Welcome to Denisse Cotto's Official Web blog!

America. Shut up. Dare to observe us in silence. Get away from the 5 o’clock news and come live with us. For years, not for two weeks – and then you can talk. Our women are strong. Our men are capable. Men, us women are strong. What you got down there, we have it up here, and two more in here, ovaries. Don’t you dare to call us weak. Women, don’t you dare put that head down on anyone. My Bronx, look, the world is calling you. Walk for the ones that don’t. It’s okay to cry— to cry for the ones that don’t and wouldn’t. Forgive for the ones that won’t, for the ones that believe they can throw the next rock, for the ones that believe they can look at the speck of others eyes and not consider their own plank. Hypocrite. Get in my shoes and then you can talk. Live my life and then you can talk. Feel what I feel and then you can talk. Look back at yours and, yeah, Then shut up. Because no knows what you go through. Don’t look at me pretending you know because

You don’t need a gun, or a damn knife to kill me anymore. Not even the same overdose I took a long time ago. You don’t need it because today is the day that calling you 'Dad' has become a routine instead of a privilege. My heart is the same way your kidneys are now: burned with its new raisin-in-the-sun outfit. You’ve left me the same way many daddy's have— starving for the love no one could give, crying and hungry for daddy hugs. You don’t need a gun, or a damn knife to kill me anymore. Not even the same overdose I took a long time ago. Because my letters of love weren’t enough for you to care when you sniffed your best friends: cocaine and crack. or enough for you to respect the only woman I’ve kissed on the lips: Mother. I bet this doesn’t suck as much as your other women in that hotel, right? By Denisse M. Co

I must be a leftover package, Forgotten to recycle Remembered to be ripped from the insides- out To take its goods And toss it to the side. Like a child in Christmas morning Feasting like a dog with its bone Eyes like an owl Hidden like a clown a predator with its prey, ready to devour I must be a leftover package to you. Ripped from its identity No name No address No history Nothing to you I really meant nothing to you, The day I asked you if you really loved me once It wasn’t because there were shadows of love for you still hidden In my closet No In fact I don’t feel anything for you It was because You lied So well, back then. And still do You would tell me anything To taste me again Just taste me As if I were one of the flavors You needed to test To see if you could take me home To see if I hold some value in your tongue.   You would even pretend to be a friend Like a snake Ready to bite when lea

Then we stopped counting, Counting how many months we had been happy. Then I started to remember he stopped texting me cute random notes, stopped sounding excited to hear my voice We started to feel comfortable I stopped knowing what it is to have an identity I stopped feeling loved He was too busy I was too. We started to communicate less I started to drown in my depression getting mad at things that didn't matter. We were dying to learn how to balance life and love. We argued to the point we liked to make the other feel pain, We went too far I went too far We were dying We were dying to feel comfort from one another again We were dying to feel alive again We died. We were dying after death We were dying to rise like sphinxes We were dying to live again We were dying to die in each other’s arms. We didn’t know how to keep each other alive anymore So we wanted to be deadly but together,

For some reason I keep dying for men that don’t die for me. First I was dying to meet him, I had already met him, I just didn’t know it was him. Then I was dying to talk to him, dying to find commonalities beyond physicalities, beyond superficial breaths, Then I was dying to exchange numbers without making the entire situation go down hill Didn’t want to seem too desperate, so maybe he can be desperate first? Then I was dying to hear what he likes in a woman, to see if I’m that woman. Then dying to kiss him dying to get his next text, his next call dying to find the perfect outfit he can see me in. I’m dying for the 30 minute train ride to hurry the fuck up cause I need to see him. dying to see if his touch feels like prince charming finally found me outside of fairy tales and novelas. To see if he makes the retina in my eyes degrade and deteriorate, affecting the perception of finding any other male worth my attention. Waiting to see if he finds value in my

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOP P is for public Public education Where learning begins at the metal detectors Detecting what can’t be brought in Never scanning deep enough to decipher the pain If the machine could really see what we bring to school It would sound the alarm. This generation is full of dreamers Listen to your youth No longer will we hide The only thing we are guilty of bringing to school is our imagination We snuck visions up our sleeve   And in our mouths we have hidden tongues Blades of truth This is a rally cry. Things have got to get better Im afraid, that I’ll be stuck here like the hands on the clock of my classroom Why don’t any of the clocks work? A clock that goes silent is a dangerous thing No tick tick tick To tell you how much time has been wasted No tick tick tick To tell you how much time is left Im ticked and stuck. Stuck like the gum on the steps The sticky left overs of thrown away lunches Candy wrappers