We are children of migrants
Sitting still on the shoulders of giants
Their sway, far movements, trials
Ancestry in homelands from distant miles
Holding onto their language and their culture
Losing parts but finding a juncture
Between the old and the new
Naturally forming dual identities too
My name has a meaning
Your lack of effort to pronounce it is demeaning
The more impersonal we become
We only leave but a crumb
A trace of our heritage
The consequence of parentage

Ten
You and I had a start
And now a history  
Your irises reflect mine
Chocolate brown mystery
Soya chocolate milk
Don't be sad, promise
me you'll try not to be
Here you can find solace

Eleven
Uhhh

Time slows down.
My heart
in my mouth.
My stomach
a host to the biggest butterflies,
with enormous wings.
Flutter, flutter.
Painful and love sick,
not going to lie.

I can't tell you, though.

I miss the sound of typing on the Mac keyboard
I miss the serif font of the words I observe on the screen
I miss the fluidity of which the words flow out of my mind like seamless fountain water
I miss the inspiration from a deep love
I miss insomniac nights, with bright Apple lights
I miss creative expression
I miss thesaurus searches and RhymeZone
I miss lyrics from frank songs
I miss rhythm and blues background music
[Unfinished]

Seven
There's a yearning for love
A soul's peace you cannot find
In your night escapades
If you talk to me, we'll explore your mind

Eight
You are a breath of fresh air
Oxygenated, pure, sweet-smelling
A bountiful positive force in my life
Highest vibration of energy dwelling,
And lingering in my head

Shut your eyes.
He's late, surprise surprise.

Try to pray.
He's gone how many days?

Breathe and meditate.
Forget the date.

Walk slow and observe.
Is he what I deserve?

Don't think about reality.
Did he make a pass at me?

Heart rate drop.
Arrive at the shop.

Think deeply.
Shop cheaply.

Peace within.
Put out the bins.

Be present.
Feeling really absent.

Speak gentle.
Am I mental?

Spiritual.
Experienced through material.

Siempre regreso a la poesía
La lengua no me importa
Solamente la habilidad de expresarme
Honestamente, sin prejuicio
Mi amor por él es imposible describir
Mi mente siente locisíma