The Mexican American
The Mexican American
We are dirty,
We are nasty,
Disgusting,
Uneducated,
Good for Nothing,
lower
than
the ground
itself.
We are Mexican American in Amerika
We sleep in groups on one bed,
Share the same spoon for breakfast,
Drinking from the same glass, the brown water our government provides.
Taught a different history far from the truth our ancestors experienced in the past
We are Mexican American in Amerika
Our clothes are passed down because we are poor.
We only cook or clean,
Babysit or fix engines.
Most people hate our souls,
but say we sure can cook some good food.
We are Mexican American in Amerika
We became the Teachers who show your children Right from Wrong,
The Nurses, who care for your sick
The Builders, who built homes they would never step foot in
The Soldiers who swore to protect the very country that wants to send
Us
Back
“Home”
Lost in a land that was once ours
Lost in an identity masked by patriotism
Only to be celebrated every 5th of may with tequila shots and a sombrero
Just a Mexican American living in America.
Half a bottle of cologne
Half a bottle of cologne
Someone broke into my car the other day.
They must have been desperate. I don't have any tint on my windows, my seats were dirty and covered with dog hair. It's been a couple weeks since I got it washed, I guess all of us are going through some struggles. I had half drunken water bottles all over the floor, (I swear I was going to drink them later). I didn't have much inside my car. Just the usual change in the middle dashboard (couple quarters, pennies, and nickels), They took that too. I checked my middle console where we all rest our arms whenever we feel tired after a long day’s work (I guess I didn't have anything of value to them), but they must have liked the way I smelled, so they took my cologne (It wasn’t full, less than half). I guess I can’t be that mad, almost feels like a compliment.
Pick
Pick
"You know...she told me what you fucking did," I say as I look down on him, standing and clutching the bottle. He is tied to the chair, unable to move.
"And I mean EVERYTHING." I raised the bottle to my lips, and the instant fire rushing down my throat makes my jaw clench and eyes shut.
"But... PLEASE! All that was years ago, you know I’ll never do that now" that asshole says to me. "Please! I never do it again!" he begs again. I lean in close to him and put my lips next to his ear. "Yeah... is that after the first time... or the tenth time you put her outside?" I spat at the side of his face. "More than once, am I right? Outside?" I asked him as I reach towards the table picking up a toothpick. "Yet that isn't the worst of it, is it?" I asked him as I put the pick in my mouth. The snot begins to run down his mustache like the disgusting fuck he is. "IT WAS YEARS AGO!" he screams at the top of his lungs, hyperventilating after each breathe.
"Yeah, I'm sure she felt the same way you do now, right? Scared, wanting it to end? Not knowing what the fuck I'm going to do?" I get the pick out of my mouth and pick up his head with my hand so I can stare at his eyes. "See, I don't get it though. You keep doing everything you told her not to. Why do you keep shutting your eyes as if you don't like, this?" I grabbed the toothpick with my right hand, held it between my fingers, grabbing his left eyelash with the other hand, pulling it just enough for the inner lid skin to show. "NO NO NO NO," he begins to scream. I positioned the toothpick just under his top eyelid. "I don't know why you keep hoping for a miracle? She waited for one and it never came... well then again, in a way it did, now am I right?" I laugh.
"AHHHHHHHH,"
That glorious, beautiful scream he lets escape is something out of a dream, a dream she imagined every night if she could.
I lift the toothpick just enough for it to be poking through, but not breaking his skin. "DAMN! That must hurt, but like I said, I wouldn't want you to close your eyes or else you wouldn't like it!" I laugh as I place the bottom end of the toothpick on top his upper cheek bone while the other end fights to break the skin underneath his lid. "Now, don't blink, or at least try not to so hard... you wouldn't want the toothpick to pierce through, now would you?" His eye began to turn bloodshot red, as his head began to shake, fighting the urge to shut his eye.
"See, here's the thing..." I pull up a chair and sit in front of him. "You keep talking about how you've changed, blah blah blah." I slap his knee, and with one quick violent twitch, the toothpick tip pierces right through.
"AHHHHH!" he screams in agony, but I swear it's an accident.
"To be fair, you should have seen my hand. Your eye was open." I laugh. A shitty excuse for a shitty person who deserves it. "Now” I looked at him, staring at his eyelid. It's fine; its twitching enough to close a little. "You can tell me all day and night how you've changed..." I pull the chair closer until both our knees are inches away from each other. "... but there really is only one way to see if that's the case." I get up from the chair and reach behind him.
