Raw, animated, and powerful are the first three words that come to mind when watching Advocate Of Wordz perform his poetic pieces live.

With flawless rhymes and flow, Advocate Of Wordz is a shinning star, a true showman when performing on stage. His personality is hyperactive and infectious, forcing his audience to keep watching and to want more after he is done.

He delivers his message with confidence and depth. Regardless if on a stage or the middle of the park, this is the echo you’ll keep on hearing long after he is done speaking.

A real Poetic Actor with a strong sense of his Latin roots.

He’s a metamorphosis of ideas and ideals that form into one single goal, to be an advocate of words.

Acoustic Ink is honored to feature this remarkable artist.

Advocate’s interview with our team:


Q: How many hours a day do you write?

A: Everyday I write, whether it be a few minutes or a few hours. It varies greatly. As a self proclaimed “writer”,
I invest a lot in the belief that “poetry” should be part of your everyday language. Words are powerful,
either they make you the influencER or the influencEE at any given moment. Even when creating words
that don’t exist and having your readers/audience members still understand what you are saying, it can be very exciting.

Q: How do you deal with personal doubters?

A: They make the best fans. They are just waiting for that moment when you break and fall.
They won’t take their eyes off of you. So I make sure to keep extra seats around for them.

Q: When you were growing up, what made you want to become a writer?

A: I wanted to play second base for the New York Yankees while growing up. I started writing in high school
because a friend of mine kicked a poem to a girl and she fell in love with him. I thought “That’s it!
This is how I am going to get girls!” Not until my early 20′s did I decide I wanted to
pursue this as a career… Writing, that is.

Q: Describe a perfect setting where you can get writing done.

A: I’ve yet to find a perfect setting for writing. The outside world can’t make or break a writing session for me.
It’s all in the mind. Yoda taught me that tidbit right there.

Q: What kind of books did you read when you were growing up, if any?

A: None. Reading was used as a tool of punishment in my house so an aversion towards it grew.
Not until I was out of the house did it become an activity I enjoyed and sought out. Currently I have a vast collection,
but the ones that stand out are “The Columbia Anthology of American Poetry”, “The Alchemist” and “Lies My Teacher Told Me”.

Q: Are you a traditional type of writer (paper and pencil) or do you use your computer to write?

A: Both and some. I refuse to allow my muscle memory to attach writing to one avenue. So I use the pen, computer, video & audible recording equipment.
Sometimes I freestyle, just so the creation process isn’t stuck to one medium.

Q: What’s you’re favorite part of writing?

A: Learning more about myself and being satirical towards the world’s bullshit. Being able to intimidate and inspire
someone before ever meeting them is pretty cool. Growing up in a conservative household where the answer to a child’s “why”
questions was “because I am the parent and I said so!”, left me with a lot to say. I cherish my voice and ability to effectively
communicate all those pent up thoughts.

Q: How do you get past all the frustrations that come with trying to be a successful writer?

A: Wait, it’s possible to get past the frustration? When the fuck did that become possible?!?!?!?!

Q: What do you do when you have several book/piece ideas?

A: I get frustrated because my mind is too quick for my hand and tongue. After it subsides and I feel the inspirations are worthy
beyond the label of “brain fart”, I put it into practice. Not sharing a talent with the world is a cardinal sin.
Even in the eyes of an agnostic like myself.

Q: Do you have an agent representing you/your work to publishers?

A: Not yet. I’ve been quite immature up until late and only recently have I sought out and entertained the possibilities of
representation. Though being independent has allotted me many opportunities to learn much and I’ve been fortunate to travel
and reach a great audience. But it is tough. Who wants to represent a writer who prides himself on teaching kids
how to talk their way out of detention?

Q: Have you ever been published/self-published?

A: Self-Published a book. Over 2 years ago, I look back on it and squirm. I was such a rookie who knew nothing of what it took
to put a book together. “The Glorified Chapbook of Advocate of Wordz” is its title. No longer in print (thankfully!).
I am in the current process of producing a CD and publishing a much fuller book now that I understand the process better.
I have every intention of satisfying the demand for my work.

Q: What genre(s) describes your work?

