My Grey

You are the gravity that has always kept me grounded

but I never gave a second thought.

You’ve never abandoned me

But I only remember your presence when I fall.

You are my Northern Star leading me to my own Bethlehem.

Guiding me to my glory,

A glory you believe in more than me.

You are the serpent in my Garden of Eden

Persuading with temptation and desire.

You are my guilty pleasure

And my most trusted confidant.

You played so many roles in my life that I’ve lost count.

You’ve been such a constant;

I often overlook calculating you into my life.

My oblivion was finally disrupted by the frustration of my subconscious

It constantly drew me to you

But I never felt its gravitational pull so it pulled harder,

Till my mind could no longer hide our bond under a rug of rationalization.

My body became more impulsive around you.

Caught between a battle of reason and desire my mind grew wild.

You became the guru of my happiness

A safe haven from my woes

A scale, measuring my morality and pleasure

You are the gravity that has always kept me grounded

But I never gave a second thought.

You’ve never abandoned me

But I only remember your presence when I fall.

You are my Northern Star leading me to my own Bethlehem.

Guiding me to my glory,

A glory you believe in more than me.

You are the serpent in my Garden of Eden

Persuading with temptation and desire.

You are my guilty pleasure

And my most trusted confidant.

You are the grey to my black and white world.

You are my vacation destination that distracts me from all my woes

You are the constant that varies in roles

You are the last person I expected to reach my soul

You are the friend I hope to always know

The Cycle of Decease

Not all inheritances are gifts.
And usually they are the ones
When declining, is not a choice.

The woman
That once wore her wrinkles with no shame
That only, skirts, she’d wear
And never revealed her hair
That walked miles and never gasped for air

The woman
Who could never cook a decent meal
Who never hesitated to say how she feels
Who never possessed a luxury that was given
Who bore ten children

She, is now disappearing.
Her pride missing
Her memories fleeting
Her identity shifting

To a girl
Aging beyond her years
Lost in a world she no longer knows
Loosing control of a life that once was hers
Forced to live in fear

The last time my grandmother could remember
She was witness to her husband’s surrender
To the same decease that’s now her offender
She found comfort in his demise
Knowing he and his memories
Would, finally, reunite

Now she waits for her turn to die
My mother, will now be her witness
And she too risk being victim to this sickness

Not all inheritances are gifts.
And usually they are the ones
When declining, is not a choice.

Guerrilla Warfare

I am a guerrilla fighter, fighting a war that began long before my birth. This war was left to me in my ancestor’s will. They were brave warriors that devoted their life to a war they knew its victory they would never see fulfilled.

In this war, we are not many; too few are brave enough to step out of the comfortable ignorance of our oppression. I walk among you but I do not condone your condemnation of those who do not fit into your criteria of what a human being should be. In this battle it’s hard to distinguish your friends from your enemies. The roles of oppressed and oppressor is very interchangeable. Unlike many of you, I am immune to the fog that refuses to allow you to see these same standards you fail to reach.
But sometimes, I wear your arrogance as a disguise and abide your rules of hypocrisy. Judging my brothers and sisters for their uniqueness using their pain as paint to color my own difference and blend into the bland background that protects me from a target. But under this mask of duplicity, I am a warrior who recognizes a target isn’t a target unless it’s a threat. A threat that brings fear to those gets in its way.
I do not assimilate out of fear; I assimilate to infiltrate. I play by the rules of their rigid game. I know that with my dark skin, “nappy” hair, strange brain, empty pockets, and lack of balls between my legs they’ll never see me as a danger. I’m only comforted by the thought that their realization of their misjudgment of me will be the last thing that goes through their minds before I end their lives.
I am a guerrilla fighter, fighting a war that began long before my birth. This war was left to me in my ancestor’s will. They were brave warriors that devoted their life to a war they knew its victory they would never see fulfilled. Now its is up to me to complete this legacy. I fight for justice, understanding, and equality against oppressive ideals of society.

Plea

Forgive me, my developing brothers.
I abandon you to flee into the arms of a greedy land.
You must understand, my intentions were not to cause you harm.
I was one of you; I am a part of you.
I came from struggle, sorrow, & poverty.

I remember when she bore me;
she greeted me with a bright smile on her face, filled with hope.
She nurtured me, feeding me only from her supple breast.
She didn’t have much but what little she did; to me she’d give.
My mother country was good to me.
And how do I repay her?
With betrayal!

Forgive me, my developing brothers.
I abandon you to flee into the arms of a greedy land.
I left with intentions of coming back.
Then I got there and he promised me the world,
Of nothing, I would ever lack.
He was a charmer, you see.
He showered me in luxury.

At first I was overwhelmed with exhilaration,
but as time passed, it became my expectation.
Luxury was my new fascination.
I took what I wanted even if it was more than I needed.
My desires had no limitations.

Forgive me, my developing brothers.
You must understand, my intentions were not to cause you harm.
My ignorance was sustained by the hunger of my greed.
Mother country’s voice, I would sometimes hear,
But the message never reached my ears.

