I ask the Anthurium if she will be my partner.
Gladly accepting with a flourish, she spins me around.
“Carnaval toda la vida y una noche junto a vos!”

Her long leaves and fleshy spikes cradling me,
embracing in this moment, timeless and alive.
“Si no hay galope se nos para el corazón!”

Oh, ugly, twelve-inch things.
I love you so much.
You take me everywhere
and allow for my freedom.
Carry me far away from here!

Oh, ugly, funny things.
Your stubby, fatty fingers,
crowned with hairy tufts,
while your teeth jut out
all crooked and full of dirt.

Oh, ugly, reeking things,
of which I have two,
mirror images of each other.
Sometimes you reek of death,
calluses tugging at the sock.

“People are happy to know me
and I am a being of light.
I am also love,” I repeated,
endlessly.

You are a being of light,
and the stars whisper:
great transformation surrounds you.
Remember: everything you desire
already exists within you.
And above all…
mucho, mucho amor.”

Flamboyantly, he declaims:
“Insufferable Libra,
Mi Amor Librano.
Why do you doubt so much?
People are happy to know you;
you must acknowledge this fact
and get over yourself.
You are this Earth’s perfection,
and you are love.

A swirl of celestial glitter,
the faint scent of incense,
Walter Mercado himself,
materializes, radiant,
with a grand flip
of their gold-trimmed cape.

“Were all Libras loved today?”
“Did you tell your chosen Libra today?”
“How do they know possibly?”

Monkey brain, my oldest friend.

We live in equilibrium.
If they’re distressed, I’m melancholic.
If they’re blooming, I’m flourishing.
If they’re wilting, I will collapse.
I thrive inside a planted terrarium,
always teetering.
It can become paradise.
More like green fingers.

I searched for Joy today.
The search itself helped.
She may not exist,
but the search was real.
And maybe,
I don’t need her,
I can find solace
on my own.
And that,
will keep me going.

I searched for meaning
in every interaction;
I spoke, I laughed, I shared.
Going through the motions,
but I searched for her today.
I didn’t find her right away,
but in my quest, I found solace.
Not alone, as everyone told me;
she is fleeting and aloof.

I studied the faces of commuters,
peeked out at every stop.
The subway rats offered me
a stale slice of pizza.
They said that she hadn’t been
in the tunnels for a while.

I scrolled through my phone,
sent an email, a DM.
Snapped a photo, hoping
to catch her fleeting essence.
But even then, she was unseen.

Maybe,

you won’t do the same tomorrow.

Or the next day.

Or the one after that.

Maybe,

you will search
for joy
within your own heart.

There was never a time

you felt elated.

Never joy

you could chew through.

Maybe a mixed mofongo

of joy and sorrow,

but always stale.

Now, you gnaw your nails away.

You are a man alone on that couch,

eating your sorrows away.

Some days you scrape them off

with a dull knife,
other days

with your own fingernails.

Even when I biked
a hundred miles in a day
my weigh never
dipped below 200 pounds.
But here I go.
If I want to avoid scalpel,
I must exercise.
Let’s aim for the impossible.
The holy grail of 160 pounds
is now the goal.
Surely, this won’t bring on
anxiety, feelings of failure,
or depression.

I wake up with this face,
with a sense of relief,
and when I recover,
my teeth are clenched,
hair tousled.
But what if, one day,
I do not recover?