The walls that scream opportunity
Now scream memories.
My footsteps once walked with life,
Now fade in the distance
Leaving a legacy and trail of unimportant steps;
Last steps of victory.
Each room looks different.
A cold goodbye that shakes a Senior's hand.
It clenches...
Squeezes the bones
As murmurs peep from the floor.
Voices of the past start to mumble....
Whisper...
Speak...
Shout...
Scream....
I turn black and white
With the rest of the pictures
Welcoming a sliver of my soul to join them.My school colors bleed behind me...
like a cape.
As I walk towards my Confirmation.
The golden paper blinds my eyes with its shiny, reflective ribbon.
These exit doors glow.
Fill my heart with anxiety.
Mesmerized by these
Sights...
Feelings...
I don't feel myself walking.
I have no choice.
I'm flying to freedom.
Sweet, sweet freedom.

It was never a crush.
Only strong admiration.

I imagined your lips soft and strong,
With a little tugging in between.
Not too much tongue,
but one long kiss of passion and a bite of lust.

Your neck seems like a good place to hide.
Warm and comforting.
Though your thumb would caress my cheek
And my hands lay on your shoulder.

When I stare at your lips,
they don't speak.
Not to me.
Reality eats infatuation
And watches the clips in my mind.

Your lips
Are no match for mine,
But have have died on me.

I used to be ignorant
Despising culture and language.
But now I see hurt
Fear
Anger
Frustration
Hunger
Instability.
Over thousands of miles away they cry and dream.
Like me.
They grew up faster than me.
Became more cautious of death.
For its mask is not as hard as its bite.
Whispers of muerte slither through the gusty winds at day and night.
Women and man disappear into this muerte mist.
It slips into their dreams as they sleep on trains.
Jolts them awake at times,
Falling to another ground of death.
For this muerte hangs on like a burden,
Waiting for the bandits to arrive,
To follow their shadows
Then leave the ***** work to them.

Violation
   Slaughter
     Harrassment
       Theft
         ****
           Barbarism
            Fresh Prey

This is only the beginning of these actions.
Running doesn't escape their fate.
Insomnia pumps their veins.
Exhaustion wears heavier than the thick skin.
Muerte masks cover the faces.
Women
  Men
    Children
      Babies

It laughs and taunts at their survival.
They can't see these masks or stop them.
It's a struggle in itself to keep that omen away.
They know them too well.
Smell too many scents of fear.
Hate to see these people strive for a new life that they were meant to live.
There is more power over the border of America than what we hear.
The innocent voices of the dead sing to everyone of all colour, but our ears won't wake up.
We are more dead than they are.
Los inmigrantes necesitan ayudar con su nueva vida.
Tenemos esperanza!
That's just a phrase that gets thrown now like a piece of paper tossed in the wind.
Like knowing the sun rises and sets.
No one here cares about the struggle or hears the sound of the muerte masks.
Working families are the ones dying,
and these muerte masks are thriving.

Gardens make me feel alive.
For as broken as I am,
The flowers calm me with their simplicity.
They never worry.
They are bunched together and make the best of each other.
They talk so soft, to the point where we can't hear.
They speak to the sun with happiness,
Sway to the wind as they sing in harmony.
The night comes in and hum themselves to sleep.
The sun rises and the cycle goes on.
My heart is now the garden.
I know the flowers sing to the beat of my chest, when I lie down, and drift to sleep.