Struggle 

They say struggles come

and go but their like open wounds.

Poetry is the sound of music that makes

are lives awesome to a extent of time. Like 

blue sugar I cry, I can taste the sweet honey dripping 

from my rose-colored lips, as if my lips never 

tasted you. A single kiss from you was my mistake,

a wonderful mistake that ended......In Disgrace

Wonderful

It has turned out into good relations for

once. Everything is awesome as if their is

no sin, no death, no sickness to remember 

my ill-shaken body. My hands quvier because

my controll is fleeing like a hornet. My body is  

broken down like a waterfall gulping the cracked

cervices of my ribs but i forget it. Once the music of

my culture hits me, its like a sweet taste of 

of hertiage. Drowing me into the sweet sound of hispanic 

drums and the smell of sweet green peppers 

roasting. 

Hispanic 

A word, a race, a struggle......Being half has 

brought pain, two sides to me like a dime......

I pause and breathe because I feel i'm fading 

from the whitness that envoys me. But everthing 

is awesome when my hands hit the keyboard of

letters as the rthyme of words flow out of me 

like a drawing on a canvas. Like everything

sadness is always poetic.