mauricio novoa

LEGACY

Italicized lines are from “Legend” by Benny the Butcher

Ever since they said I’m goin’ pro, they said I’m the next so-and-so

But you know how it go, Kobe got his fifth title

And somehow still live in the shadow of Michael

There’s always a ceiling, which is someone else’s

floor, their footsteps drowning out any sound of

a keyboard typing or pen scratching the itch of an empty paper.

There’s always a ceiling, which is your

month’s rent, because it costs you to be told

how much space you have to stretch. There’s always

bigger spaces with more windows to see more sky,

but there’s always a ceiling. Why is it that survival

seems to be married to stardom – we have to blow up

and we’re either destroyed or leave pieces of ourselves

along the way. If just art was enough, artists would never

die. So when I write that I felt craziest when I had thoughts

of making it, it means I didn’t think I’d live long enough

to see where I was going.

The best player gettin’ drafted in the seventh round

At some point, I lost track of what I was afraid of

more – failure or accomplishment. Better yet – becoming

a star of shortcoming or a disaster of a success, whatever

that means. I never knew what to do with kind words,

as if they were on their way to someone else and I was a wrong

stop, and any celebrations were distractions before it was all

taken away.

“because of you, we ain’t been this comfortable in a minute”

The number one question people have is “what do you want

from your work?” I guess it’s the same question we’ve been asked

since we were little – what do you want to do with your life?

Why do you want what you want? To be famous? Remembered?

For yourself? And then I remember the closet, where I’d hide

and copy lyrics from the booklets in albums and pretend

I was smart enough to write something someone would listen

to, alone. A closed door felt like the safest place to feel

and the only place ideas could grow without being cut

down. And I hope if nothing else, I want something I wrote

to make someone else comfortable enough to crack

the door.

DAMN

is what music critics said after the 4th time

they had to rate your album what they pull mustache hairs

to never give an artist once.

It’s what the casual shopper said after they said

“no one buys albums anymore” and your slot

on the rack had to keep being refilled

like my Abuela’s prescriptions.

It’s what the scholar who only studies books

written before 1899 said when they handed

you a prize only music that often forgets vocal

chords and notebooks are instruments has won.

It’s what Fox said when you trampled

a squad car and they wanted to put their shoeprint

in your character, but you flipped it for a sample.

It’s what I said when I heard “Reagan Era” for the first time

and I wondered if this is how people felt

when they heard 2Pac on “Trapped” or Nas

on “Halftime” and I also wondered

“can this get any better?” It’s what I said

when I got my answer.

Mauricio Novoa is from Glenmont, MD, but currently based in Austin, TX, and received his MFA in Creative Writing at Queens University of Charlotte. His poems have been published in the anthology The Wandering Song: Central American Writing in the United States, The Petigru Review, Acentos Review, Blue Mesa Review, Latino Book Review and The BreakBeat Poets Vol. 4: LatiNext. Memorias From The Beltway (FlowerSong Press and Red Salmon Press) is his first full-length collection of poetry. You can find him on Instagram and Twitter @mauricionovoa03 and online at www.mauricionovoapoet.com