• I folded my page and looked around, and got off my school bus. At the Lozano stop I glance around the area, noticing a few cars but no possible rapist or so

    I rapidly walk, my feet feeling the chill of the coming winter, not helping due my old converse. The snow sprinkled down as I remembered, how latin people were forced to adapt upon moving into this one hell of a place, the place of oppurtunites, el lugar de opportunindad. Correcto? Right? No not for you and mi Papi. This is just another step in the evolution of our people. No way out of here. And we aren’t the only ones declassified. A man, who doesn’t know English too well has the credentials to teach Collage, but now can’t because he can’t speak a certain language.

    Now you too Papi add to the list of poverty among us, you used to be a well known artist, and don’t you lie to me. Now you work in factory Papicito, I used to cry to see you leave every night; I used to want to run after you and beg you to stay. But, mom always locked the door and said “He’s gotta go pumpkin.” Now it’s my turn, to live a life, of something different. You may want me to be an artist, but I’m an artist of words, not that your art is not counted for.

    But, I can’t paint you can, though Papi I will be a pride. Isn’t that what you wanted, a robot of progress, right? Not a daughter with a passion for taking on her fathers hard life. I can’t be everything, you know. But, know I’m just messing with my head again. As reality sets back in and feel the numb of the winter pass over my fingers again, and I see or house. This isn’t a castle, but it’s what we have.

    I work for you, papi and mami too. For you can have the better end, and the better begging. I am your slave, your puppet move the right string and I’ll move the way you want. Just leave me behind to rot in the end, I’ve worked for you and my drumming heart won’t stop now or ever.