spirit sound;
the sound of stress from a real man.

i don’t get real mad anymore,
it’s medicated.

the sadness, i laugh about it;
wear it like white paints
and a red nose with the big shoes.

fuck it, it’s the sadness i use
to navigate this pretty place.

my mother was born
con una cara triste,
but it’s a pretty face.

“una cara triste”
©Steven Cuenca

i think i was perfect

okt 2


i think i was perfect when i was diving deep,
like diving deeper than i’ve ever slept.
‘sleep’ rhymed better, but nonetheless
i think i was perfect two summers ago.

i think i was perfect when life and love
were broken by lack of sleep,
and a poor diet,
and the only love i found was in myself
and it was rich like dark chocolate
with almonds for the crunch.

i think i was perfect when everything was falling apart
and my body went into fight or flight.
every night was the morning,
every morning, a night,
i chose to fly instead of fight.

i think i was perfect when my eyes
succumbed to muscle memory
and they poured just like my drinks did.
nights of flashing, flashing lights,
and a spirit hardly lifted.

i think i was perfect when i was closest to christ,
my hands and feet were punctured.
i hung up there, but raised my head.
my fate i had accepted.

i’d die alone
and i’d sit
with thoughts invading like
black mold.
i wouldn’t die sad,
i’ve moved beyond that,
i’d die with a sense of comfort.

i’ve been comfortable
through all the fucked shit.
i’ve been comfortable
and full of love.
i’ve been comfortable making bubbles
when i should have held my lungs.

i think i was perfect when i was diving deep,
the deepest i’ve ever dove.
i think i was perfect
when i was scared of drowning.

“i think i was perfect
©Steven Cuenca

stories

DSC_0863


used to get on rooftops,
’bout a thousand stories.
took a thousand pictures
worth a thousand stories.

now the tallest building’s only 3 stories.
that’s just fine with me,
i’ll just tell them slowly.

used to get on rooftops,
i would risk my life;
breaking into buildings
on a drunkfucked night.

you don’t think the same
when you’re way up high.

bushwick, brooklyn lights,
camera to my side,
rock it left and right,
careful when you climb,
take your time,

don’t look down,
don’t look.

used to get on rooftops,
i was never skilled.
i’d just point and click,
took pictures that ain’t shit,
playing the misfit.

used to get on rooftops
i’d just point and click.

“stories”
©Steven Cuenca

 

off the greens

hiking 1


i’m off the greens
cuz that’s what love will do

gotta find a way to sleep
broke night, threw up a few

how’d i sleep before?
well, i’d sleep at 4
just in time to hear my demons snore

think i was meant to be a nightcrawler

somethin’ ’bout the night
that makes the world smaller.

somethin’ ’bout the world
that makes my mind wall up.

somethin’ ’bout my mind
that lets these thoughts crawl up,

they lay eggs, and stay fed
they’ll eat ’til i’m brain-dead

i can’t sleep, i can’t dream
i-stare-at-the-ceiling

i need some greens,
i think i’ll order more

order more
and let myself ignore
the fact that i was off the greens
for just a day or two

broke night, threw up a few

guess that’s the best
that my love can do

“off the greens”
©Steven Cuenca

toxic

4th 1.JPG

used to punch myself to make a point
i’d punch hard, because i knew i could take it
i knew i could take it cuz i’d hold back
i’d hold back but i’d still cry
toxic toxic i’d still cry

used to punch myself to make a point
i’d punch hard, because i deserved it
i deserved it cuz my words are reckless
i never held back
toxic toxic i never held back

used to punch myself to make a point
and i still do.
little baby self-inflicted boo-boos
who knew? the toxic boy would be
toxic toxic

“toxic”
©Steven Cuenca

04 honda civic

rt 1

this place is always sunny
my Civic gets so hot
just need to get to work and back
i don’t ask for a lot

my car stu-stu-stu-studders
i know he tries his best
i hope we ma-ma-make it
he hasn’t killed me yet

my 04 Honda Civic
i’m sorry, my poor child
i haven’t changed your oil
in ten thousand fucking miles

we went to the museum
atop this big ass hill
my name’s not jack
an he’s no jill

we stalled in the middle of the street
with the smoke, the sun, and the grief

i think i learned my lesson
for about the 30 seconds
it took for me to pay
the auto shop that day

“04 honda civic”
©Steven Cuenca

woke up 26

slc3


something scary
’bout falling asleep

woke up 26
i was just 13

playing football,
picking grass,
rubbing dirt on my knees

hadn’t kissed a girl yet
never had a girlfriend

family was Kansas
years before the whirlwinds

Christmases were heaven

level 47
troll hunter on Warcraft
i was on a warpath

more math, more English
fuck science, i’m religious

with faith a smidgen of a pigeon
or a fraction of a mustard seed
i can sink the ocean
or turn a mountain 10 degrees

never skipped school
never went out on weekdays
homebody from the jump
Small Soldiers on replay

we say grace
stuff our face
mother-made meals
powdered lemonade

the worst days were being told what to do.
things don’t change.
the worst days are being told what to do.

woke up 26
and i don’t know what to do

“woke up 26”
©Steven Cuenca

lazy me

ogden 2


my brothers were never political
‘never really cared for it too
i always figured things would happen
the way they’re s’posed to

lazy me, lazy you
lazy is as lazy do

i think i always believed in god
something i was born with, i guess
never thought that i might change my ways
‘don’t think i’m that offense yet

lazy me, lazy you
lazy is as lazy do

i think i’m late november
when i knew you’d be coming soon
i’ve never been a better man
building our home for you

lazy me, lazy you
lazy is as lazy do

“lazy me”
©Steven Cuenca