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Fi Oct 2022
Les sentiments qui nagent dans ma tête
Après t’avoir regardé dans les yeux
(Quand je me sens capable de ce fait) -
Remplissent mon cœur de fébrilité

Trop exposant pour s’exprimer dans ma langue maternelle.  

Mes choix de mots et les expressions enfantines
Reflètent mes sentiments -

Maladroits mais purs;
Nerveux mais calmes.
Sécurité et vulnérabilité entrelacées
comme nos mains


The feelings that swim in my head
After I meet your gaze
(When I feel capable of doing so) -
Fill my heart with restless excitement

Too exposing to express in my native tongue.

My choice of words and childlike expression
Mirror my emotions -

Awkward but pure;
Nervous but calm.
Security and vulnerability interlaced
Like our hands.
A poem I wrote about a girl that makes me feel a lot of feelings that I felt too awkward to write in my native language of English, so it’s written in bad French instead.
Kewayne Wadley Dec 2021
Fear is a language all on its own.
Although broken, we understand soon
as we hear it.
No matter how well spoken
No matter how intuitive or savvy
We sabotage ourselves well after the
moment has passed.
I stepped outside of myself when I met
Bilingual & open,
No matter how far you move or I.
I'll always remember you
I've memorized you in my heart
Where fear does not exist
andTilly Dec 2020
au revoir, les prés, les petits morceaux de vert
pourquoi, pourquoi je me fais chier
quand je ne touche jamais ce clé?
au revoir, le souffle de l’air jamais pesé
pourquoi je fais de la peine, peiné
en brûlant le vent par les deux bouts de blé?

adieu, l’embrasse de la mer légèrement dorée
où de la tête je ne pouvais pas donner
c’est pourquoi c’est quand même pire
un peu d’amertume dans chacun de sourires
combien de temps je vais mourir
se réveillant, on ne peut pas dire…
the setting sun

goodbye, meadows, the little green shards
why do I bother, why
when I’ll never touch this key?
goodbye, the air’s breath never weighed
why do I hurt, pained
burning the wind on both ends of wheat?

farewell, embrace of the softly golden sea
where I cannot ever fold my head in need
that is why it’s even worse
the slight bitterness in each of my smiles
I can’t even say how many more times
I’ll die in the awakening curse

Kelsey Banerjee Jul 2020
what have you done?
inhibitions and doubts
smell like spoilt auflauf
and the day after summer.
your words are advertisements
for another conversation,
but I am not ready.

was hast du gemacht?
die hemmungen und zweifel
riechen wie verderbenes auflauf
und am tag nach der sommer.
deinen wörter sind werbung
für ein andere unterhaltung,
aber ich bin nicht bereit.
Victor D López May 2020
Use the YouTube link,
For Spanish/English reading,
Of one of my poems.
You can cut and paste the above link for a short (4 minute) poetry reading in the original Spanish and in my English translation/interpretation of mi recent poem, Mi Canto
crybaby Apr 2020
gloomy sentiments flood my sea
nostalgic remembrance lingers
solo pienso en ti

deception camouflaged by roses
intimidated my sight, but
aun me acuerdo de los poses

ninguno lo ase como tu
I weep as I listen to the
phonograph that spins the blues
Ivy May 2019
Born in a place that I don't call home
Raised in a country foreign to Mom
Stained with the colors of different flags
My soul and my heart: in different lands

"Where are you from?" So simple a question
Yet always I answer with such hesitation
For how do I choose from different parts
Of the whole that is me and my colorful heart?

The answer is simple, not complex at all
It's simply a matter of wearing them all
So I'll show them all proudly: my beautiful hues
For I've finally realized I don't have to choose
n stiles carmona Apr 2019
(No puedo hablar la lengua.)
I cannot speak my father's native tongue.
(No puedo hablar suficiente...)
At least, not enough of it to get by.
( entiendo, lo siento.)
The body I inhabit feels like foreign territory.
(No lo se.)
My grasp of it ends here.


