on a plane from atlanta to chicago: notion 135.

notion 135.

let me in.
let me in,
so that i
can’t get out.
in your heart,
i will rest
away from
all the noise
cause i need
arms and hands
to embrace
all of me.
let me in,
and maybe,
we just might
make this a
better place
for children
to inherit
cause i know
that i can’t
do it alone,
and if you
are willing,
then i will
jump off with you.
let me in.
gets so cold
out here
all alone
without you,
and we just might
make this a
better world
if we start
working together.

but that’s
all nonsense
cause you’re just
looking out
for number one.
yourself, right?
which is why
we all feel
so alone.


on a plane from atlanta to chicago: notion 134.

notion 134.

so i’ve placed my secrets
in a box.
became the turtle,
sank into my shell,
but fear won’t guide me,
so slow and steady,
i keep on spying on everything,
and studying
how human beings
live behind closed doors
so unhappy,
but oh well, i guess,
we should all just lie,
and pop a zoloft or two
until you forget
that you’re depressed
cause one’s not free.
for if one was,
there’d be no need
for doors or locks.


on a plane from atlanta to chicago: notion 133.

notion 133.

and what about your president
speaking spanish
to confuse us,
but even if i spoke
latin or greek,
what would the state
think of me?
when the problem is
how everyone looks at me.
i can’t be me,
then why would i want
to be a part of
what everyone calls
i’d much rather get lost
in the jungle
or on the beach,
and continue my wandering
while wondering
how it all could
make sense,
but doesn’t.


on a plane from atlanta to chicago: notions 130-131.

notion 130.

i was made in guanatos,
and all those kids roaming
are all just like me,
and i am just like them.

there is no difference
between us and them.


notion 131.

and i am just
like all my students,
we get trained,
start thinking,
we will fit in,
and accepted by
los gringos americanos,
but no matter
how many degrees
i acquire,
i’m still nobody.
they still see me
like another Mexican,
who got lucky,
but i ain’t need
no affirmative action
or a bilingual education
to defend me.
don’t expect me
to forget my culture,
and my parents’ history
so easily.


on a plane from atlanta to chicago: notion 129.

notion 129.

i cannot join your church,
run and join the state,
pay my union dues,
but i don’t know
what i should do,
so i’ve traveled
to find myself again,
to find what i had lost
when my parents did depart
from our ancient homeland,
so i’ll apologize,
but i can’t join
in on the fun.
i’m still looking for me
whatever that may mean.


on a plane from guadalajara to atlanta: notion 126.

notion 126.

i’m a single lonely dot
on an insignificant map
that no one ever dares explore.
so what?
so what?
i’m as important as an ant
or my aunt
that just grows
and prays, waiting to die,
but i don’t
want to live a lie.
i could travel forever,
but would i ever
another family or
will change
the world for better
or for worse
as a million
reacting and interacting
like stars forming