“Here it is.”
Shining like a water oasis in a desert, his eye began to widen. A crystal-clear bottle shines from the light of the only lamp in the room. He tries looking away, but I slap him where the pick is, and the bottom half of the pick pierces into his cheek like a needle. Nothing but the air escapes his lungs, holding in every ounce of pain, his chest started convulsing as he breathes in and out. Under his breath, he whispers, "I won't." And I tilt my head in confusion, not quite sure if he understands the situation he's in. But that doesn't matter. I raise the bottle closer to his face and begin to take the cap off.
"MMMMMM, smells good, don't you think?" I ask him as drool begins to run down from the corner of his lip. Running the glass underneath his nose, his mouth began to twitch. "Damn, even your body is forcing itself to drink some. It remembers the taste, and I'm sure that side you say ‘isn't there’ still is." I take a quick swig from the bottle before placing it down between his legs, his eyes peering down as if a puppy looking at dropped food.
"If you don't want it, why do you keep looking at it?" I ask him. Shaking, he just stares at the bottle.
"So, the deal is..." I walked towards the other side of the lamp. "... I can place the bottle on the table with a straw, and you can drink to your heart's desire while you tell me everything from your mouth... and then I kill you..." I move into the corner, engulfed in shadows, and roll out an IV with an empty plastic bag attached. "Or... I tie this around your neck and the needle in your arm and make you tell me and watch you die slowly from the poisoning." I grab the bottle between his legs and cross my arms. "Your choice."
That piece of shit tries spitting on me.
"So be it."
He tries to wiggle out of the chair, but he isn't going anywhere. I made sure he had to feel powerless, just like he made her feel. I get the bottle and pour it into the IV. "What are you doing?" he asks me, freaking out. "NO NO NO! PLEASE, I'LL DRINK IT!"
"Too late. You should have taken the chance when I offered," I laugh as I roll the IV behind him and begin wrapping the plastic tube around his neck, piercing his veins with the needle.
"See, the thing with injecting alcohol directly into the bloodstream..." I tell him as I'm pouring a shot glass into the bag. "... is once it hits the bloodstream, it works a little more differently... Well, at least according to Google, anyway..." I put a clip on the tube to slow the drip. "... so, I thought I'd try to slow the drip and see if we can slow the process down just a bit so I can see you change in front of me, and well, if that doesn't work, then it doesn't work. Either way, you're dead, and that's all I really want in the end." I walk back in front of him, sat down, and looked him in his eyes.
"Now... she told me she used to sleep outside whenever you came home... rain, winter... Hell! She said one night she had to use plastic trash bags to keep warm while she heard you snore from the outside." He started to cry, trying to find any words he can. I looked at the IV; a couple of drinks in here and there since we started, and it's still going pretty well. "She told me one time you locked her in the shed because you were just mad one day. Now, is that really true?" I ask him, he doesn't say anything. "Well, so much for Google being right, huh? I guess it doesn't work as fast, but that's fine." I get up and stretch out a little. "I'm not going anywhere," I laugh.
About five minutes go by while I'm in the restroom, and I can see it starting to hit him. "How are you feeling, huh? Doesn't it feel good again? Remember this feeling? You barely feel the toothpick, right?" I laugh as he begins to lick his lips, the toothpick moving little by little with every expression he gives. But that doesn't matter since he can taste the alcohol now. His eyes look glazed and lost. "Yeah, it's been a while. Give it a few minutes; I'm sure you'll be back to your original self." I can see the change happening. He has heavy breathing, a deeper voice, and a look of nothingness to his eyes. "That's it. Feel it coming back, don't you?" He begins to tilt his head up from the chair, wobbling, and he laughs. "Yeah, you remember..." He just smiles and laughs while looking at me.
"You remember THAT night, don't you?" I asked him, but he just can't stop smiling at me, his eyes burning red. "... the one night you promised she was fine, and it was OK for her to be inside." He just smiles and looks at me. "... you came home that night... promised she would be fine..." He lets out a little chuckle, "... what did you do... tell me..." I lean closer. "Tell me!" I began to raise my hands and open my palms to wrap around his throat.
"We wouldn't be here now if I didn't," he whispers and laughs, opening his legs as wide as he can. The sick fuck sticks his tongue out.