Dia de san valentin, 2000: mi padre aprendió inglés por amor; voló a través del mar Mediterráneo. Él tiene miedo de los sonidos cuando trata de hablar. Pero él lo intenta. Él habla casi perfectamente -- mientras, estoy teniendo una conversación uno-a-uno con Google. Es vergonzoso.

I recall two or three trips, max. There's a blend of urban and natural that's a haven for the eye -- the buildings themselves are seduced by the sun; divine blends of amber, tawny, white. Classically Romantic. That nighttime humidity fogs up your lungs and makes it feel like a hug. There was a time when we were poised to move back there - and in Dad's case, another, nearly leaving without any desire to take me with him.

My makeshift home is built upon stereotypes: orange trees, olive oil, generous glasses of vino. Pienso qué un otra vida where I'm stood on the beach at dusk, with heavy-lidded eyes and ears attuned to cicadas and rolling waves. This is narcissistic lust for the woman I could've been - she is all smiles, bilingual, peace embodied. Those are the nights when I'm not careful: she leaves my bed by morning.


To mourn the "what ifs" shows a lack of gratitude for what is, and god, what luck! For inglés to be the second most-spoken language, de-facto "centre of the universe"! To migrate most anywhere and get by; for the Western world to be coerced into Anglophonic bliss since tourism makes their ends meet!

On a holiday, I clam up ordering "una batista fresa" and get a taste of how my father feels. José Francisco: his colleagues call him Frank, in the same way I shun my legal surname because a Spanish 'LL' is too hard for others to grasp. I reek of privilege - post-post-Franco, white European, playing with my non-language behind closed doors. There's private delight in a rolled 'r': momentarily, I'm local, not a mere faux-foreigner appropriating my own heritage. Ironic - he tries to be "less immigrant" whilst I've got the fortune of trying to be more.

I was born into a universe of possibilities. A million options feel like fate -- screenwriter, Oxford grad, Spanish barmaid-or-waitress-or-I'll-take-whatever -- each unchased path is a reminder that, somehow, I'm choosing wrong. I've never perceived myself as small (ex-tall child, "ex"-chubby kid with a head outstretching the clouds, first of the eleven-year-olds to grow **** and got gawped at like I'd grown an extra nostril). Outside this hall of mirrors, I am tiny -- too small to have this many dreams -- manifesting as terror-borne paralysis because I want to do more than I'm built for. Solution: aim smaller or grow up.
half-whiny, half-dreaming. i don't normally rely on google translate - i'm trying to self-teach with duolingo (occasionally enlisting grammatical help via dad).
eva crown Mar 2019
bicultural but not totally bilingual
kids will understand
the sheer embarrassment of having to copy-paste
what your parents text you
in their native language
into Google Translate
detect language
yes, to English, because it's the only thing
I truly understand
because I don't actually really know
what Mom's saying at the end
Do I really get the weight of each word she crafts
lovingly into characters I've learned
but words I don't quite string together
or meanings I don't quite grasp
I swear I do it's just I don't understand one hundred percent and if I could just
g e t those last few phrases
sometimes the entire paragraph she sends me
rather than rely on a gray text editor that spits back
in solid, black, unfeeling English alphabet
"Coming home is always welcome"
that's not my Mom's voice, with her smiling, sympathetic expression and
steaming rice and kimchi stew, warm laundry, and squeaky slippers
that's the translator mincing her words,
chopping and scrambling them into something
familiar to the brain but foreign to the heart
I know she means "I'm always welcome to come home"
but why
couldn't I have gotten that immediately
"I eat food well and I have to buy spring clothes."
No, Google, I'm sure
she means that I will eat her food well
and buy spring clothes with her
but machine learning algorithms aren't
not my mom
so how would I really know
I wish language could be copy-pasted into English in my mind
so that I didn't have to go through this
bland, unwilling, frugal third-party
that knows nothing about my culture
I am a copy-paste of my parents' DNA
in flesh and blood
so why is it that physically
I am connected
but mentally, intangibly,
I've lost connection
to the internet, and some features of Google Translate may be lost. Try again?
not quite fluent, not quite bilingual, so does that mean that somehow i'm not quite bicultural?
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