Prologue:

Don't let me grow up in a hurry.
Teardrop-marked fluster and confusion
and fear.
Fear that I won't be your son
anymore.
Fear that I don't have an option to run
anymore.
-
And so i must study and listen,
for four more years.
-
I'm still your son,
and I can assure you that,
and also the fact
that I have big dreams,
bogged down by that.
-
I don't want to be a son,
but I don't want to lose your love.
I don't want to be her love,
but I don't want to lose it-
For neither of you would handle the pain of my desires.

                                                    Epilogue:

Dreams of conquest and masochism seem quite paradoxical,
but also quite defining of my yearning.
To conquest my homeland,
like my ancestor's did my "homeland".
Ghosts of conquistadors,
who slaughtered to pave the way,
for the track marks
that I so oddly desire to tarnish my arms.
-
I never wanted tattoos,
but a sun and moon,
and a raging bulls head bound by stars
seem to be quite fitting
representations of myself at this moment.
-
I'm killing myself for my own desires,
and its a slow death
one that I hope will outlive you,
so your heart remains unbroken, and
protected by lies and denial.