The color of my Skin.
The curl of my Hair.
I can feel your the heat vindictive stares.
The twist of my tounge.

I speak my language with courage,
Not with care of your fears
Illigal Alien, They call my kind.
All I want is a place thats mine.

Nomatter, I'll continue to stick out
Like a sore thumb, I will not run
from your vengance.
I'll stay here and take it.

Como un bailador,
I'll twist away from your nasty tricks.
I'll thrive, Child of the sun.
Brown I am.

I saw you cross the street with her.
She's so pretty.
I didn't know...
You had someone.

I don't know why,
I don't feel the need to cry.
This time around,
Maybe I'm ready to move on.

When I saw my heart stopped.
When you crossed the street.
Her doe eyes killed me,
You never looked me in mine.

Maybe I'm not so ready
To move on.
Maybe I won't cry this time
Because I've died.

My Tio
He lives on Leisure Town Road
Where hard work
Is never had

He lives in a magic world
Where money is no object.
Where you forget
The family you left behind.

The walls of his home are perfectly painted
A smooth cream white.
Unblemished.
A contrast to the peeling green walls he grew up in.

My grandma
She lives in a trailer park.
Watching babies all day so that
my tias can work.

He doesn't think about
The walls he grew up in.
Or the way his mom can't afford a home.
Leisure Town made him forget.

I think I love you
More in my mind
Than I do
In real life .

The way you smile,
I don't know why,
But I romanticize you.
In my mind your perfectly mine.

I have a story,
A perfect script for you to follow.
Like a romcom I wrote
But that's not real.

I not a realistic person.
I want perfection.
Your not perfect.
Neither am i.

She is beautiful.
She sits alone, solitary.
Fragrence flows from her flesh,
yet she still sits, breathing the air of the valley.

Delicate she is,
her petals billow in the wind.
She is perfection.
A lie could never fall from her tounge.

Xochitl, flower.
Flower...
shes so sickiningly sweet.
Delicate, sweet, perfect.

When she bloomed she sung.
A magestic hymn that rung through the valley.
One day she'll wilt, her petals falling to the ground.
One day her song will stop.

I am a writer
No matter what they say.

My pen flows
and my wrist goes;
Writing
words no one will see

My hands shake
eyes tear
wrist bleed in lines of icy scarlet
I am a writer; my cross to bear.

If i loved you
I'd give you my hands
my sacrafice for love
my words would be yours

Like Van Gogh,
I would bleed
for; the one I need
to need me.