I wrapped my fingers around his neck, feeling every muscle tighten between my fingers as the blood rushes through my palms. I squeezed until his eyes are out of their sockets, his face bloated and swollen. He starts to shake as I watched every ounce of life leave his body.
Then he was still, quite,
lifeless.
Yet, I still feel as if he is smiling at me.
“We wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t.” still haunting my head.
A couple of hours go by, and I'm finally home. Nothing more I want to do than just go to bed. I take off my shoes as I hop into bed and roll over. A few hours go by, and there is a knock on my bedroom door. "Mom?"
She opens the door.
"Can you come downstairs, please?" I see her eyes are red, holding back tears. "I mean, is everything OK?" I ask her again. "Just please come downstairs," she tells me again as she walks back down the hall. I turned around to put on my shoes and begin to walk down the hall, passing by my grandmother's room.
There she is, just looking out her window, sunlight creating a radiant glow around her. She turns to look at me and gives me a smile and I smiled back. I turned back around and headed downstairs, where my mother is sitting at the table. "Please sit," she tells me, holding a tissue to her face.
"Is everything fine?" I ask her, already knowing what the answer was.
"The police came... they found..." Here it is I thought. "They found... your grandfather. He's gone," she says crying into my arms.
“Mom…” I say looking at her, but before I can say anything else my grandmother walks in and places her hand on my shoulder.
So, I stayed silent for her.
Anti-Social
Anti-Social
Who are we? If not what we post on social.
Our dreams and fears, wrapped into one.
The angles, the flash. Everything to show those
who we never met, how life is
beyond a screen. Is it our fault technology became so addicting?
or phones replaced the apple that was once given to us in the garden.
How does the metal tastes as it drips down your mouth?
Is it as sweet as the chocolate you ate as a child?
Do the hateful comments bring you the same joy your parents did
When they said they loved you?
Or does it take little hearts to show you what your worth?
If there is a god, I pray
Not to Jesus, buddha, or even Yahweh
But to the child staring at their screen
Living a lie, and caught in a dream
Forgive us, when death becomes serene
Martyr
Martyr
No matter how many stops I make
The road will always call me home
The endless asphalt winds into dirt
Leaving a trail less traveled by man
Like Icarus galloping towards the sun
I fall the closer I get towards home
A curse and gift it is to leave the ones I love
My curse be lifted as I leave the one I love
Time slows the further away I am
Trapped in a purgatory
As faces grow old around me
The dirt, now a path of bones
As life no longer exists this close to the sun
The dust from crushed skulls now become clouds
Raining once more
A curse it is to bring the ones you love to tears
Yet the garden has never blossomed as lovely
As when you cry
Cursed be thy life
Cursed be thy pray
An endless cycle till one meets the ocean
And is now swimming in an open abyss
Now I whisper this prayer past these waves
“Forgive me mother,
For I have sinned. I have learned my lesson.
And changed within. Im no longer the boy I knew.
My evil ways are gone and through.
In your eyes you see my father.
So here I lie, life of a martyr.”
Architect
Architect
Do you remember the power you had
When you crushed an Ant with your finger?
To know the life of something once living
Was taken away by your very hand.
You once killed something that was,
Lesser than you.
Beneath you.
You were God
In that moment.
You Were god.
Death.
Life.
All in your palms.
Following the paths you have made.
Association
Association
Birds of a feather, flock together.
So why do you hate when people compare you to the others?
You hold your head high
Originality is key
You follow the same steps layed out in front of you
Created by those you desperately seek approval from
You sell the ink that drips from your veins
The sludge that darkened your blood to the bone
Are you holding onto your past?
Or slowly suffocating your future?
Yet, its not your fault
Just everyone else’s around you
Anxiety
Anxiety
It’s the worry at the back of your head.
You don’t know what it is, but it’s there.
Bothering you.
It looms over you like a angel demon at night
Waiting for the moment to steal your body.
It burns your throat like the lie truth you never told.
Yet, you don’t know what it is.
It’s nothing.
It’s peace.
It’s everything you pushed deep deep down.
Hoping to never surface much like yourself
From that dark dark hole.
Rock of Madness
Have we descended into a world of madness?
Where the only escape is a realm of drugs.
Breathing in the burning euphoria,
choking as it grasps your throat.
Death knocking with every flame.
Home has become the hydrant at the corner.
Water in the gutters fit for a king,
a Kingdom of sticks and stones.
Fallen from the heavens,
burning rock as bright as morning star.