WRITTEN BY LEE BOCH
time from Before would always differ to the Era my peers became stiffer when it was June my grandmother use to stay until noon sunny but not too bright the lighting wasn’t a bite though she shares this vision with me i know it was one i could never see only the puffed air of gray smelling of ashtray fills the sky of Today i idling wonder if i need to pray when it was June it was summer it was suppose to not murmur the heat letting my skin to grease instead it was supposed to be sunny nice i glanced at the big names on the factory walls i idling wonder if this is how we fall when it is June it wasn’t sunny nice it wasn’t with the friendly light that my grandmother said it won’t bite instead i had to wear ice… i know the big names contributed to the glumly sky i idling wonder if this is how we fly when it is June it is like a heater it is like a cheater at times i wish it was like Before instead the weather continues to soar i dream of grandmother’s sky that wasn’t dangerously pale i idling wonder if i too could become a witness to hail though she shared her vision with me i know it was one I would never really see WRITTEN BY LEE BOCH upon my Mama's mornings at primary school,
Incaparina survived as breakfast, truly then I was hit with what's on the table, is not so humble meat the t-shirt on me is from another land I'm not from, is nothing but garbage to their work. the woven Huipil tied with cotton so sweet oh by "The Land of Many Trees". but not born there in GT i was privilege-born in u.s with doctors, clothes, books, and family unlike the ones speaking the Native Tongue oh the beautiful Ancient Words covered with stories so so old however, mine is with red iron taste not my blood but of slaves how hypocritical to admire it how hypercritical to envy them Even the prettiest flowers are tricky ; Mayan Sacrifices, is it true? or lies by the Spanish? the Baile de la Conquiesta; the Lore of Invasion yet the flow of their movement captivates me more to embrace of the Ancestry blood in me; of the community there and here upon my Mama's meals, I eat Black Bean Soup with the such delight of rewinding me to my innocent days of bliss; on the days before Easter i fast only to eat Fish on Fridays such practices appeal to the Messiah yet the People oppose the minorities why should we control pure love? yet restrain protection to life? but shouldn't i be ashamed? i am the First Generation but hold no true roots in me yet each side isn't so thrilling so i stand idle watching the whites stars being so sung to but clutch my Artisan bag to focus on the comforting future to fumble upon my Mama's Caldo ; a Warm Hot Bowl is on the Menu WRITTEN BY: Rielle Chloe Canlas
I’ve known to take off my shoes when entering a house: I’ve known to take off my shoes when entering a home as “bad luck” is a result of not doing so. My soul has grown deep into Filipino ideas, which I choose to follow. I eat rice with almost every meal, and my parents surround me at the dinner table. I listen to Sarah Geronimo, the Filipino artist my mom has deeply adored. I laugh with joy and sing karaoke at parties with my aunts and uncles. I ask to visit Shepherd Church every Sunday, embracing my Christian religion, which was practiced ever since I was a kid. I’ve known to take off my shoes when entering a house: Wearing slippers when I step through the door. My soul has grown deep into Filipino ideas, which I choose to follow. WRITTEN BY: JONATHAN MINA
Egyptian culture. From grape leave to a stick with meat To walking to church and shooting a bird Living with 8 family members, To playing soccer for nights, having no freights To never forgetting the sunscreen sunburn can be mean Never wear heavy Always wear light Never know when the heat might strike Immigration being everyone’s dream Not capable of a visa, so there goes the dream Beautiful oceans, swimming with the fish in a beautiful motion Although we’re known for the statues, there’s more to us then our creations Music, food, and even cashews. WRITTEN BY: DANA B.
