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SP Blackwell Jul 2014
i can not even write this
because it will be anti
american
unpatriotic
and an
insult to
the land
of freedom
i was born in.
I can not even write this
because I am the first
generation
daughter
child
born in
the land
of freedom.
I can not write this
because my abuela
will tell me that I am
lebanese
cuban
and i was
born in
the land of
freedom.
i can not even write this
because my Tio
who came to
America
at the age of 6
and had “adjustment”
issues will remind me that
I
Am
American.
Tio will tell me that
I
am privileged.
because I was
born in the
land of freedom.
Abuela will remind me
that CUBA is
dead.
Abuie will remind me
to hush about all things
Arabic and Lebanese
because I am
American
born in the
land of freedom.
She reminds to hush
about the black
eyes
that see past
this land to the past
of other places
that whisper
my name.
They remind me
that I am
American and
not a communist
not a terrorist
not a girl who
hears her name
sung in the winds
of other lands
which i have not
wandered.
Abuela reminds me
to not yearn for
white sandy beaches
with waves that break
on a rock laiden wall.
Abuie reminds me
to ignore the need
for hot sand
beneath my feet
and wafting smell
of foreign spices
that are
unknown
to those born
in the land of freedom.
In the land of
freedom?
Racquel Tio Jun 2016
my initials
are rearranged art
and so are my words.
Growing up, as a ten year old, was nothing new to me, for that’s all I felt I did at the time. I was, and still am, the oldest, but now of 5 and the two after me are now twelve turning thirteen within the next six months. Man, really makes me feel like an old hag… no offense to any elder I don’t literally think you and or any other elder is a so called “hag” its like the saying “old farts” your older but not really old and you don’t… really… well, you know… never mind, anyways, as a child or when I was ten or eleven years old to be exact, I use to have the same dream or more like nightmare every night, for years. It wasn’t something that happened spontaneously, it was every **** night for three maybe four years. And uh, it had its effects on me, for as young as I was I didn’t quite know how to take it other than horrific and again at the time didn’t know how to interpret the dream either. Well, it might sound a little goofy but if you read into it, it’s pretty dark. I remember lying in bed most nights contemplating whether or not to close my eyes, fearful of what came after once the dark curtain fell. On nights that I’d lose my endless battles I’d fall into a world, much like the one you and I live in, but with a twist… go figure. It was kind of trippy, like it was one of those dreams where like you don’t exactly know how and or why you got to the place your at or how and or why things got as bad as they did, you just sort of jumped into it. Which ***** may I add? I remember it was nice and sunny out and at the time my mother and I, along with my little brother David, baby sister Deanna, my step dad, my grandparents and my tia and tio all lived together in the same house… ha don’t hate, us ethnic people… well I don’t know why but that’s just how we do. Anyways the house we lived in was huge and actually really nice for a home being in the area that it was in… 48th and Southern, yup good old border line Tempe and Phoenix. We were all just chilling like on a normal Saturday at the house when we’re all home, some adults sleeping their hangovers away and some of us children playing in the Arizona room and my tio trying to, simultaneously, watch all of the ESPN programs all at once, you know normal stuff. There I am having a grand old time, when I suddenly get this off, cold, abnormal feeling of just somebody watching me with eyes that are filled with just pure evil. I sit frozen on the floor waiting for what’s to come next; everything around me is bright and sunny, warm and cozy then all of a sudden it warps and I see it before me just leaving… everything then feels dark and hopeless, cold and frightening. My brother is no longer sitting next to me on the floor and I no longer hear the TV screaming penalties on the previous play, the once simmering rice now smells burnt to a crisp and all curtains are now closed. I try to get up in a hurry to run to the door to see where everyone has gone, but time and space is not of existence, as I am now slowly running through the archway of the kitchen I find that I have again jumped but to another part of the house. I’m now standing at the very end of the hallway in front of the door to