brown

brown boy

brown boy

take a look around, boy

color of the ground, boy

why no spanish sounds, boy?

 

brown man

brown man

mother ecuadorian

father ecuadorian

culture of american

 

red, wHite

red, wHite

red, wHite, blue

 

lose the wHite

lose the wHite

add some yellow too-

 

red, wHite

red, wHite

red, wHite, blue

 

lose the wHite

lose the wHite

add some yellow too-

“brown”

©Steven Cuenca

 

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10 Pounds

i lost 10 pounds when you left me

my shirts fit better than ever

my waist is back to a 32

i’ve never found myself so beautiful

who would have known you only weighed 10 pounds

“10 Pounds”

©Steven Cuenca

snake’s blood

“we’re warriors, we have warrior’s blood.

my father, yours.

we’re fighters.”

he was half-right.

i’m a coward that hides behind

words and whispers.

i am Brutus of Rome.

i am 30 pieces of silver.

i am the kiss.

i am the hiss in the Garden of Eden.

I am Will Hunting,

surrounding himself with

retarded gorillas.

I am cyber bullying

in its early days.

AIM was my weapon.

i am the girl on the ground.

i pushed her down.

i am so small

when i’m confronted in public.

i am the moments right after,

when i feel brave again.

i am 3 punches to the cock

while they held him down.

i am the speeches i wrote

for a church i don’t believe in.

i am the tears that they cried.

i am the hate.

i am the anger that mutes me.

i am the words and the whispers.

he said we’re warriors.

he’s only half-right.

he’ll be remembered,

because people like me

write stories about people like him.

“snake’s blood”

©Steven Cuenca

post-yawn purity

you used to yawn

tears would puddle underneath your eyes

and there wasn’t a single wrinkle of sadness on your face

just a warmth of mock innocence

 

i remember wanting to squeeze the life out of you

absorb your moment of post-yawn purity

and have that warmth burn my chest

 

that’s how i have to think about you

it’s what you are now

“post-yawn purity”

©Steven Cuenca

 

 

Skeleton

hold my hand

break my bones

let them spill all on the ground

 

don’t be scared

i’ll pick them up

it didn’t hurt as much this time

“Skeleton”

©Steven Cuenca

High School Writing Contest

you wrote a story, it won a contest.

you had a plan that worked.

you’d take a mother,

sprinkle her with cancer,

and have her die in front of

her daughter.

 

I asked you what the point was.

why write it? what was the inspiration?

you said you figured the saddest story

would win the contest.

you were right,

and it shouldn’t have

made me so angry.

 

but, she suffered for no reason.

for your stupid fucking win.

while you sat there like a coward,

your paper and your pen.

you murdered a sick mother,

probably did it with a grin.

orphaned her poor baby,

i’ll win

i’ll win

i’ll win.

i know it’s all made up,

but they live inside the lines.

an uninspired story,

your fucking Frankenstein.

 

so take that woman’s cancer,

walk the orphan’s shoes.

write with true perspective,

write with purpose too.

 

write it through your stomach,

fever sweats of ink.

have your readers live it,

regret a single blink.

 

write with true perspective

write with true perspective

fuck a writing contest

“High School Writing Contest”

©Steven Cuenca