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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Brought forth by sin.
Born of my mothers womb,
dressed in fine lace,
who know this had all started so soon.

Some day,
I'll bear one too.
Through pain and blood,
I'll create one just like you.

The blood that seeps once a month,
like crushed pomegranate seeds,
carrys the burden of the seed
unsown

The crunch of the apple dear,
Was it good?
Was the trade fair?
Now, We are all brought forth in blood and dispair.

Born in sin.

I hope you think of me
When your studying alone.
Or when your up late at night
talking on the phone.

I hope you think of me
When you feel the soft sumer sun
Shining on your skin.
Or when you hear alliteration.

I hope you think of me
when your listening to
hopelessly romantic music
On the radio.

And I hope you think of my laugh
Or how happy I was around you.
I really hope you forget
My awkwardness.

Or at least you think of me
In a fond way
I hope you think of me when
You hear slanted rhymes.

Because I could never rhyme
just right.

I hope you think of my smile
When you hang out with your friends.
I hope you think of me
when you read a good book.


Or when you wish you knew how to cook
Like I cooked for you.

I hope you think of all the good things I did with you.

I hope you remember me in the spring.
When the flowers bloom
Like the love for you bloomed in
my heart.