my room, I can now see the sunlight again and this time everybody is in their rooms, just sitting there waiting… for something. Suddenly, **** gets weird. All of the pirates from the Disney movie Peter Pan came barging through the front door, making their way down the hall, retrieving my family members as they walked past each room. My mind was quick to react, but again almost paralyzed, I couldn’t move a muscle. I could have sworn I screamed or said something, it just didn’t come out clearly or loud enough or maybe even at all. Before my little eyes I watched as these large, animated men took my family away from me, once they turned their backs to walk out the house, then was I able to run after them, but by the time I reached the door, they were already outside and the door was closing before me. I reached out as far as I could in hopes of maybe opening the door to pull all of them back in or going along with them, but instead helped slam the door shut as I was suddenly ****** or pushed forward by an angry force, with my fists pounding into the door I watched as they chained up my house and mocked me. It was weird, the house was then floating I was just chilling in the sky, the closest thing I could think of relating it to is when Dorothy is caught in a storm. The next few moments are kind of a blur, it slowly goes dark again and as tears roll down my cheeks, leaving a burning trail of confusion and a sense of abandonment, I am pushed back to the end of the hallway, curled up into a ball, with arms wrapped, hugging my knees closer to my chest, feeling helpless. I let out the most painful, gut wrenching sob that turned into a scream releasing every ounce of oxygen my body was capable of holding and back into a whimper once I was able to catch my breath. I then wake up to my mother standing over me shaking me profusely tears ran down my face and as my whimper turned into heavy breathing, I realize I’ve woken up everybody in the house and to see all of their faces, in one room… the same room I myself occupied, turned tears of absolute terror and confusion into immediate tears or relief and happiness.
I didn't really know what to name this one... so that was the first thing that came to mind (:
James Court May 2017
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      cr             iticalp          lucky          cl            um     sy        am   usingp
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       y              pom             pous         ad            ve      nt          ur    ousch      
      ar     ­          ism              atic           br             ok     en          and perfect
If you're on your phone turn it sideways
That Mexican hunger of memory,
That 7- 10 evening shift,
Campesinos de Chihuahua,
Sinaloans de Durango,
Day laborers:
Organized Labor’s stubborn cohort,
Largely ungovernable,
With Union Label conspicuous in absence.
Labor Unions:
Largely dead in America,
Except for SIEU, of course,
Making astonishing strides in unskilled circles.
SIEU: The Future of the American Labor Movement,
Eugene Debs rolling over in his grave again.
But I digress.
Mexican gardeners:
Doing most of southern California’s
Weekly landscaping these days.
Tree-trimming in evening twilight,
Certainly an extracurricular
Earning activity these days.
“Hustlers Only” need apply.
Adding five or ten or twenty,
Cash on Tio Sammy's barrelhead,
Mexican tree trimmers, already exhausted from
A workday that began at 6 AM.
And isn't it a pity?
A moment’s lack of concentration,
Distracted, perhaps, by *****-spirit former selves,
Sipping that last shot of afternoon tequila.
Cue Jay & the Americans:
“In a little café on the other side of the border.
She was giving me looks that made my mouth water.”
Distracted, a chainsaw arcs carnelian.
ReCue Jay et al: The chainsaw
“That belonged to JOSE!
Yes I knew. Yes I knew. Yes I knew.”
Severing his right shoulder deltoid,
A butchering to say the least,
Requiring, at least, three weeks “en casa.”
Tres semanas
Without Labor,
Consequently,
Without Capital,
No wage-slave salt lick.
“No dinero” for bread and butter.
Bread and butter?
A consummation devoutly wished for.
And dead certainly,
Better than Guns or Butter?
That Hobson’s choice.
No Padron LBJ are you,
Down along the Pedernales
Texas Hill Country, west of Austin.
Conjuring up both Guns and Butter?
You can’t have both.
Which is why we laboring folk
Always opt for the former,
Knowing instinctively that
A full-flush, spurting military-industrial complex
Means full employment and good times,
Except, of course, for the soldier boys.