Once I took off my diamond earrings, the sound became clear.
“Where did you get all those pretty things?”
Mother country’s message, I could finally hear.
The answer to her question, I did not know.
I searched for clues in the items he bought me.

Every item had traces of a smell, I knew to well.
The scent of struggle, sorrow, & poverty I could detect.
Promises of life & liberty he preached.
A fighter for justice he, himself, proclaimed.
When truly he was a monster who used lies to hide his shame.

Mother country and her sisters were his slaves.
Enslaved by desperation & manipulation,
Forced to sustain his lifestyle of excess.
And I?
I, I was his accomplice.



By I. Indy Alvarez

A Humanity Reminder

I look around and see a place created by perfection yet all I see is its absence, a world with a toxic combination of fear, hate, rage and death. People fear that the truth of their imperfections will be revealed so they mask it with ridicule towards others. The fear subsides and bonds with a strong element of hatred. A hatred use to abhor things in others that you once feared would be revealed in yourself, but the imperfection never fades so what was once hate transforms to rage, a burning anger that cannot be satisfied with the ridicule of others. Its new target is itself and that’s when rage ends and evolves to death.

I look around and see a place created by perfection yet all I see is its absence. There is a chemical imbalance in the atmosphere due to its lack of purity. Those with love only experience it temporarily before the blood of others creates a stain of pain. A young girl looses her innocence to a lying tongue that bathed her in its saliva’s stench, losing her sweet scent. A once empty womb, a child now bears that will live out its days imagining the image of her invisible father. At first her minded will paint bright and happy pictures that are filled with hope of his return, but as she goes on to the world and time goes by, the colors of her image will fade so she will use the colors that surround her in the darkness of her despair and paint the picture black and grey.

I look around and see a place created by perfection yet all I see is its absence. I do not know if God weeps, but if I were Him, I’d flood the world with tears of disappointment. I would make waves of from them and wash away the world from its existence. I do not know if God dreams but I were Him, I would avoid my guilt and built a dream out of denial. I would never send salvation and spare my child.

I will never be able to fathom God’s rational for loving us unconditionally despite our daily self-destructive behavior. I look around and see a place created by perfection and I’m reminded how undeserving I am to share its creator.

Love's Casualties

She was 19.
A dreamer whose imagination and aspirations
Were limited by what surrounded her,
She had faith in fairytales,
A true believer in a happy ending
She wasn’t naïve
Just hopeful

He was 24.
A laborer whose intelligence and ambition
Were turning his life into endless possibilities
He was a man before he had a chance to finish being a child.
A man of principals with few possessions
But with many expectations
A true believer in hard work
He wasn’t stern
Just resourceful

He met her.
His body had a magnetic reaction to hers.
She met Him.
Her heart dropped by a force greater than gravity’s
Both, overwhelmed by ecstasy
That was caused as a reaction to their union,
Did what only they could do, love.

A love so strong and shameless
It resulted in a child called passion.

Passion was a testimony of their unity.
He and She evolved to a We.
This encounter created a family.

He was her prince, her dream.
Her new obsession was him.
He was worth everything to her.

Eventually, her dreams and fairytales
Grew to nightmares and folktales
She heard stories of men who ran away.
She had horrors about him being lured by another.

She was a fragrance that masked
the stench of his dreadful past.
She was the playmate
He never had the chance to meet.
But soon the fragrance grew too overwhelming
And the games were no longer fun.

She loved him a little too much
And he could not love her enough
Passion was the only connection they had

He loved her enough to know
She deserved better and let her go.
She loved him too much to see
The man she loved, leave

A Man Dressed as a Hero

There was a time I held you up on a pedestal. You were up there with God, not on the same level but pretty damn close. You were fierce, powerful and immortal. There was nothing in life too big or too strong that could defeat you. I did not have to resort to fictional characters like Superman, Spiderman, or Wonder Woman when I lived with the real deal in my very own home. I'd look at you and wonder how on earth did I get so lucky share a single drop of blood that ran through my veins with such an amazing man. I’d pray every night to God to bless me with a fraction of your greatness. I wasn't quiet about my admiration either. I'd let everyone know they should be privilege to share the same room with you. I'd retell stories of your conquest despite the overwhelming obstacles you over came & victory obtained.
Men would walk up to me and try to shower me with compliments and gifts hoping that my heart to them I’d give. But once learned that there is such thing as greatness, it’s hard to settle for anything less. I decided my worth should be that much more because I was made with sperm of a man that managed to be as close as any human has to God. A man of such stature doesn’t bore worthless children. If I couldn’t find a man as might as he, I wanted no man at all.
It took me almost 21 years to realize, that man was never real. I’d like to think that it was because until now he finally met defeat but I knew better. The truth is that I made excuses for him because the truth I refused to believe but there is only so much one can conceal. The tragedy of idolizing a man is that it is only a matter of time before his imperfections are revealed.