A song

But not of desperation


it’s a fight to believe

in the American dream

that I was raised with.

Physicians are in the position

to make life or death decisions

or if they even want to listen

to your symptoms.

we are all sick

with chronic limiting beliefs

pained with bills

and bills

and bills

making us ill

driving to kill

it’s dog eat dog.

We are suffering from

blurred visions

our dreams hiding

behind perpetual fog.

Yes we are sick

with food poisoning


that companies blame on


meat infused with

growth hormones

dollar menus


heart disease




patients popping

pharmacy pill prescriptions.

Organic supermarket

fed by the rich

to make revenue

But inequality

and inequity

are not new

to this venue.

This country was built

by slaves

No one giving two fucks

about the lives

they gave.

We are sick



But America

you can still be beautiful

from the Redwood forests

to purple magic mountain majesty,

the fight is not over

nor the struggle to be free

Yes America

I’m fighting to believe

looking for a cure

for my symptoms

to be relieved.


The struggle is real

but I refuse to accept

that fates are sealed.

when reality is harsh

it becomes surreal.

Violence and poverty

are steel like chains

causing inequality

to remain.

Shootings on street corners

believed to be the hood’s

epidemic but history

proves it’s a repetitive


Death left to rot

in the streets

expecting everyone

to nonchalantly

march to their beat.

A modern version

of the Colosseum

leaves people

suffering with delirium.

Feed them

students can’t learn

if they’re hungry or cold.

Injustice is a 17 year old

not knowing how to read

1984 to understand

how to be freed.




Walmart made a deal

with the devil

to reach higher levels

while they treat employees

like pebbles.


But it’s not just them


we’re running a human

drag race with false

head starts and

unequal distribution of parts

based on arbitrary decisions

or who your kin is.


We were founded

by rebels that yelled

no more

And when given

no choice

they found their voice.

Wake up America

and make some noise.



A tale

Living the cement

American dream

millions chasing

the kite’s

Blue, red, white


Only to meet

Blood sweat tears

Harsh reality.

Parenting in shifts

Breeding soldiers

of struggle

Papi couldn’t learn

English quickly

Factory life

Gasoline worker

At night

Smell embedded

In his hands

Ser buen pobres

is what he taught

me, in another

life you were a

Ñusta princess


we inherited

Poverty, but we

descend from


make dignity

Your throne.

Mami reeked

Of onions

Night shift

Work beast

Don’t touch me

She said

Let me wash up

Wash the




Making ends meet

Was always

their fear.

White oven waiting

with dinner

we all ate alone.

Independence day

Was every day

sisters raising


brothers raising

sisters.  The unlucky

ones were all

on their own.

Sewed up glasses

Ham cheese


these are

some of my least

favorite things.

An invisible hand

chased all of us

pointing out

our differences

The accents

Holey clothes

Kmart blue

Light special


The lack of

Snack packs.

All used as

Ammo for a

taunting attack.

A boat would bring

Those far, near to

Hotel Manor.

I saw my blood


They would leave.

Finding myself

In an ocean

of salty


That’s where the

hand tried to drown

me, pushing me

Under to not

breathe success

I glimpsed and saw

We were all there

My brothers

My sisters


With determination

In our eyes

The hand couldn’t

Stop us all

We were

On the rise

Together holding hands

Taking back our


United we stand

planting The seeds

for our money trees

Red picket fences

Or whatever

We damn well pleased.

I never did get that


but I was blessed

with a voice

to make injustice