“Y los sueños.”
Bourgeoisie entrechats.
I hear America still singing, faintly now.
A shrinking middle-class siren song--
Just a little something--
Some small baited hook--
Some chum bucket for Les Miserables;
Swarthy aspirants.
“Y los sueños.”
Our hunger of memory,
That once booming American 20th Century;
Horatio Alger:
Alive & kicking in the new millennium.
Juno Oct 2018
Varje dag jag går på buss tio
och jag ser någon som ser ut som dig


Och det passar bra.
everly Aug 2017
Tio Daniel,

I'm really happy that you decided
to join the Navy.
Just finished boot camp and then off to Japan, right?
I tried to go to your graduation
but my dad wanted to go himself
since he wasn't allowed to be there
for most of his little brother's life..

When we met for the third time
in San Diego, we spoke for
a while and I told you about
how I write and
how my mom is really tough on me about grades.
and you just sat back in your chair for a little bit
then looked at your girlfriend
and started telling me of how much I look like my father
but I'm like **** krystal because she always kept
journals when you and her lived in the group home
and that was her outlet
to get away from everything.
And through it all she turned out just fine.
A single teardrop made its way down your cheek
going right over your smile and then
you hugged me
and told me I'll be better despite everything.
Despite our family's past.
Despite what we still go through.
Despite our fear of the uncertain and uncharted waters.
must be why you joined the Navy.
I love you so much, even though we've only met 4 times I feel like I've known you for so long..
Nyx Ashling Nov 2014
I try to will my hands to movement
but the energy that fails to stir them
is that of a dying spider

my hands are dying spiders
the weight of broken ballerina ankles rests on them
as one finger, one spindly leg reaches foreward with the fading pulsation of apathy and desperation

apathy pitted against desperation in a cage match thumping against the bars of my ribs i cannot funck fu k func function like this

i once saw a dying spider
she had been in the skylight for weeks
lights flooded the room and she floated down the middle
on a silver string, what skirts are made of for dancers
her legs slowly splayed as she turned so thin so light
in my head i heard played the last grand notes of swan lake
she landed her perfect pirouette to the end of her swan song
and dies to an admiring audience weighed of broken ballerina ankles

her spindly, skeleton leg reaches foreward
driven by desperation
slowing by apathy by starvation by stubbornness by fear
her legs curl unto herself
caging the match pitting apathy against desperation
she cannot fun...c..tio...n... like... this...

Silence falls on my eyes and creeps them closed as my hand
fails to reach the next letter
i desperately have to reach the next letter
but Apathy blinks and says
whats the point
Depression. School. Ugh.
Desire Jun 2019
16 years behind prison bars -- you came home
and not once did you show your scars...
from the fights and sleepless nights, man
it must be hard, to survive a system so inhumane, so corrupt, and flawed...

Barely 20 back in '98 -- you ever wish
you can go back and take that day away? Wondering what life would be like if, at home, you stayed? Now pain echos in your brain since the past can't be changed... (but its ok)

You're a son - you sat in a cage
while your 3 year old son was home getting ***** trained; missed out on ceremonies, birthdays, and holidays. Relationships with friends and family faded as you aged - it
gave you lonely days...

But I remember the joy that overcame you
when we went up to visit - those days were our fave too -- We couldn't hug but you expressed your never-ending love, with 22 inch biceps, telling us to read books and stay tough...
(for that we thank you...)

We longed for the day you'd be free.
But we never understood or considered  the damage done underneath. 16 years of pain, struggle, and suffering. Yet, your story doesn't end with you drowning in defeat.

Certificates and college degrees.
Clinical Social Work and counselor for psychology. Leader, influencer, mentor, husband, and father of three.
I can't be any more proud of you, your healing, and the people you impact and reach (like me).

There are unknown scars that may never heal;
Holes in your soul that are ever real,
16 years behind prison bars -- you came home
and not once did you show your scars...
Instead, you showed the world how to
stay strong and be successful,
and for that, I am ever grateful.
Love you, tio.

@desire.is.dope
20190619
0316HRS
THE STRONG HAVE SCARS

FROM INMATE TO IMPACT
SERVED, SUFFERED, SURVIVED, SCARRED
SUCCEEDING AND ACHIEVING
MAKING A DIFFERENCE
MAKING BETTER DECISIONS
MAKING THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE
Rassy Mar 2015
Tio
clock have been tick tok tick tok for hours, days, months. And I always thinking where on this frikin earth have you been? There's no reason to get far away from me. I know you want to say something and I'm ready to hear it.
Lately, he avoided me and say nothing to me.
#he
arubybluebird Aug 2016
Memory 1:
Cutting oranges off their stems and eating them underneath cherry blossom trees post-rain and post-picket sign protest in Sacramento with Steff.