A wall. All I can see and believe in. Is a wall. It’s all I’ve ever been able to see. The window in the room beside me provides my only light source through the edges of my loyal wall. But the mops. The smell is wretched, though that might just be me. The mops stare at me from across the room. No eyes to see but they taunt me all the same. Sometimes I get a visitor or three. It means nothing that I’m starved and frail. I’m the reason. I'm the disposal of their flaws and blame. They bring nothing for me, just rage they have no other use for. I was once a child but I only seem to exist. No smell or touch brings me back to feeling human. I’m out of place from my species. I am my species. I am simply here. There was a time I felt something. Visitors remind me of this time. I had a person, I recall her name, “Mom”. I cannot recall what she looked like, smelled like, or felt like. I only know the sound of the door shutting behind her as I screamed for freedom and to see the sun once more. I don’t remember what the sun looks like. I can’t even guarantee it’s still there. All I truly know is the sight of a wall, and those wretched, wretched mops. WRITTEN BY: Karissa Cruz
growing up I would see beautiful blonde haired blue eyes light skin people walking full of pride and no shame I wanted to be like that, no tan, no dark brown eyes and no black hair. i was disconnected from my pan dulce and aguas frescas from our precious music and cultural dances from our native language and celebrations going home my family was prideful dancing to cumbia and bachata music singing along to camilo sesto and ricky martin telling stories of their stuggles from an underdeveloped country living in poverty for years and finally coming to this country to provide a better life for their children and grandchildren they worked hard to provide for their family in El Salvador but the older I grew the more beautiful my culture became the food that made it feel like home eating pupusas ,drinking horchata and having platonos con cafe laughing and talking the language that was so complex and beautiful, learning and listening from my abuelos the chance to celebrate my quinceañera and embrace my culture of coming of age and being celebrated as a woman to pray to god and virgens they believe in for being as fortunate as we are so that finally I could embrace my beautiful tan skin, brown eyes and black hair to meet people like me and have them tell me their joys and stuggles to appreciate my abuelos for fighting so hard and working countless hours for leaving behind their home and all they had ever known so I could proudly say I love being latina and love the beautiful culture and world it has showed me. WRITTEN BY AIDEN ORANTES TW: INTERNALIZED COLORISM
When I first heard “Danger Days” I first felt ecstatic, But then I felt jealous of the singers voice. And when I got back “home” I listened to the marimba on the Car Radio Sounds of love for the land For the parties and borders Through Xela and Toto, and Chiquimula And end up migrating through the borders. When my family came to the country, they came for Disney and Universal, For the work and for the freedom. When I heard Gerard’s angelic voice, I was ashamed of my own voice And ashamed of my darker skin And of the people that look so stunning The only thing in common is that they’re all pale. And whenever I go into stores, I know me and my dad are being stared at Just because he’s darker than me And my English is better than his But mine is shaped from conversations, And his is shaped from the calluses from the repair shop. But now, when I listen to “Danger Days” I feel a rush of energy Like an angel made of neon and goddamn garbage But still raising my hands to the sky like some juvie hall kid And asking “What will save me?” WRITTEN BY ZACHARY BUENAVENTURA TW: SENSITIVE TOPICS REGARDING RACE AND CULTURE The center of the color wheel
penetrating, Invading, behaving, instigating, soPHisticating Almost branching out, influencing We are proud, we are dancing But once the center of attention distracts We are in lack what we feel We say we are proud, and we are We wave that flag with regard to red, blue, white, and gold We seek attention, fulfillment, recognition We crave validation from the center We eat with pride, simplicity at its finest No need for refinement Basics of brown, sour white, rich flesh Effortless with the outcome of the effort Modern takes a call for revision with blind blankets of sizzling worthlessness At the center, that looks correct, it's in the middle, it has to be Sound like you can feel Sense with every number Clicking dangers of the wood plowing against the floor And images migrating to an enormous canvas Trying so desperately, convincing that it is us Merely, barely and so dry Why are you so proud? I can see you, and? We are right there, we have made it Recognition Walking around the familiar tones Spotting the black and white Static and confusion Admiration? Or out in the open? We wear colors In arraying patterns Woven but truly not ours We pray, From teaching and thoughts Hundreds of regions And I am still unsure Why are you so proud? We need to be, The center of attention To find us I had to search the outside But the center is what we knew we belonged 300 years, just to be sold Eagles from the west; Yes, another culture prevailed, From the land of the rising sun; We believed that their products were Practically in the highest grade; Imagine it, why would you? it’s all here, it’s always been here WRITTEN BY NATHANIEL TKACH I am loud
I am obnoxious I am nosey I am talkative I am outgoing I wonder what people think of me I am curious I am friendly I am social I am an intellect |
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