I use to sit on my couch watching Dance moms and desire the way their feet would move. I always wished I would open up and ask my mom, but I wasn’t brave. Finally when I was older I asked, little did I know she would disapprove. I would keep asking and then finally my junior year she approved. I went to one of the classes for hip-hop and had to try my best and prove. I couldn’t help but realize how much I loved the way my feet groove I am so glad my mom didn’t try to make that thought get removed!
This is just a fun little poem I wrote about my experience joining hip-hop<3
Painted a masterpiece In my dreams: A Chilean villa. Cactus streams. A flower composed, Wilted with time With muted colors, Tequila with lime. Fields of desert With tuxtla soaring. Winding paths of Wood and brick flooring. A cool wind blows Through the heat Over sweaty brows And sandaled feet. A moment trapped That’s never been. A life of others Never seen. Put away my brushes, Stood back to admire The deep ocean sky, The burnt orange fire. It lay on the table, Alive on the canvas When waking did cause My hard work to vanish. In memory only And never shown Forever discarded Once beautifully known. My studio of mind So often produces A wonderful concept With no practical uses. I’d like to live there And run those streets, Take shade under awnings Sampling savory meats. But I’ll never go there, Never see that place. Never plant in soil That’s been erased. That marvelous day Conceived at night Keeps the dreaming Forever alight.
Malnutrition does not live here, It's not emaciation villa, my dears, Yes, it's 'cellulite is us', We got fat, no need to fuss, Life in emaciation villa, my dears, Malnutrition so does not live here.....
Carrizo, lamina, Cemento, y varilla. Mi casa Su casa Sus casas. Te busco Te deseo Y no te encuentro. Fotos Mapas y Recuerdos Es donde te tengo. Escucha, Habla y dime, Como esta Mi pueblo. Villa de Etla, Querida, Adorada.
