On the eve of March 22nd, while a runaway youth, staying in Brooklyn with dear friends, I decided to create a photo-prayer to document and archive the resilience, faith and self love I vowed to maintain. This is me in my magic, my resistance and in my legacy.
Home to a nomad
Rest to the nocturnal moon
I’ll never surrender again,
When I know it’s way too soon,
Way too soon
And Yea, I fell
But I held—
Stuck my place
I cannot undate
The nights I was chased
By the state
The nights I’d prefer to sleep
Til the days
Would all terminate
The state cannot outrun, my expansive space
I am outer space
And if I must
Change my name
As many times as I must escape,
All these newer cages
All these neoliberal chains—
Know I am defiant and arranged
I have expansive taste
I was born resistant to states,
I belong in the outer space.
Somewhere in Brooklyn,
I am resting my head against the cool asphalt,
In the front yard of a new friend’s house.
Skull trembling from fear and a slight summer night breeze,
In small moments to myself,
If it wasn't for this peach E&J,
I might just lose myself,
concretize into the pavement.
I might just stay here
and remain in shock, solid.
Traumatized by the amount of helicopters
surveilling the night sky,
Traumatized by the possibility
Of my capture.
If it wasn't for this
This genuine love made with new family,
I might not find warmth from the telling of indigenx resilient histories.
The only thing, I will pull,
Is this vodka, my will and my Bronx accent.
I will choose nothing but being drunk and in love
With the vastness of this moment.
The moment has a heartbeat, and I will lay up against it, swooning.
Carrying the memory of Zayn Malik and punjabi mamas
The Memory of Cardi b discussions and passionate twerking.
Because I have been nostalgic of lost family,
Because I have been a nomad in search of home.
And new family will embrace, as we dance to milestones.
My Movement is survival
I came from,
the trance I’ve begun.
I’ve only begun
The infinite ways,
I’ve already sprung.
A brown-skinned person in a white shirt with a jean jacket and hooped earrings sits in a room. Their hair, both dark brown and dyed lighter at the ends, is worn in a ponytail. In image 1, their eyes are closed, hands clasped together, fingers pointing to lips. In other images, they stare directly towards the viewer, calm, but firm expression on face.
The second self-portrait has orange and yellow flowers in the background. The others show a living room with a fireplace with award plaques and a trophy. In the last image, the poet appears with Assata Shakur's autobiography on their lap.
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About Alexandria Maya Gonzalez:
South Bronx native, afro boricua gender non conforming ghetto prince. Crafting through all mediums of art, working on an upcoming music project. If youre widdit, follow me via insta @thetowerrr.
Poem edited by Alberto Hernández