I am from soft hushes of Spanish lullabies

From the coaxing voice of my mother.

I am the smoke blowing out of Lionel trains

Orders being asserted on the speaker overhead

From the controlling voice of my father.

I am from the hiding spots around the house

The muffled loveless shouting 

Serving as a backdrop throughout the days

A one-sided bitter sham.

I’m from simmering heat year round 
From king the tut and Felix the cat.

I’m the happy go lucky type on the outside

And the riddled with worry on the inside.

From let’s wing it! On some days 

To a sense of working myself sick to be prepared on others.

I’m from steaming milk and coffee 
With some hurricane pancakes 

To temporarily erase the pains of yesterday.

I’m from a locked away Spanish origin 
English and American hammered into my brain.

(Never my soul.) 

From the son my grandmother lost

To the black storming water,

The life my father was forced to replace.

Spanish poems rest dusty hidden away.

Turning a blind eye

Only looked over in secrecy 

Our artistic side

A lineage of writers, artists.

I am those words 

They are my second skin

Rising from the shadows.