The American dream
is only a dream -
a dream in which
the dreamer is obsolete.
For those who
both sleep and dream
in her streets,
America is a reality
too real to deny,
like a ladder too high
to be climbed,
like a bar too hard
to be bent.
And after each dollar
is spent,
after each shining diamond
find its way to a pocket,
the dream becomes
more and more a dream
that we become
less and less likely
to wake up from.

It is a wheel
rolling over you,
slowly,
letting you feel
it all, leaving you
lowly.
You'll be begging
it to stop,
dollars flying
from the top.
Those who turn the wheel
consider themselves holy.

Holding my note pad
Pen in my right hand,
Observing this Earth,
Learning since birth,

But what is my life worth?

When there are people in the world with little to no hope,
They have close to nothing; all they do is mope.
The world is nowhere near perfect
When parts of it are subjects to neglect;

They are forgotten
Thrown away as if they were rotten.
Ousted and Isolated
Hungry and Dehydrated.

People need to return to humanity
In a world filled with insanity,
Global Warming, Poverty, Hunger, and War,
the fighting, the gore.

The world needs to change
And to many people, change is rather strange,
But this change is a small price
That strengthens the heart and soul, it’s worth the sacrifice.

The world is far from perfection
It’s missing human affection…
Now answer this question?
What is my life worth?

Is it God’s greatest gift?
Only when we uplift.
Is it Earth’s greatest curse?
Only when we make matters worse.

Just as black men were slaves
So am I a common slave of poverty
And to rise out of slavery
We must struggle towards prosperity
To exert our bodies and minds
Toward the glory of freedom
We, Filipinos do not realize that
That we are chained to ideas of a caged intellect
It is not easy to forge a key that will fit into the lock
It takes skill and acumen and practice
And we must attempt every single waking moment
Once we see the light
I don't know
And yet
I do

there we were
in a café
enjoying each other's company

I looked to my right
and saw a Filipina lady
and a white man
eating their breakfasts silently

"she seems unhappy
and anxious"
I thought to myself

"*******?"
I asked my mother.
she says yes and nods.

I hope that one day
that lady won't have
to sell herself

to make a living.

I know what it's like,
standing with your back
against the storefront window,
to reach into your pocket for a dollar,
but pulling out only six pennies
and a ticket stub.
Or to return to work on a Sunday
and dread seeing the faces of
the lonely, toothless men in
oversized shirts that haunt your dreams.
I know what it's like
to drive home midweek,
midnight, head full of worries,
and to find your bed void  of warmth,
bad music the whole way there on
the radio.
If you care to listen
I can tell you what it's like
to have your fast food meal cut short
with father on the telephone,
"Grandfather's passed away today,"
or to realize that that poem you've
been writing is full of recycled verse,
words already written - and you knew it all along.