Memory 2:
Night time, FYF VIP area, sharing a scarf to sit on. slice of veggie pizza, Denisse telling me about her dad, how a beat-down truck with working men made her think of him as she was driving on the 210 the other day. how it moved her so much she ended up pulling over on the side of the road to cry. String of dim lights overhead, Air's Playground Love assimilating in the background of the momentum we've just shared.

Memory 3:
Fourth of July, Navajo woven blankets, lying down faced up arms lazily stretched out in the back of Tia Irene's pick-up truck. talking about how scary it is growing up and how much we fear God. you've decided you no longer want to be a news reporter. I tell you you'll be successful in whatever it is you end up doing. All the while sparks of reds, purple, green, pinks, blues fill the sky in slow, steady twirls all around us.

Memory 4:
Valentine's Day, car parked a few minutes away from where we're walking to. An empty construction site with a view that overlooks our city. you set down the box of pizza, take off your backpack, set out a blanket, a candle, two glass cups rolled up in San Bernardino Sun, a bottle of wine. Tell me to dig in, I pull up the lid, it's shaped like a heart. You didn't realize the wine had a cork, try pulling it off with your teeth. We forget the wine, play The Doors from your cellphone instead, they've finally been added to Spotify, we comment on this. Lying next to each other, my neck cradled in your arm, the warmth of your skin transcends from the wool of your shirt. A shooting star passes the auburn sky like lightning, said you missed it, had your eyes closed. I close mine shortly after, too.

Memory 5:
Everyone is huddled in the living room, a serenade of whispering and sssh she's coming. Tio Frank and Dad have the wheelchair turned around, your back facing us as you enter the door. They move you down the steep of the entrance, you look up, Las Mañanitas starts to play from the stereo, welcome home! You cradle your head in your hands and begin to cry. We reach out to hold you, crying, too.
Danitza Lomeli Nov 2024
My Tio
He lives on Leisure Town Road
Where hard work
Is never had

He lives in a magic world
Where money is no object.
Where you forget
The family you left behind.

The walls of his home are perfectly painted
A smooth cream white.
Unblemished.
A contrast to the peeling green walls he grew up in.

My grandma
She lives in a trailer park.
Watching babies all day so that
my tias can work.

He doesn't think about
The walls he grew up in.
Or the way his mom can't afford a home.
Leisure Town made him forget.
Julian Dorothea Oct 2011
( )
What's the most difficult word in the
                                                                        tio                                          
                                                       dic      
                                                                                      na
                                                                                                 r
                                                                                                      y?
well
for a shy person,

it's hello.
kevin Aug 14
Tio walks the same as me
In us
We make it around
Tio will eat the half sandwich she brings
I see he trusts that she eats with us

Now the mariachi tio is back

Tacitly tact taco on you
Gotcha gotcha device

Chingona mas
Hip hop y mas
Rico and mambo in the morning

Q105

Welcome to the 805 Kendall

My love tio
Soul 4 real

Next up
Can we talk for a minute

You be apologized upon for showing up
Me and Kendricks occupation is section 8 federal inspection document clerk

Need the whole L.A. to ourselves
The poverty laws people
Stay ignorant

I live in that place
Lifting groceries we with
Heavy thoughts
I'ma valuable poet
Irish poetry, inkwell, success

Master P please

I makes known living
Transcripts ******* poetry
Tell of me no sinful
Miss conception
My section 8 voucher a different ticket
Now!
Nah nah nah nah

Hacla
My co alition

Santa Barbara civil rights attorneys

Perhaps no injury laws

Pass the calmate
I am so Grateful, because each of you shine.
Revealing true Hope to me everyday I see you.
For each of you all were created in Christ image.
So each and every day God reveals to me through you.
His Love, perseverance , true Hope as well my Friends.
So yes I am very grateful to have each of you in my life.
For the Christ reveal things through other people here.
He reveal his word, his Love plus many other things.
You just have tio be open to see what he is saying to you.
Mike Virgl Mar 2018
Yut lycking

Ctu tcking

**** frumping

**** frazes

To tragedy a spontaneous dance;
Cuts the wire to their own thread.
The spoll they use to measure and examine,
The wait for the murdered to be murdered.

