I don’t know
Who I’m

May be, I'm
A collection of wishes

At the age of,
2, wish was to be like my father
5, wish was to be faster
10, wish was to be stronger
15, wish was to be popular
20, wish was to be myself
25, wish was to be reflective
30, wish was to be content
40, wish was to be in peace
50, wish was to be silent
60, wish was to be out of medicine
70, wish was to be free of pain
80, wish was to see more new faces

90, wish was to feel every single tomorrow
100, wish was to live  

I started to

So that,
I can fulfill
All my wishes
I reach 101

By next year.
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Human perspective cycle
have i traveled too far this time,
traveled like your feet through the north american desert,
one step heavier than the last
guadalupe is a river in spain
that i didn’t care to visit
I decided Madrid and Barcelona were good enough for me
The only Guadalupe I cared to see was the one at El Tepeyac
my Tonantzin dressed in garbs

Salgado- a man on the subway told my mother it meant salt. It means incredibly salty in Portuguese. I guess that's the one good thing about living in the U.S. few people speak more than one language. Kids can only tease to you within their realm and scope of knowledge and my last name wasn’t in theirs.
Partida verb. to leave or depart
               adj. divided or ripped.
I feel like I've lost a piece of me.
I don't know when.
I don't know where, or how.

Maybe, I dropped it in broad daylight.
Maybe, someone stole it in the night.


Come back,
little piece,

You leave me an empty
fragile chrysalis flaking
away little bit by little bit a

Jigsaw falling out of place.
Venus 4d
She told me that she wanted to be called they and that they didn't like their name anymore
They gave me rules for their new identity:

1. Call them after the planet that's almost closest to the sun
2. When you hold them and when you love them call them your partner, not a girl or a friend
3. There will be times when they are not ready to speak their true name.Be patient.
4.There will be times when others will not correct themselves. Be brave for them in those times or allow them to be brave for themselves.
5. They don't like to be called ma'am
And they don't like to be called sexy
6. They don't like the word female
And they are not the word the female
They are not the word female
They are not the word female
7. They love the way that they movearound when they wear a dress. They love the sound of their delicate and sometimes booming singing voice. They love their eyes and how expressive they are. They love the color yellow and the way that their vocabulary expands after they read a book. They love that they are more than the words that they are called. They love that they are they.
Mariza 5d
I thought,
There could be nothing more awkward
than two half naked middle-school girls
fighting in the middle of a locker room
the imaginative and ingenious verbal warfare of “skank” and “Perra”
bouncing off the tall cold grey concrete walls of the showers
combined with the energetic and exaggerated use of hand gestures and physical intimidation
could not be ignored
though I tried, even as the others spectated and incited the two opponents
Because mi guela always says Las mujercitas no se meten donde no la quieran
(Little ladies don’t intervene)
I thought there could be nothing more awkward
Than hiding my face inside a gym locker
With two half-naked middle school girls arguing behind me
Until I heard one of them say “Stop acting like a Mexican”
Mujercita o no I could not remain silent
“What’s that supposed to mean? I asked her, “You know I am Mexican too?”
I thought there could be nothing more awkward
Than two half naked middle school girls fighting
Until I saw both their eyes appraising me
Then shifting between each other
with their brows raise in agreement they said to me
“Mariza you know you’re white” “An Oreo when it comes down to it”
I didn’t know that the name of my favorite cookie could hurt so much
When said with a strange mixture of disinterest and certainty
And I didn’t even know what it meant
But I knew that it was an evaluation of my Mexicanness of my identity
All the mujercitas slowly poured out of that locker room
Not a one making an objection or even feigning interest in what was said to me
It did not matter that I spoke Spanish
It didn’t matter I grew up able to quote every Maria Silvestre movie line
It didn’t matter how much I idolized Vicente Guerro and Emilio Zapata
It didn’t matter how I saw myself
The mujercitas agreed I was dark on the outside, white on the inside
For years, I tried my hardest to prove I was Mexican
But it seems that the standards changed every year
No one was ever convinced
No one wanted to be associated with me
No one believed that I truly cared about the Mexican community
To this day I am trying
What does it mean to be Mexican?
I’m still trying to figure that out
It must be more than a facha, a look
It must be more than music, celebrations, a shared Language, And an Experience
It must be but
No body has ever told me what it is
Only what it is not
Which is Me
an Oreo
And all that it implies
A pocha, a race-traitor, a sell out
Dark on the outside white on the inside
Mystic Ink Mar 15
To Run,
We need a freedom
Not just the feet
To Fly,
We need a desire
Not just the wings
To Sleep,
We need a peace
Not just the shade
To Dream
We need a vision
Not just a sleep
To Wake,
We need a spirit
Not just the light
To Love,
We need a trust
Not just a lust
To Live,
We need an identity
Not just the feed.
Genre: Experimental
Theme: Truth Of Life
Who you truly are
resonates with your surroundings
vibrating in perfect harmony
as it pulsates out
into a receptive
indeed, approving universe.
The genuine you is an on-course probe
seeking its own valence.
That meticulously crafted public image--
nurtured fabrication
of whom you want people
to believe you are--cannot long fly;
inevitably crashes to earth.
Chelsea Primera Aug 2017
--this life is a fibre-
--entwined within wires of an universal software-

--these eyes are conditioned to see-
--the networks of automated screens-

--these ears were robotic-
--programmed to listen to social expectations-

--this nose will be an animation-
--sniffing through the scent of anonymity-

--this mouth is charged to repeat-
--the oil of toxic lies and false beliefs-

--this head was controlled by a circuit of words-
--with fillings of violence and screams-
--pursuing a future that never will be-
Nicole S Mar 13
Identity is a lot like clothing.
It is rooted in the idea that you must-
absolutely must-
wear it in order to offer anything
to society.

But sometimes, your body changes.
It is a natural process,
a revolution of cells and mathematics
and biology merging,
or thinning into white lines.
It is something that every human
inevitably experiences,
and yet we are taught to punish ourselves
for our bodies
if they do not fit the clothing
or the style
that is "in."

I used to be thin and nondescript.
I conformed easily;
my skinny jeans were snug and comforting
and entirely right.
But as I grew older,
they began to struggle to climb my hips,
to nestle my waist and claim ownership
of the land they once recognized.
They became a distraction.
They became a discomfort.

So I traded them for something looser.
Something new.  Similar, yes, but different.
My friends did not understand.
"Why couldn't you just go a size up?
The old style was just fine.
A bigger size would suit you better,
so why not at least try?"

Why, indeed?  I still wonder.

Perhaps it was because so many people
tried to buy me new clothes.
I didn't understand or particularly like
the ripped, frayed blue jeans,
and I definitely did not favor
the vulnerability of short skirts
or tight dresses.

Why should you dictate
what I decide to wear,
as if you have any right to my body?

Why do you insist on such precise fits?

Why can't I dance through my days
in something loose, something flowing,
something I myself don't understand?

Instead, I still tried to wear my old pants.
And when again they no longer fit,
stretched and miserable and wrong,
I lay down in the laundry basket
and waited to be discovered
and tossed out
with the dirty clothes.
Let me be free.
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