(no subject)
Thursday, July 07, 2005
this poem isn't quite done, but read it anyways!
Current mood: tired
where i come from there is always good food on the stove
a big fresh pot of frijoles
chile colorado
enchiladas and tamales
where i come from entertainment lies in your grandmothers living room
jumping around on the furniture in a space so cluttered that if you sit on one sofa you are touching another with your knees.
where i come from there is no real violence
people don't die
children play in the street and the worst they get is scraped knees.
where i come from lack of money didn't mean ANYTHING
because we had each other and what else did we need?
where i come from you are never to old to play pretend with the girls that you call
"Sister"
even if they really arn't.
where i come from "safe" is in my grandmothers arms
with my head in the her chest breathing in the sweet aroma only she could have
she smelled like hard work and sweat
along with chile and tortillas
and love....
but i'm not where i come from anymore.
i've broken out of my shell and its too late to go back in
out here children die because their parents weren't paying attention
they die because the babysitter shook them
and they die because their parents hit them
out here teens take pills to destroy their woes...
forever.
out here there is no safe place to run and hide
out here you can't jump from couch to couch without being scolded
and everyone is too old for make believe.
out here you have to watch out for the people in the street
and the only way to stay sane is to smoke
and drink
and smoke
and drink
and smoke....
puff puff
but maybe tonight i'll be able to go back there,
in my dreams.
and tonight i'll be so small that when i sit in my grandmothers lap i can lean my head on her chest and smell her
that sweet smell of sweat, hard work, chile, tortillas, enchiladas, frijoles and every other comfort food you could possible imagine
and they all sum up to one thing...
love.
my grandmother loves me.
it radiates from her dark skin like lightning bolts
illuminating everything for that one split second....
and i'm home.
i'm going back to where i came from.
keep in mind that this needs to be edited still, and i'm too tired to do it now, so i'm not going to. but yeah, give me your honest opinion, I'M NOT GOING TO GET HURT IF YOU THINK IT SUCKS!
this poem isn't quite done, but read it anyways!
Current mood: tired
where i come from there is always good food on the stove
a big fresh pot of frijoles
chile colorado
enchiladas and tamales
where i come from entertainment lies in your grandmothers living room
jumping around on the furniture in a space so cluttered that if you sit on one sofa you are touching another with your knees.
where i come from there is no real violence
people don't die
children play in the street and the worst they get is scraped knees.
where i come from lack of money didn't mean ANYTHING
because we had each other and what else did we need?
where i come from you are never to old to play pretend with the girls that you call
"Sister"
even if they really arn't.
where i come from "safe" is in my grandmothers arms
with my head in the her chest breathing in the sweet aroma only she could have
she smelled like hard work and sweat
along with chile and tortillas
and love....
but i'm not where i come from anymore.
i've broken out of my shell and its too late to go back in
out here children die because their parents weren't paying attention
they die because the babysitter shook them
and they die because their parents hit them
out here teens take pills to destroy their woes...
forever.
out here there is no safe place to run and hide
out here you can't jump from couch to couch without being scolded
and everyone is too old for make believe.
out here you have to watch out for the people in the street
and the only way to stay sane is to smoke
and drink
and smoke
and drink
and smoke....
puff puff
but maybe tonight i'll be able to go back there,
in my dreams.
and tonight i'll be so small that when i sit in my grandmothers lap i can lean my head on her chest and smell her
that sweet smell of sweat, hard work, chile, tortillas, enchiladas, frijoles and every other comfort food you could possible imagine
and they all sum up to one thing...
love.
my grandmother loves me.
it radiates from her dark skin like lightning bolts
illuminating everything for that one split second....
and i'm home.
i'm going back to where i came from.
keep in mind that this needs to be edited still, and i'm too tired to do it now, so i'm not going to. but yeah, give me your honest opinion, I'M NOT GOING TO GET HURT IF YOU THINK IT SUCKS!