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Your face is a stone slate
I feel my heart begin to palpitate.
A swing of a fist,
the crashing of metal.

My eyes are black.
Not like the night sky, speckled with stars
or like obsidian.  Just black.
Just mine.

I try to follow yours
To track your mind,
but the clocks look wierd and time seems to bind.
A dream like trance you've locked me in blind.

The things you have done in your life.
You may have never noticed my strife
or affliction by caused by your carelessly swung hand.  
or maybe
you had me at your feet
and you never looked down to see

It pains me to not be understood
but I niether care for being percived.
And part of me must always grive
for the girl that could never be.
  
But please,
Don't look me in my eyes,
for you may see what you pretend doesn't exist.
Drunken came the old man.
***** from the work of the day.
Smeared by the grease of the night.
I scurried away with fear and discgust
like pityful field mice.

I locked the door but I still heard it bang
but by morning this would all fade.
He was a good dad
was'nt he?
or was my admiration all a twisted memory.

Once was a time
that floats to my mind like a milky cotton candy sky
or a warm autumn eve
when we were a pair, just him and I.

When he would tell me tall tails and fables
under the cover of a starry night sky.
And I would close my eyes and dream
but when I open them I am back
to the floor inside the room
with the locked door.

The first black eye I ever got
from the fist of my own blood.
I told my mom I tripped and fell,
but at this point all is well

He wasn't clean then
His mind was a mess

Cold hard liquor in the day
And even harder party drugs at night.

And I was left alone.
But he was a good dad.
Wasn't he?
He said he did it all for me.

He left behind the crazy life for his daughter no?
The one he dressed in heavy gold off ******* money.
The one who he threw big fancy parties for?
She like to party too.

I hope I don't turn out just like him.
Turning my nose to a table, and my back on my own kid,
who will run off,  tears in eyes,  
my mind on my own wants while they sit there,

like me.
My fathers daughter, dressed in gold.
Every day we drive by.
And every day, like clock work,
my mom tuts and shakes her head.
Demons she declares them.

I shake my head too, in agreement.
A little white lie I know I can't really stand by.
But I can't help but let my eyes follow the brick walls
and the door swing open and close.
I try to capture it all
in my mind... just incase.

I wonder what she would say if she caught my wandering eyes.
How she would behave if I one day needed
to go to the evil planned parenthood in downtown.

Oh the way her "holier than thou" harping would ring to my core.
And how I would wilt to her judgment disguised as worry.
Her wild-child, the one she always never caged.
Making irreversible mistakes she never gauged.

Oh child of mine
Oh Dear, Oh Dear
Hold your heart close
and your legs closed tighter.
I've thought a lot about it
enough time to pass
the melodramatic fits of passion
I house regularly in this skin of mine

That maybe the end of the world isn't at my door step
and that maybe I can live without your mahonany eyes, yet
I feel a yearnful pull to the softly spoken words
you renounce

Maybe it really wasn't meant to be
And I wasn't meant to be devinely yours
your one and only love for all of my life
I was only 14 when I loved you and
I coersed my own mind to belive that I would only have one love
like that in my life

This realization has felt like
Maybe I have grown
Maybe my girlish teenage mind has began to see reality
Like Messieurs les enfants
born yesterday but grown the next
overnight I lost the child version of myself
to the evermoving trail of time

or maybe I can just feel my prefrontal cortex developing
Missieurs les enfants is a french film in which  3 children are transformed overnight in to adults and their parents were transformed to infants, it covers the trope of rapid aging and basic ideas of human nature.
Im alive
but I feel im not living,
atleast not  for my self
I live to serve
and die to feel

I always wanted to go
to run free
like a leaf in the wind
but I sit in place like a flower
only wanted for visual appeal
thrown to the side once I wilt

my own body is
not only mine
he told me
'I need you alive'

When I first heard that
It sounded sweet
like a twisted condolance
but now I see
how my life is a commodity
some thing to be had

My mother made me with
a servantful heart
one that caused me to feel
it was always my fault

I stayed up late to raise babies
and got up early to learn how
to get my self out of the situation
because a 'woman is always more vulnerable'

My mothers own words
that meant
for me to succeed as much as a man
I would need to work my life away.
I know my mother just wanted me to know the reality of the world but I feel like these senitments made me very different than I could have been
I cant tell if you love me
and I don't think that you really need me
maybe its because your the first guy
who hasn't pressured me for his own wants

And I don't know If I love you.
It hurts me if I do
and it took me this long to contemplate
my own curled and entangled thoughts.

I know every morning I pray that
you will think of me
but I just can't see
me with you

I think I am afraid of comitment
and devoid of attachment
but how I plea with my heart to say
you and only you.

I want to be in love in the spring
I want you to see my face in the flowers
I want to hear your voice in a warm breeze
I want you to need me.

Some times I can't tell
if you even think I'm pretty.
Every guy who has
asked me to...

I hope that you relize that I
don't mean to hurt you,
at times I think that it would be
better for you to forget me

I want to love you
but I can't tell if I want you
or the attention that you give me.
I feel horrible for this all.
Like I'm using you because you enthrall
with my deepest desire to be
yearned  for.
I hope he sees that I really don't mean to hurt him.
We were eating diner
a heartfealt family meal
a red aura asceued throughout
enuced my appeal.

He asked what the meal was called.
I looked and the *** as my mom's voice trailed off,
"Um... meat with sauce"
The deep red chile con nopales
todava existe con todas estas reglas sociales

She softened her toung for colonizer mouths
we were eating our food in her own house
Chile colorado that stained her hands
turned to twisted song that sung a sour dance.

The conversation lasted a few seconds
but to me the thought beckoned
Its call Chile Colorado for it's deep red hue,
like the spilled blood of my ancestors
and I wonder; "What would they do?"

I draw my tortilla through the salsa
pero entre mi corazon algo senti falsa.
Why do we lie by our own words
Its almost like we are
scared to be heard.

The sharp english language hurts like a cut
but my creamy soft spanish rolls of my tounge.
Chile is a Nahuatl word
A representation of a blend of my two cultures

Mestiso, a swirling blend
of my Spanish colonizers
and my Native soul
stuck between two world, a sung song like a oriol

My brown tint skin
like the pews of a church or a sad sung hymn,
they do not hide behind a colonized word
so why should I hide the names of a food
of which with love we feed to you.
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