A: Poetry. I definitely associate myself with the hip-hop culture, but a lot of my writing can be seen to be heavily influenced by
other genres and time periods. Rumi is one of my favorite poets (Persian poet from the 12th century). George Carlin’s style of
language is a huge influence. Charles Simic and Richard Henry Wilde are a couple of authors I am beginning to learn and their work
is changing mine. Musicians like Johnny Cash, John Lennon, Jay-Z, Immortal Technique, Michelle Branch, Billy Joel and more
are big influences as well. I’d like to think I have work that could open up for any one of them. I am quite eclectic.

Q: Do you write under a pseudonym? If so, what is the story behind it?

A: Advocate of Wordz is my stage/writing name. Someone read something of mine once and asked if I was a poet.
My knee jerk answer was “no, I am more like an advocate of words”. No matter what I write, I’d like to believe my writing
is proving the importance of language and communication.

Q: What/who motivates you to write?

A: I think the list would be shorter if I answered what and who DOESN’T motivate me to write.

Q: Do you have your work showcased on any website?

A: I am in the process of building a website for all of my work. At the moment you can find my performance work
on YouTube and written work on HipHopPoetry.com by searching “Advocate of Wordz” and/or “Wordz”. Facebook me!

Q: Share with us a fun fact about yourself.

A: I am a dog whisperer. I hate people but love animals, especially dogs. They wear their emotions on their tails and live in the moment.
It is much easier to communicate with them as opposed to a human who has a built in facade. I’ve yet to find a dog I can’t control
actually. All dogs actually make horrible guards for a house or business when I am around.

Q: What does the future hold for you as a writer?

A: I used to believe I had a specific answer to that. Now, I don’t know and I prefer it that way. To limit myself would suck.
I didn’t become a dog trainer because it was too easy. I dig a challenge and making a successful living off of writing and
performing is very challenging. When I conquer something, I am easily bored. So many avenues you can take as a writer
and they are all challenging in their own right (pun intended). I am up for it all. I can be quite the serious writer,
but I wouldn’t be surprised to see myself write for a porn movie. They need a lot of help with their dialogues.


Below you can enjoy a selection of written and performed poems by Advocate Of Wordz:

“A High School Story 101″

In high school,
I opted to take modern dance and ballet
class over gym.

While my boys ran lay up drills and suicides,
I Plié’d and Relevé’d.
During lunch I got gigg’ed on,
thoroughly questioned
and unknowingly shunned.
I remained shut.
Confined to a secret; I did not trust
the public’s hands
with the bones in my closet.
I was happy with who I was,
felt I had a grand battement en avant
over them all.

Midway into the semester,
the truth came out.
While Mrs. Jordan
had the class practicing lifts,
one of my boys from b-ball practice
walked by the dance studio
and peered in.

There I was,
in navy blue sweat pants
and a white T,
sweating, breathing hard
catching and juggling 30 females in tights.

Young, agile and tangible angels at my sole disposal!!!
I knew, me being the only guy in the class
meant me being everyone’s partner.
My Fouetté was tight!

I learned the Cat’s Claw
while Michelle’s thigh gripped my waist.
Mastered the floor work
behind Tina’s spot on the mat
and gleefully threw my back out
while practicing the Grand Jeté with Daisy.

Needless to say,
I went from being assumed as being homosexual
to viewed as an ingenious pervert.
2 weeks later I transferred out,
and spent the rest of the year
trying to box out
shirtless guys,
for a rebound.
How masculine of me.

“Poem from a Psyche Ward: Part I”

“They are stupid,
I see seven things in here
I can kill myself with.”

She said this to me
after the attending night nurse
stepped out of the holding room.

All I saw was a desk with manila folders
paper clips and a used styrofoam cup
on an old teacher’s desk
with locked drawers.
Maybe she felt one of the bears
or balloons on the pediatrician wallpaper
were a threat, I knew nothing of it.

She sat up in her wheelchair
and adjusted her extended leg
with the quarterback brace on it.
Asked me what I was here for.

I told her I put a grenade
up my father’s ass
and pulled the pin from the donkey.

