By Dan Elijah Vazquez

I. Cat & Dog
The opportunity to understand each other came and went. You were listening but
rendered judgment too quickly. And I was hardly listening at all, too busy airing my grievances
with society at large on the red bench, on the sidewalk, below your sleek luxury apartment.
Unemployed, looking down at my beat-up, no-longer-white Adidas Sambas, saying:

“I think I’m a revolutionary.”

You
were in your bubble of a proud, hard-earned independence from exacting parents,
with a canvas and a brush, some weed, unpopular music, and a copy of your personal bible
“Four Agreements” by Don Miguel Ruiz which you tried to evangelize upon my psyche. Not a
single fuck given about the opinions of others, you were a callus middle finger to the world with
your headphones swallowing your small, defiant head while I was (I am) two puppy eyes and
outstretched arms begging for a hug from my mother, the Madonna, The Universe, you
or history’s most famous carpenter.
You were attracted to me until you weren’t. You said: “you’re the girl in this
relationship”
What does that make you? Insensitive. Transactional.
Sorry, but that ethos doesn’t suit your small frame: your flimsy wrists look so snappable.
Your face can be so mean, but your feet hurt when you run and I’m the one who walks back
through the city night alone once we make sure you arrive safe at yours.
For all your feminism, you behaved most true to tradition, or nature.
Your disgust with me seemed to ask: What use is a male who cries?
I didn’t signal safety and strength. So you left.

And that’s okay because you’re ‘just a girl’
But I can’t—just—be a man.
I must dare to become one.

II. #DownBAD
Outside the doors of this ugly place I call home, I am Mr. Anybody with my half-smile
and work clothes. Forever ready to wave a quick hi to a neighbor across the street. But inside the
walls of this terrible place I should not call home, when I am abandoned and alone and The
Night closes in on me with perfect cosmic indifference yet again, a raccoon sifts through the
garbage piled up on my fire escape.
Against the absence of light, the startling white of his eyes meet mine, and for one
horrible moment, the portals to our respective worlds act as mirrors to each other, ripped totally
wide open in mutual terror. Naked and vulnerable, just out the shower, I slam the door shut. Thus
ends the excitement of my month.
My world remains unchanged.
My life is just the same.
I am inconsolable.
God gives us tests. Unlike Job, I fail mine. Whatever may be on my lips or in my
Instagram bio, Jesus Christ Himself is not enough for my heart. My hollow, loveless heart which
aches in vain for the touch of someone else. And who is that? The Girl Who Hates Everyone,
including herself.
Now this one is bone of my bones.
Flesh of my flesh. Soul of my soul.
Her rage is familiar. Her misery is free of pretense
and inviting—I am Home. I am fucked. I am #DownBAD.

III. 99

Forget the 99
The Heart needs no budget. Be prudent elsewhere.
Loving is partaking in God’s essence. And God is infinite.
If you can put a number on your love, your ‘love’ is counterfeit.

So the one you truly love has gone astray. Don’t let 99 make you stay.
Don’t hedge your bets. Risk it all. Take on cold steel rain.
It’s better to lose in earnest pursuit than to exit the game entirely.

Play to win. Or timidly wait for the grave. The choice is yours.

Dan Elijah Vazquez is a lifelong resident of Newark’s Ironbound district, an active amateur athlete, and a graduate of Rutgers-Newark. Both his mom and dad were educators in the city of Newark.