I am what others left.

I’m the things that weren’t robbed.

I’m the scraps of a junkyard.

I’m the miles that weren’t jogged.

I am a little village

In the peak of some mountains.

My skin is leather

And supports any standards.



I am farm labor dedicated to your service.

I am the sun that rises,

And the day that dies nervous.



I am development in bone and flesh.

I am the picture of thousands missing

And their blood that’s still fresh.



I am Pele against England

Scoring two goals.

I walk on the world’s spine,

And rupture many soles.



I am what my father thought me:

He who doesn’t love his country,

Doesn’t love his mother.



I am manual labor

And I do it with great pride.

Here, we share,

And what you have is mine.



My town doesn’t drown

In the sea of your lies.

And if my church is destroyed,

my faith still survives.



I do not blink

And you shall remember my name

I forgive

But never forget who I am.



I am a nomad without destiny.

Negativity doesn’t stop me,

Negativity is my ecstasy.



I committed to travel the continent

without a compass, without time, without agenda.

Inspired by the legends

With stories trapped in tales and a moon without gender.



I learned how to speak and write

And with one common language

Became the world’s fright.



I learned my country still prays

Because the authority and royalty

Still operates under our poverty.



I learned to drink depression

With tequila and cerveza.

And that our own politicians

Have nothing en la cabeza.



To immigrate is my sport.

And even though you don’t fear me,

I can take you on your home court.



I am an intruder

With the reputation of an inmate,

Yet they still want me to support them

And develop the world’s hate.



But Abuela don’t worry

La virgen de Guadalupe

Is the one that knows my story.