She laughed.

Without invite
she shared her dilemma,
bugs appear everywhere to her,
especially on plates of food.

My eyebrows said ouch.

She assures me it is ok,
helps with the diet plan
she quips.

She wore a white bracelet
with smeared purple ink
and incomprehensible words.
I didn’t have one.

“You don’t know if they’re keeping you yet?”,
I shake my head.

Quickly she attempts
to smother my concerns
and lets me know they have something to help me sleep
if I stay the night
and if tomorrow morning
they decide to send me upstairs,
I don’t have to worry about the food.
It is good, I could trust her with that she reminds me…

“The Bronx Latina Supreme Court Justice”

The Bronx Latina Supreme Court Justice!
It sounds as sour
as Hispanic Heritage Month…
I refuse the kind of ideologies that imply
the importance of my heritage
be marginalized to 30 days.

They made a slip of the tongue
must’ve thought
we could not understand their language,
as if it’s shocking! that a resident of the Bronx
would be capable of grasping this country’s laws.
An anomaly! A Puerto Rican
isn’t always bailando, cocinando or fucking.

You don’t have to wait until late September
to begin understanding
what the Central and South Western Hemisphere’s cultures
have done for modern day society.
This woman’s blood is Taino Warrior
European Conquestitidor
and African Royalty.
She is as American
as Joe Dimaggio, Fredrick Douglass,
Double Taxation without Representation,
Conspiracy Theories, 4 seasons,
Infomercials and Shopping Malls.

Maybe someone thinks
this melting pot contains onion soup
with a cheesy white covering
but last I checked being a descendant of any race
born on United States soil is American as it gets.
As pure as it gets.

Your Honor, never let them call you the “Bronx Latina Supreme Court Judge”,
as if you’re a “distinct” charity case.
Never should we imply that “White People” are our enemy,
but they must not be viewed
as the sole generic American embodiment either.

As a fellow Nuyorican whose a Bronx native resident,
it is warming to see you acquire this new job.
But you, in this manner, you are their equal,
and I shall respect you as such and refer to you as such.

Sonia Sotomayor
an American Supreme Court Justice.

“March 4th, 1992″

March 4th, 1992
feels like everyday to me.

Last night I was a 12 year old too consumed
with his video games
to spend time with his grandmother.
A bedridden woman
who just 6 months prior was making me stuffed shells and brownies.

The old soul whose conservative ways
kept me in line but whose liberal love
fed my spirit. I’ve always wondered
what I would’ve said
or done, if I knew you weren’t going to wake up the next morning.

I play out in my head
that I’d share one last dream with you,
I’d explain how the boogie man and the monsters in my closet
left me alone because they knew
you were protecting me
and how the doorway to your house
filtered out my insecurities.

I probably would’ve just cried.

You were the first piece of my heart I had to bury.
I’d like to believe you can hear me.
I wish you the power of x-ray vision
so you can see how my DNA strands
twist and turn
the way your cursive writing did.
I’m just waiting for a sign,
a text message or voice-mail
letting me know that you knew how much I appreciated everything you’ve ever done

I need you to know that oxygen doesn’t smell the same
and the colors of the world have faded in the my wash of tears.
Memories of you have yet to dry
though I tumble through them like a dryer.
Yeah, they’re warm,
always warm.

I can make it in this world without Nintendo,
I can wake up tomorrow morning
without the Sun but if I’m ever to open my eyes again,
if I’m ever to instill and trust love again,
I need to know you’re there.

My smile is in foreclosure,
because I can never pay you back.
You’re my first and last poem.
One step behind you,
a million miles away from everything else.

March 4th, 1992 feels like everyday to me.
The day you passed away
and someone hit
the reset button
on my life.

“Gravity Jumps Cupid”

We sat on the back porch
and watched cupids fall out of the sky.
Wagging tails of shooting stars
burned their wings.
I wondered
if it was your wishful thinking
that made it happen.
Maybe you were hoping
you’d get a better view of the sky
without all those arrows
being flung across.
Maybe I was hoping
you would’ve enjoyed
the shade, peacefully
with me,
a unified target.
But you pulled back.


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