Thoughts revolve in my head
sometimes good , sometimes bad.
I feel like I am in carousel
that rotates endlesly
arousing my fantasy.

Sometimes it relives me
but increases my fear.
swetty hands and dificult to breathe
try to push away but it resist.

I become tense
emotions is raging inside me
because Im very sensitive.
And its dificult to get peace.
Usually it helps to get it out
in form of lyrics to show how I feel
with hope to get a positive refill.


Doctors try to cure and control the thoughts
in my head with medication and therapy.
But is it good to get stable
without passion for my creativity?
Without compasion and possibility
to discribe and explane how I feel...

There is water at the bottom of the ocean
a place i can not walk

Protecting all time that ever was
a place I can never walk within
or even holded my breath enough
to begin to explane

**** there goes my mind again
giving up the **** that is mine
but if you also have it yourself
then let it be yours.

What's going on in that messed up, damaged, beautiful mind
In a warm afternoon, you let me inside
I caught a glimpse
Of thousand suns collide
The colors of 7 skies and a black hole combined
A painting, Divine
I gazed
The next moment, you shut the blinds!

How very godlike
To give a taste
Then retreat
Unaccountable for a crime
Of blinding one's reception.
From ugly, to beautiful, to ugly, to devoid.
The latter, the most crucial.
Like stabbing me blind
Who gave you the right?

I weep
For icarus had fallen and surely will i
Your suns seep in my heart
They leave traces
A sun is fire,
Need i explane how the traces mark?

I am a human
Cursed with longing and hoping and hating and spite
Cursed with hurting and fearing but loving despite
Cursed with wanting to orbit as one of your suns
Or burning as speks of your ashes as i try

When I think about my culture

I think about early saturday mornings

and my dad playing Chalino

out of his huge booming speakers.


I think of the smell of tres flores

and the cafe de olla

my grandma would let me sneak sips of

before I was alowed to drink coffee.


I think of the the hussle and bussle

of the pulga

on hot afternoons

and the smell of roasted peanuts

And even though I've lived

all of these things,

I also think of  the times

I've forgoten words and had to explane what I mean

in a wreak of words


I think of the times

when foods were too spicy

or I was tired of

frejoles .

Did this make me less mexican? Was I loosing touch with my roots?

My culture is unique

I am Mexican-Americana; Chicana