Which is, is what has already happened
See what is, is what is willed.
And will happen.
And thats the epiphany that curses me

Who knew living in the moment, would affect what hasn't even occured, the choices made by (now) a past self, determines the mental and emotional state of what parallels may exist.

Like two magnets touching, but moving hours apart.

Frumping a man

Cut the dof

Uty ylcking

Ibuo tio

lasi siem

Snshk ehesm

Why does it have to mean,
something?
Why does everything have to mean something
to
someone?
Why?
Does someone steal a part of someone when they go?
And so you are left empty
Almost unfinished, but you were at some point.
Finished or whole.
You just left the conversation going and open
Almost a rant, but without meaning.
Since you were looking for a punchline, a final thing to say.
As "Goodbye" would never do it.

"Have a good life"
How improbable.
What a sour


It ended
juno Jul 2019
'Morning.

I was listening to music last night.
I couldn't help it.
I told him that I'd stop listening to depressing music.
"Hey, Little Girl" - sophiemarie.b
"summer depression" - girl in red
Maybe this is just the music I enjoy.

I wonder when Liz will wake up.
Maybe she's awake.
I have no idea,
I didn't stay inside this morning,
I decided to walk around and buy some groceries.
I'm pretty sure Liz and Tio need some food haha.

I'm looking around for any grocery stores.
Maybe I should've waited.
I'm not good at finding places.

Aha!
I found a local cafe.
It looks nice.

I ordered a coffee and some cake.
I wonder if it tastes good.
I've never had this before,
I normally don't wake up this early and get food.
Normally I'd still be sleeping.

Wonderful.
The coffee and cake was wonderful,
Delicious.


Maybe I'll ask Liz and Tio to come with me next time.
In the afternoon maybe.
I'm sure they'd want to stay inside for the morning.

Adjö.
Eli Bar Sep 2021
Tio
My uncle took pictures of me   and so easily
I’d forget I wasn’t  keeping my belly in, and he’d
hover the camera around and as I’d turn away
as to not ruin the scenery  he would  remind
me gently how  I was the subject of his art
everly Jan 2018
i found myself in the middle of
an intervention with family and friends
alike.
A wrinkled hand with long opal-colored nails
stroked my shoulder.
soon enough a folded chair was cracked open for
concerned persons to tell me their opinion on how
i should’ve done things.

Up first was Eileen.
she looked more clean yet saddened a little..
i saw it in her gentle eyes-
her long eyes that were only brought to life
at the bonfires in the bronx on late nights
when she was supposed to stay at ‘buela’s house.
Tio found out one day and fixed her up real good
yet the gossip in my family spread like wildfire.
She shared a couple of words on how she’s changed for the better
and she should’ve caught herself sooner.
it was the association of her bad friends that got her in trouble.
though i’ve seen her come into my house at midnight
eyes more red than my father’s “tans” when we used to go on vacations together..

her eyes were constantly darting back to Tio for approval of her statements i guess..
i tilted my head ever so slightly to the right and
studied her posture and replayed those words over
trying to see clearly where she put the emphasis.

we both knew she wasn’t convincing anyone.
ConnectHook Mar 10
Promoting silly lies by weakest links,
Global mental illness rattles its chains.
Truth smells refreshing—decadence stinks;
Confused men experience labor pains.
Leftist academics consult their shrinks;
Fabians murmur: “it’s stunning and brave”—
Your Marxist professor, the drag-queen, winks.

South crosses North in a permanent wave;
Gringos enforce it; Hispanic hope sinks.
America clearly has lost the plot;
Abuelita scowls while your tio blinks.
Plebeians still know what elites forgot;
Campesinos mock the deviant kinks—
Morenas are laughing at godless whites.

Sell it to the masses in pastel pinks.
Wrap it up nice with aid and human rights.
Promote it harder. We’ll finish the drinks—

    There IS a right way to pronounce “LatinX"!
No such thing as "LatinX", ask Fulano

— The End —